Work Text:
And I won't get better
But someday I'll be free
'Cause I am not this body
That imprisons me
Cassandra is too young to really know what death is the first time she's told about her tumor. No one in her family had died when she was old enough to remember, and she had never really had to confront it before.
She learns quickly.
That was always the problem, right? She learned too quickly, knew too much. Now she had a brain tumor, and she was going to die.
Thinking about it was like a cold, creeping cloud came to envelop her, tearing her apart from everything she loved about this world - from books to libraries to her parents, who she knew loved her in their own strange and overbearing way. She feels angry, too, but only sometimes. That was never really how Cassandra approached the world, but sometimes she would think about all the things the kids she grew up with would get to do. Have a family, see the world. Fall in love.
It’s weird, being fourteen and contemplating her own demise. Morbid in a way. Creepy, at least for her classmates.
But they don't really matter when she's lying in a hospital bed.
Her physics teacher had asked her a question about relativity. It wasn't a complicated one, but it did make her think about all the beautiful implications of relativity and different perceptions of time. She went deeper and deeper into her thoughts. She knew her answer was mostly gibberish, but at this point everyone in the class had learned to tune out Cassandra's rants.
The next thing she knew, she was on a stretcher being carried out of the school with a bruise on her head.
Her parents come to visit at four every afternoon. They’re always awkward and cold. Just like they'd been at home ever since the first time Cassandra had experienced the "side effects" of her brain. Before that, they'd loved that she was smart. They'd always been so proud.
Now, she thinks, they'd probably be satisfied with a daughter who would outlive them.
Her mother pats her on the head, trying to be comforting. Her father smiles at her, as if the sight of their daughter sitting broken in a hospital bed could inspire anything but fear.
Every day after they leave, she finally lets go of the part of the green bed sheet she holds tight during their visits. She clings to the sheet like a lifeline. No one else in the hospital pretended she wasn't dying. No one else pretended there was a way to save her.
The nurses avoiding her gaze were almost comforting in comparison.
It was on the fifth day of this never-ending stream of nurses and doctors looking increasingly less hopeful that a little girl runs into her room.
"Well, hello." Cassandra says softly. She had been just about to pass out again from the dugs the doctors gave her, but a new visitor in her room was enough to bring her back from the brink of unconsciousness.
The girl spins around, fixing her with a curious stare. She tilts her head, hair bouncing as she considers the resident of the room she just invaded. "Who're you?"
She smiles at the girl's complete lack of embarrassment. "Cassandra. And who are you?"
The girl pulls on one of her brown pigtails as she answers, "My name's Cassie."
"What?" Cassandra fake gasps. She's always loved kids, and this girl is incredibly cute, so she feels the need to be extra nice. "We have the same name! That's so cool."
Cassie the Younger nods, clearly not sold on her yet. But she does ask a question. "Have you seen my car?"
"Your car?" Cassandra questions, leaning forward. She strokes her chin, acting mock serious, looking Cassie up and down. "I doubt you can drive."
The girl looks a little offended but nods. "It's a little one. My mom says I can keep it in the hospital with me if I don't launch it into other people's rooms."
From Cassie's face and presence in Cassandra's room, it's clear that she has never listened to this rule.
Cassandra nods seriously. "Well, I can help you look around if you'd like."
Cassandra's cleared for more physical exercise in the next few days, so she starts making a habit of walking down to little Cassie's room to visit. She gets to know her mom a little bit, too, which is awesome. Cassandra wishes her parents displayed the same sort of affection Cassie's mom did, even towards people she'd just met. But she knew that was asking too much of them. They tried to love her, even if it wasn’t working.
Her and Cassie start playing out in the garden as Cassandra gets better. But even as Cassandra is recovering and the doctors start talking about moving her for in-home recovery, her young friend is getting worse. They stopped going outside the day after Cassie tripped and split her lip on one of the bricks.
Things only go downhill from there, and soon Cassandra is only visiting her friend in her room, the little girl too weak to move.
One day, just when she's walking down for her noontime visit, Cassandra sees a large crowd of nurses in Cassie's room. Walking up to join the crowd, she can hear the soft mutterings of the nurses gathered around her, and any hope she has drains out of her immediately. She stands there and watches as the life goes out of the little hand clutching her mother's and feels the lives of everyone in that room falling apart.
That's the exact moment that Cassandra decides how she wants to die. It's not like this. Not something that would cause people this much pain. She doesn't want to waste away in a hospital like this.
She picks a day, too. Doesn't tell anyone, doesn't say anything to her parents, but that date is burned into her mind more clearly than her birthday. Her death day, she calls it to herself. Somehow the morbidity of it all entertains her.
Cassandra gets a job in that same hospital after finally being allowed to finish high school. She uses the death all around of her as a constant reminder and counts down the days on her calendar, one by one.