A/N: Say hello to my baby, the child I have been formulating since the begging of July. I love this story with every piece of me, I've poured myself into rewrite after rewrite, and I'm still working on it. This is just the first chapter, and there's much more to come. Reviews would be so GREATLY appreciated. And thank you, to my tumblr sign, that willed me into doing this. Also, to my beta, my twin, for reading this again and again and again for me. I hope you all enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

My parents are doctors. Surgeons, to be exact. Orthopaedic. Paediatric. Plastics.

I grew up in the hospital; eating meals in the cafeteria, sleeping in on-call rooms when a sitter couldn't be found, spending afternoons doing homework in OR galleries. I learned to skate, in heelies, in the paediatric ward. I learned about the skeleton, for a science test, staring at an x-ray board in an exam room. I know the linoleum-lined hallways better than I know my own home.

I loved the hospital. Loved waiting in the playroom for my mom to finish her shift. Loved seeing my mami make casts. Loved standing on the catwalk and watching the world. My world of scrubs and stethoscopes, sutures and surgeries. The hospital was where I belonged.

There's a difference, between being somewhere you love, knowing you can leave, and being somewhere you love feeling utterly and completely trapped. Knowing you can't waltz out sliding glass doors and hear that satisfying whoosh as they close behind you, it's painful. It's infuriating.

I never understood, before, when patients went stir crazy; complaining about white walls and clicking shoes and the incessant hospital hum. But it's enough to drive you mad.

And to think, it used to be my favourite song.

I listen to music, all day. It blocks out some of the thoughts that I don't want to think, instead filling my mind with things I never thought about before. Melodies, harmonies, chords, riffs, bridges. It makes me think about being a musician, someday.

They all bring me music, now, seeing how tired I am of flowers and balloons and cards. They know I'd rather fill my ears than my eyes. So they bring me mixed CDs, adding to the growing pile on my dresser; Jack's Mannequin, Augustana, Ellie Goulding, Mat Kearney, The Fray, anything they think might help me shut out the world.

My mom sneaks me jello from the cafeteria - always strawberry because it's the best flavour they have. We talk about it, and Mami's chicken piccata, and chocolate cake. I haven't got the heart to tell her that, most days, I can't taste it. It's just some red stuff that slides down my throat easily. Something that slides back up just as easily after she's gone.

But I let her keep bringing it, just so we'll have something to talk about. We're too scared to talk about anything else.

I awake from a fitful dream, drenched in sweat, memories dancing before my eyes. I've become tired of reliving it all. That rainy night. The ER. The hours spent in offices I knew all too well.

"Mami," I whisper, causing the body on the bed next to mine to stir, "I'm scared."

She comes to my side without hesitation, without any signs of sleep delaying her, ultimately giving away her racing thoughts. She wraps herself around me, pulling my blankets taut in a way that finally feels comfortable. Cocooned. She wipes away tears I didn't know I was crying, and pulls our identical eyes into a chocolate-brown gaze.

"I love you," she whispers, cupping my cheek.

All I can do is nod.

Alex comes into my room in the early hours of the morning, when my mami is snoring softly against my cheek. "Hey, kiddo," he says, as he always does, even though we both know that the more mature one is often me, "How're you feeling?"

"Shitty," is the only answer I can think of, but it makes him laugh when other people would only give me pity.

"You got another treatment today."

I nod, never admitting aloud that I'm doing this. That it's all real.

"What do you want to do after? Get ice cream?"

I shake my head, knowing ice cream doesn't taste as good the second time it passes your tongue. I toy with the idea of asking him to shave my head, but I already know what his answer will be. He's too wrapped around Mom's fingers to give in and go against her, even though he's Alex and I'm Sofia and that says everything. Even though I know I'm really ready. "I want to go home."

He nods sadly, knowing how my mothers fought to have me here. How they rarely go home themselves anymore, instead curling up on the extra bed in my room. I know he can see their exhaustion, too, the pain and fear buried deep within their eyes.

