His Broken Angel's Dying Secret

The cafeteria smelled like stale grease and loud teenage hormones the next day.

Claire held her plastic tray, scanning the crowded room for an empty table.

Someone tapped her shoulder.

She turned around. It was the skinny boy with the glasses from the alleyway yesterday.

He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose. He held out a tall, ice-cold can of Monster energy drink.

"Can you give this to Bishop?" the boy stuttered. "I know you sit next to him. I'm too scared to go near him."

Claire looked at the cold condensation dripping down the black and green can.

She remembered the brutal way Bishop had kicked that bully into the dumpster. She smiled softly.

"I'll give it to him," Claire said.

She walked back to the AP Literature classroom.

Bishop was already there. He was slumped over his desk, fast asleep. Heavy metal music leaked loudly from his earbuds.

Claire sat down quietly. She placed the cold can of Monster on the top corner of his desk.

A single drop of ice water slid down the aluminum can and hit the wooden desk with a quiet tap.

Bishop's eyes snapped open.

He pulled one earbud out. He glared at the bright green can like it was a threat.

"The boy from the alley yesterday," Claire whispered, leaning slightly toward him. "He wanted to say thank you."

Bishop let out a harsh scoff. "Tell him to mind his own business."

But he didn't push the can away.

He reached out with one large hand. He hooked his finger under the metal tab and cracked it open.

He tilted his head back and drank. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. Watching him swallow, a sudden tightness gripped her chest. It was the raw, untamed energy of someone who had never known what it meant to be sick-a vibrant, forceful vitality that made her own fragile existence feel even more brittle.

Claire watched him, a secret feeling of warmth spreading in her chest. He was actually very easy to figure out.

The warmth did not last.

At two o'clock in the morning, the Hansen house was completely silent.

Claire lay curled in a tight ball on her massive bed.

Her face was the color of ash. Thick beads of cold sweat soaked her hairline and dripped down her neck.

It felt like a jagged, rusty knife was being twisted violently inside her stomach. The chemotherapy drugs were burning through her veins, destroying her from the inside out.

She bit down on her thick blanket. She refused to scream.

If she screamed, Brenda, the live-in nanny sleeping downstairs, would wake up.

Claire stared at the digital clock on her nightstand. The red numbers blurred as tears filled her eyes.

Every second felt like an hour of torture.

She reached her shaking hand out from under the covers. She dragged her fingers across the wooden nightstand, searching for her heavy prescription pain pills.

Her fingers spasmed.

She knocked the orange plastic bottle over. It hit the floor.

Dozens of small white pills scattered across the hardwood floor.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, soaking into her pillow.

She forced her weak arms to push her body up. She dragged herself to the edge of the bed and slid down onto the freezing floor.

She fell to her knees. Her hands shook violently as she picked up two white pills from the dust.

She put them in her mouth and swallowed them dry. They scratched her throat on the way down.

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She sat on the cold floor, rocking slightly, waiting for the drugs to numb her brain.

Her phone lit up on the bed above her.

It was a text from her cousin, Gillian. How is the new school?

Claire stared at the bright screen. Her vision was swimming.

She reached up and typed with a trembling thumb. Everything is great. I made a new friend.

She hit send. The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet.

She closed her eyes. She thought of Bishop drinking that energy drink. She thought of the raw, powerful strength in his muscles.

It was a kind of life she would never have again.

When the sun finally rose, the pain faded into a dull, exhausting ache.

Claire stood in front of her bathroom mirror. She stared at her hollow cheeks.

She picked up her makeup sponge and began to paint the perfect, healthy student back onto her face.