Chapter 1: Cancer

I pour myself another glass of wine, watching the slow river of red fluid fill my glass. It reminds me of Eric, the nostalgia washing over me like a rushing tide. A sigh escapes my lips and I set my half empty bottle down, then lift the glass to my lips, thinking out loud, "The only difference is that he wouldn't be drinking wine. It'd be a tall glass of AB positive. Asshole..."

I sweep my bangs out of my face and take a smooth sip of my crimson medicine, letting it drown out my sorrows and bring me into a nice gentle mood. I look around my little apartment and wander over to my iPod dock, wine glass in hand, and turn it on, hoping for something good in my slow jazz playlist. Of course even technology hates me, because Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" comes pouring out of my speakers like a brutal slap. I leave it to play, and sit back down on my couch, folding my legs up underneath me and sipping more of my pinot noir. I let the mixture of the music and booze bring back the night's brief but painful events.

Tonight I tried to commit suicide. It sounds heinous. Stupid even. But I had good cause. I'm dying anyways as it is. I have stage 4 breast cancer. I was given 3 very lucky months to live. And I am friends with a few choice vampires, whom had paid for my visit to the doctors after I discovered the lump in my left breast. Eric Northman had been the one to escort me to the doctors office. After I was diagnosed, both he and the doctor tried to discuss the options with me. But I don't care about the options. I'll do radiation treatments and lose my hair and die ugly. Why not just let me die with some bad skin at the very least, rather than make me look like a monster? I gave up. I climbed the stairs to the roof of my apartment in Shreveport, Louisiana, to just look at the stars. Then I wanted to see the city lights. Then I wanted to see the ground. And then it clicked - I didn't want to see anything else. I just wanted to die looking healthy. My selfishness got the best of me and I climbed over the small ridge and sat upon it, debating on whether I should jump head first, or throw myself backwards. Before I could even end my inward debate on suicide tactics, Eric was by my side, jaw clenched. "What the fuck do you think you are doing Sari?" he growled through his clenched teeth. I hated seeing him like this, but it didn't matter anymore.

"I'm thinking about which position I wanna go out in. You pick for me. Head first, or back first?" I seethed, gripping the bricks underneath me. Eric's head snapped to look at me, infuriation and rage burning through his eyes. But then I noticed this small hint of fear, that small glimmer of human that most vampires lose when they are turned. "How about coming off the edge and talking to me about this, okay?" he said, changing his attitude quickly, and backing away. I stare out at the street, the four story drop coaxing me in. Instead of listening to him, I edged forward. "Sari, you're not gonna do it. You and I both know that. You aren't that pathetic. Now come away from the ledge, and we'll talk about this, okay?" he said softly, desperation flickering in his voice. "Fine, Eric. If you want me to come down, change me. Turn me," I mutter, staring at the empty street beneath us.

"You're fucking kidding me... Do you even know what you're asking? I... FUCK! Sari! You don't get to just say stupid shit like that!" Eric rages, pacing back and forth behind me. "So you want to be a vampire? You want to live forever, and watch everyone you will ever love die and just carry on and be alone? Because when you're turned - IF I turn you - you will be alone! I won't baby you!"

"I don't wanna fucking die Eric! I've barely even gotten the chance to live an actual life! I want to do things a girl my age should fucking DO! Not waste away in a shitty apartment wishing I'd get the chance to do those things!" I cried, trying not to sob through my words. I turned abruptly to look at Eric, and misjudged my position on the ledge. I slid off the side and felt myself fall for all of 2 seconds before an icy hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Eric lifted me slowly until we were eye level, stared me in the eye with a soft seriousness, and whispered,"No."

He set me down on the roof and before I could ask why, he was gone. The sound of an engine revving and tires squealing was in the distance within the three seconds it took me to start crying. I stalked downstairs to the street and entered the corner store next to my apartment, eyes searching for anything with alcohol content. Then I bought my four bottles of wine, thundered up the steps to my apartment, and now I'm here. Half a bottle down, three and a half more to go. I down my glass, tired of sipping out of it's slender frame, and grab the bottle. I stalk back to my iPod dock and shut it off, hoping to find something to do with my weak state and my foul mood.

"Fuck it," I mutter and stomp into my bedroom, stripping down to my underwear. I slide into bed, and curl onto my side, staring out the window at nothing in particular. My frustration is immense. And sleep will probably evade me. But before I know it, my body shuts down, and I drift away into dreamless sleep.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My alarm sounds, shaking me out of my slumber. I reach across my bed and slap at the clock, hoping to find the switch quickly. My fingers find the switch and I flip it to off, and the silence soothes my not yet fully awake ears. I pull myself off the bed and shuffle into my bathroom, unable to shake the sleep off me. I turn my shower on to searing heat and slip inside, letting the water boil away the sleep, as well as my tension from last night.

Eric's image still burns into my mind. Just that one word. No. It's enough to make me sick. Make me hate him even. But then again, he's one of the only 6 friends I have in Louisiana since I moved here from Michigan, and I don't plan on shortening that list to five. I wash my thin body down, examining the look of my torso as I lather my skin. I hate that I didn't notice something was wrong earlier. I knew there was a reason I was losing so much weight. Losing 48 pounds in a month and a half must not be that healthy I guess. I sigh, and remind myself that it's too late now. That I just need to continue my life. Go to work. Try to finish my life as enjoyably as possible. I rinse and shut my shower off, and step out of my shower. As I'm reaching for my towel I hear the floorboards creak in my apartment, and I freeze. Oh shit, I think. I'm being robbed! I wrap my towel around myself quickly, and open the cabinet under my sink.

One of the first things I did when I moved to Shreveport was buy a gun. A shiny . 357 was hidden in my bathroom, tape to the underside of my sink. I pull it off the sink, pulling the hammer back slowly as I stood. Shutting my cabinet, I turn the knob on my bathroom door gently, my caution forming as a knot in my stomach. I inch the door open and pad quietly into my bedroom. It's emptiness releases a relaxation in me. Not in here... phew... I think, and I move silently to the door to my living room. I see a shadow move from the crack under my door, my hardwood floors reflecting the light into my room. The sound of boots on my floor gives away where the burglar might be. The sound of my fridge opening alarms me a bit, enough to shake me into action, so I fling my door open and step out quickly, aiming at the figure in my kitchen.