1 | One Month Left
One month left.
I’d woken up countless times through the night due to the immense anxiety that I felt; today was my birthday... and not just any birthday, it was my 18th birthday. I sat on my window seat, staring out at the sunrise through the rain-covered windows; the weather perfectly reflected my current mood. My heart pattered loudly against my chest as I looked towards the upside of my wrist... I didn’t dare turn it over, not yet.
I jumped, taking in an involuntary deep breath through my nose as my previously silent room filled up with the loud chiming of my phone as it rang. I uncurled my legs, getting up from my seat and walking over to my nightstand where my phone was laid face down. Tightening the blanket around my shoulders, I slid my finger across the screen, answering the call from my best friend;
“Elijah...” is how I greeted him, my voice coming out barely above a whisper as it quivers.
“Have you looked?”
“Not yet... what are you doing up? It’s not even six yet. You hate early mornings.”
“Typical Josie, worrying about me instead of herself. I’m up because I couldn’t sleep... you find out your death date today...”
“So? It doesn’t concern you...”
“It doesn’t concern me? You’re my best friend, Jo, and you find out the date of your death today...”
“If I choose to look.”
“You have to look...”
“I don’t have to. Maybe I want to ignore it until I die.”
“You know that’s not possible.”
“It could be...”
“Just look, Jo.”
“Fine... okay, I’ll look.”
I sigh as I press the speaker button on my phone, placing it down on the nightstand. I unwrap my arm from the blanket, gently pushing up the sleeve of my winter shirt, then, with tears in my eyes, I turn my shaking wrist over. My mouth falls agape as an almost silent breath of shock leaves it and I close my eyes for a few moments, silently willing the date to change but when I reopen them... the same date is staring straight back at me.
08/01/2021
One month from now.
“Oh my god...” I whisper, letting myself fall back onto my bed as I stare down at my wrist.
“What? What does it say?”
A tear slips from my eye; “It’s the eighth of January...”
“Of what year...?” Elijah asks, though his tone implies that he already knows.
“Twenty twenty-one...”
“A month...? You have a month left to live?”
“Mhm...” My voice comes out as a whimper. I breakdown into uncontrollable sobs, curling up into a ball as I lay down on my bed, burying my face into a pillow.
“Oh god...” I hear Elijah mutter over the phone. “I’ll be there in ten.” He tells me, and before I can protest against it, I hear the sound of the phone hanging up.