"How about your laptop?" he offers, obviously remembering how attached to it I used to be. But I don't want it. I don't want to go online and see happy faces, the summer I don't get to have.

"Just bring me music," I sigh, turning my head away, "All I want is music."

"Cory?" I ask needlessly as she strolls into my room, instantly pinning new pictures to my wall. Today she's brought sunsets, bright pink and orange and burning on the skyline.

"Sofia," she retorts, dropping a book onto my lap. Tolstoy. "Who do we hate today?"

"The nurse," I say with a roll of my eyes, "She wouldn't let me watch some terrible movie last night when I couldn't sleep."

"That bitch," Cory proclaims, flopping into the chair next to me.

"How's school?"

"Lame," she answers vaguely, "And stupid. Nothing's changed. How was today? Did you blow chunks?"

I laugh easily, thankful, once again, that my best friend has stayed the same. "Before they even got me the bucket. I aimed for shoes."

"Good job," she says, pride comedically dancing across her features, "Way to keep them on their toes."

We fall into our comfortable silence, glancing towards the muted TV, some corny soap filling the picture.

"Shave my head?" I ask, knowing she's the only one who will do it for me, without caring that my mothers are saving the pieces, or that my hair is making my head itch, or that I'm terrified of how I'll look. She'll just do it because I asked.

"Sure."

The first look in the mirror is startling. My head is paler than I expected, even amidst the tufts of dark hair that are still trying to hold tight. I run my hands over it, savouring the smooth bristling feeling. It's that feeling that knocks away all the fear; I don't look like an alien. I don't look like a sick person. I still look like Sofia, like myself, and that makes it easier to breathe.

"Thank you," I whisper to my best friend as she slips the clippers back into their hiding place.

There's nothing else to be said, no jokes to be made. Instead, a heavy acceptance dances around us, a solid awareness that we're quickly becoming adults. That our childhood is falling out of our grasps.

But I still look like Sofia. We still look like ourselves.

It started as a weakness. In my fingers, my toes, my body slowly growing numb. Until everything felt heavy. And difficult. And exhausting.

I slept every chance I could, escaping for home when I knew both my mothers were working. When I knew my dad was too distracted to really notice. I slept when I should've been doing homework, slept when I should've been in class, slept when I said I was with friends. Slept away my social life, my grades, everything I once cared about. I closed my eyes and let it all slip away.

And then we fought: Mom yelling about phone calls from teachers, about my lack of effort, about my ignorance of expectations; Mami watching me sadly, unsure of what was happening to her little girl. We fought endlessly, the yelling continuing long after I'd shut myself away in my room. Long after I'd closed my eyes and drifted away.

"She's being completely disrespectful! It's like she doesn't even care. She's failing everything, Calliope. Every single one of her courses. The teachers say she barely comes to class!"

"Something's wrong, Arizona."

"Oh, you can say that again! She needs to get her priorities straight, get that attitude in check-"

"No, something is wrong. This isn't Sofia. The light, the everything... it's all gone. She looks hollow."

"You think I haven't noticed that?"

"Maybe it's a break up?"

"She would've told us that."

"Would she?"

I went into their room because it was raining; thick, wet drops smacking against my bedroom window with a vengeance. Making me want nothing more than to crawl into bed with my mothers, have their arms around me until I finally fell asleep.

I stood in their doorway, watching the moonlight illuminate their spooning bodies. My head spun, dizziness overtaking me in a way I had never experienced before.

"Mami?" I cried out, as the room twisted violently, knocking me to the floor. "Mami?" I cried into the blackness.

I awoke in the emergency room, the one part of the hospital I never ventured to when exploring. "Mami?" I called, scared and confused, hating all the sounds that were surrounding me and making my head pound.

"Sofia, I'm right here," she said softly, lifting our clasped hands for me to see, "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. I couldn't feel her hand. I couldn't feel anything.

"Mami?" I whimpered, fighting the torrential downpour of tears, "What's happening?"