was painful, absolute torture to say the least. I'd been tired before, ready to sleep during the few hours but with Dr Khan's icy, coldly professional voice ringing through my ears, those cursed words along with it, sleeping was the last thing I was able to do.

"A drink?" The flight attendant asked.

I shook my head no. She passed, that far from genuine smile, decorating her make up covered features, unwavering. Even so, I felt like an absolute bitch. Here she was just trying to do her job and being polite to me, and I was being like one of those rude passengers I'd always looked at in distaste. Now I was one.

I began clicking my knuckles excessively, that habit I'd started in high school rearing its ugly head. The old lady across from me threw me a glare, so I sat on my hand to stop the nervous tick. Even under my leg, I could feel my fingers itching to move, to do something.

It felt like we were in the air for dozens upon dozens upon dozens of agonising hours before the crisp sound of the pilot came through the speakers.

I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, grinding my teeth as he tried his hand at a light tone.

Thirty minutes, I tried to ease myself. You can do half an hour, thirty times sixty seconds.

But it hardly made much difference, other than making me look out of the window every other second rather than every five seconds. I begged each time that I'd seen the city lights below and when I didn't, prayed the time after that I finally would.

"Stressing is not going to help," I whispered to myself, grateful that the guy next to me was sleeping soundly, too unconscious to think I was crazy. Even if he was awake, I struggled to imagine myself actually caring whether he would think I was psychotic or not.

When the plane did finally land, the lights raised from their previous dim state and the dosing passengers now gradually waking up, I grabbed my bag and got out as soon as they would let me. At that point, I didn't care who I shoved out of the way to be out quickly, I just knew I needed to get out.

I picked my phone up as soon as I got into the airport. I hadn't realised how badly my hands were shaking until I raised it to my ear, feeling it's coldness practically rattling against my skin.

"Miles?" I asked into the phone when it picked up on the last ring. My words shook uncontrollably and I couldn't settle my laboured breathing.

"Look, Jolie, I really don't—"

"You have to help me, Miles," I begged. "Please."

"What's wrong?" He asked, discarding his resentment for me as soon as he heard the panic in my voice. "What's happened?"

"My Mum's in hospital," I said, holding my hand to my mouth to muffle the sob, even though it did very little. "And Archer and I broke up, and I really need to get to the hospital. Mum's in hospital." I was repeating myself, saying what I still struggled to comprehend over and over like if I said it enough, my brain would finally accept it.

But it was futile.

"Alright, Jolie," his soothing voice said through the phone. "I'm going to need you to breathe. I'm here. And I'll take you to the hospital, but I'm going to need you to tell me where you are."

"Gatwick," I said finally, swallowing another round of sobs.

"Okay," he said. "I'll be there in about ten minutes. Sit tight."

I did as I was told, no matter how much my limbs begged to pace. Instead, they compromised on me sitting on one of the chairs but my knee shaking violently. Those getting off different flights barely paid me any mind. Those that did looked at me as if I was some science experiment.

It was exactly ten minutes later that I heard Miles's voice.

I got up hurriedly, turning to the sound. He was a distance from me, but I could see the worry lines etched into his face.

I crossed the distance to him, dropping my bag at his feet as I catapulted myself into his arms.

"Sh, sh," he breathed into my hair as my body shook and trembled. "I'm here, I've got you."

"My Mum—"

"Come on," he said, taking me by the hand. "I've got your bag."

We made it to the car faster than I'd been anticipating or maybe we'd taken ages. My time was so warped but I didn't know whether it was from the constant bright lights from the airport or the state I was in.

He opened my door for me, letting me in and helping me with my seatbelt as my fingers fumbled with it and I almost started crying again. He went round to his side, seating and buckling himself quickly before we were headed to where I assumed the hospital was.

We slipped into a silence, bordering on comfortable if it wasn't for the situation.

"What happened, Jolie?" He asked after a while, eyes flickering over to my curled up body before returning to the road.

