We wait.

We wait so long that I'm positive that I'll die in that stupid, stiff grey chair.

We wait for such a long time that, eventually, I pry Grace and I from our seats and rerun home. She is mad at me. She doesn't want to leave. But I tell he'll be waiting for us and, for whatever reason, she believes me.

We go home.

"Where the fuck have you been?" My mother demands, instantly rushing to the door as she see's us enter the house. I can see tears sparkling in her dead eyes. "Do you even understand how worried we were about you?"

I start, "Mom-"

"No," she snaps. "Don't try to argue, Bliss, don't you try to act as if this is somehow my fault. You left. You left. And you want to act-"

"Stop!" Grace screams. "Just fucking stop!"

"Don't you fucking dare use that language at me, young missy!" Mom shrieks at her. "I'll get to you late-"

"He's dying, okay? He's dying."

"What do you mean, 'he's dying?'" Mom demands.

"We don't have fucking time for this," I hiss.I turn to Grace, "Gp upstairs and shower. We have to get going back soon."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mom asks.

I sigh as Grace rushes up the stairs. "Her . . . her boyfriend, who I've been away with for the last few weeks, is dying. He has a tumor in his brain. He doesn't have much time left. So please excuse me when I saw I don't have time for your bull shit, because I literally don't."

And with that I head up the stairs.

Mom doesn't try to talk to me again.

Grace and I bathe.

We return to the hospital.