My knees were to my chin, standard feral position as I withheld from rocking myself back and forth.

I breathed deeply. "My Mum had leukaemia when I was little, very little." I had to shut my eyes to try and control the memories, but no matter my efforts, I couldn't stop the images of her— so frail, so broken— forming before my eyes. "They got it under control but there was always the danger it would come back. And it did, last year. She's been having treatment ever since."

It felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest, but yet it also felt like another one had been put in its place. I wanted to think that if I could go back, I'd tell him everything from the get go, but this, right now, was terrifying enough.

"That must've been hard," he said after a while.

"I was selfish," I told him, honestly. "I made her go to the shop when I could've easily done it myself; I made her clean up after me when it wouldn't have taken much to do it myself." A pain, sharp and brutal dug into my chest. A knife, twisting. "I didn't tell her I loved her even when I did, more than anything in the world."

"You still have time to tell her."

"But how long?" I asked, face feeling raw from the amount of times I'd rubbed at it.

"Don't think about that right now," he said. "All you know is that she's still here, so stop fretting about what you can't change and start striving to change what you can. Tell her all these things. Apologise, tell her you love her, do everything in your power to not regret things. We'll be there in fifteen minutes. Just close your eyes for a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "Miles?" I heard him hum that he'd heard. "I'm so sorry."

"None of that now," he said, voice soft and calm. "Go to sleep."

***

The stopping of the car had my eyes shooting open. I didn't wait for him to get out of his side, instead, sprinting to the entrance, bypassing everyone in my way. I could hear Miles' footfalls behind me, so I knew I wasn't going to lose him.

I raced to the cancer ward, my feet taking me before my brain could even properly register it.

"Catherine Dubois," I said to the lady at the front desk in a rush of air. "I need a room for Catherine Dubois."

She looked at her notes, but too slowly. I went on my way without her direction, looking in windows and open doors until I found her familiar face.

My footsteps halted when I saw her.

I went to the door, pushing it open.

She looked so pale, I realised as I got closer. Like she would blend right in to the pristine sheets if it weren't for her dark hair. Had she always been like this? Her wrists, laid on top of the duvet, looked so thin. I could easily wrap my fingers around them with space to spare.

I came closer and took the liberty of sitting myself in the chair beside her bed.

I wondered if she'd been alone when they brought her here, all alone around people she didn't know, saying things she probably couldn't understand. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

I felt another presence. Miles stood at the door, the nurse from before behind him. I returned my gaze to my mum, though.

I could vaguely hear Miles telling her who I was, sounding a little out of temper as she kept pressing him with questions. I knew he kept his composure for my sake, and I felt my heart swell from his kindness.

"I'll call for Doctor Khan," she said, before walking away.

I don't know how long I waited, just staring at her closed lids until a man, decked in a white coat-like thing, came in and introduced himself even if I'd met him before, only when his hair wasn't growing at the sides and his undereyes weren't so dark.

"It's fiercer this time," he said, letting emotion flicker beneath his dark eyes. "It's growing at a faster rate. There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry."

I wanted to shout at him. 'I'm sorry'? That's all he could give me. 'I'm sorry that our medicines failed and now your mother is dying. Whoops, our bad. We'll try better next time.' Only, there was no next time for her. This was it.

I turned away from him.

Miles said something about getting some coffee.

I held her hand in mine, bringing it to my mouth. "I'm so sorry, Mummy. I'm so sorry." Even holding it, I felt like with one wrong move, it could shatter beneath my hand. She was so frail, looked no more than a child lying there. Pathetic, almost.

"I'm not dead yet, darling," her voice said, slightly hoarse, yet she still managed to find humour in the situation. I thought it was some sick figment of my imagination before I felt her hand leave mine and touch my face.

"Mummy," I said, looking up at her sunken face, noticing bruises all over her arms and chest for the first time. "I love you so much. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

She caressed my face. "You're here now. That's all that matters to me."