Never A Right Time.

This is the story of a girl. It's a little cliché, maybe a little used, but it's hers. It's hers, and she's not going to let anyone take it from her, even though she's gone.

Let me tell you her countdown.

*

Day 6

It's been there for days now, Clara's noticed. Somedays, it's worse than others. Usually, she can deal with it.

There's a dull, throbbing ache in her head. It's constantly nagging at her, no matter how much she tries to sleep it off. Advil only works for so long.

Mostly, it's manageable. At first it was easy to ignore, but recently, it's been getting worse. The dull throb was moving from one spot to everywhere; inhabiting behind her eyes, and down her skull. She had constant headaches. Clara figured it was stress; college wasn't easy. Neither was taking care of Harry. Her roommate was a mess without someone to look after. She thought nothing of it.

But really, it's not like anything could have been done, as you'll come to realize.

*

Day 5

"Did you miss me?" Harry's tone was sarcastic, but underlined with weariness and...and was that feeling? Clara was probably hearing things.

Clara and Harry. Harry and Clara.
They've been friends since birth. Best friends. They grew up together, and didn't want to split when college came around. They go to different colleges, but they share an apartment. It's nice.
Clara's in love with him.

Clara dropped the bag of apples she was holding and turned from the kitchen table. She wobbled as a surge of dizziness hit her. Strange. She blinked at Harry, who loomed in the doorway, looking smug.

"No, I can't really say that I did. It was nice and quiet without having to babysit." She joked back, but the small smile on her face told him the truth. He wrapped her into a hug. Sometimes, college was tough on them. Harry would spend nights after nights in the library sometimes, or crashing in the lounge of the dorms where his friends lived. This was always nice, though. The 'I'm home' hug that Harry always brought.

"Well, someone has to be here to keep you on your toes, Clara. I see you've taken on your role as housewife more seriously. You were putting the apples out all fancy. Do continue." He grinned, rolling his arm in a sweeping motion to the table. Clara gave him the finger, and went to pick the bag back up.

She couldn't feel her fingers.

Confused, her eyebrows drew together and she pressed her fingers into her palms and shook them out. She rubbed her hands together.

"Well? What are you doing, some sort of prayer service to the apple gods?" He rolled his eyes and grinned again, stealing an apple from the table. Clara resisted a retort, because her fingers were back to normal.

Very strange.

*

Day 4

Today, it rained.

Clara spent most of the day curled up on her bed, book in hand. Rainy off days were reading days to her. Except, it wasn't working so well. The horrible throb every time she focused for too long was unbearable. It felt like someone was hammering a nail into her head, and inch by inch, it was going in.

She was frustrated. Headaches should only last for so long. Crawling out of bed, she pulling on a hoodie and threw on some sneakers. Harry was still asleep, so she walked quietly, getting a couple of things before heading out.

Clara figured going to see the on-campus nurse wouldn't hurt.

After about 5 minutes(she thanked her lucky stars that her apartment was near the school) she arrived, knocking on the solid white door. An elderly woman answered, looking a little bored.

"Hi, um, I'm Clara Davinson. I just have a question or so."

"Come in." Her voice kind of sounded like it was hoarse, but not, all at once. It was weird. Clara stepped inside, taking a seat on a cushioned chair.

"I've been getting bad headaches for about 6 days now. They're progressively getting worse. Am I getting sick?"

The nurse stood, feeling Clara's head for a fever. "You don't have a temperature. Have you felt any symptoms of anything else?"

Clara shook her head. "A little...numbness in my fingers? I was carrying a big bag of apples, though. Mostly, my head just aches unbearably."

"I don't know what I can do for you here, sweetheart. You might be stressed; I know the lot of you college kids are. I suggest going to a doctor. Physically, you look fine."

Clara smiled and stood up. " I might just do that. Thank you, enjoy your day."

-

"Clara, where were you?"

Clara smiled as she opened the door, chuckling. Harry was sitting on the couch, looking bored and irritated. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I went to the library for a second, I forgot I had an overdue book." Clara didn't want Harry to worry. She was fine, and Harry would make a huge deal out of nothing.

"Why are you so out of breath?"

She hadn't even noticed the way she was panting.

"I ran, all the way here, just for you."

"Well, good. Now feed me."

"You couldn't have just, oh, I don't know, gotten it yourself?"

"No, that would require effort."

Clara smiled and rolled her eyes, walking to the kitchen.

"I want orange juice!"

There was a loud crash, and Harry heard a metal plate clatter onto the ground. He smiled fondly, amusement thrumming in his veins.

"Way to go, klutz."

Silence.

"Clara, it's generally nice to answer someone when they..." Harry stood up, voice sarcastic and grinning. He turned into the kitchen, and the amusement thrumming in his veins turned to fear.

"Clara?" The color drained slightly from his face.

Clara was on the floor, droplets of orange juice staining her hoodie. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn't moving.

"Clara, Clara can you hear me?" Harry swiftly knelt to the ground. He shook her shoulder. Nothing. If it weren't for the faint pulse he found in her (tiny, delicate) wrist, Harry would have thought she were dead. He shuddered at the horror.

Still, something was wrong.

Harry picked her up, cradling her to his chest, before laying her on the couch. He picked up the phone, and dialed 911.

*

Day 3

When Clara woke up, it was bright. Too bright. She slammed her eyes shut again, counting to 10 as the pain died down. Slowly, she cracked her eyes open, adjusting them. The first thing she saw was pale yellow.

It was a pretty gross color, as far as she was concerned.

The ceiling was a pale yellow, the walls were a pale yellow(with chipping spots where white came through), even the doorframe was pale yellow.

It reeked of hospital.

She turned her head and tried to sit up, but a pair of arms put her back down.

"If you sit up, you'll pull out the IV." Harry. Harry was there. Okay, she felt a little better now.

"IV?" Her voice was groggy, and tainted with sleep. She could see Harry smile softly out of the corner of her eye. Her heart fluttered. Fuck. That was probably shown on the monitor. Why am I here?

"Yeah, IV. You kind of passed out trying to get me some orange juice. I had to be superman and save the day." Fear. She could hear fear in his voice. Fear and pain. Clara opened her eyes wider, taking his appearance in.

His eyes were bloodshot. Hair was messy. His teeshirt was wrinkled and pulled at. He had been worrying. He had been crying.

"Am I...I mean...what happened?"

At this point, a doctor walked in. He was all business; pressed white coat, crisp collared shirt, stethoscope hanging around his neck. But, Clara could see it. She could see the Sorry, sorry I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry behind his eyes. Her insides jumped and her heart rate sped up. Something was wrong.

"Good to see you awake, Ms. Davinson. I'm Dr. Forman. We have a bit to discuss. It's true you don't have parents anymore; deceased?"

She nodded.

"Ms. Davinson, I have...I don't have..." His professional bravado cracked. "I'm afraid I come with bad news."

She swallowed hard. Next to her, Harry was shaking. She was going to control herself, if not for herself, then for him. Never, ever had he been this broken. Not even when they were 10 and Clara broke her arm, and Harry held the other hand for the entire ambulance ride.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're dying. Soon. Very, very soon."

It was like a sucker punch to the gut. Harry's gasp of air brought her back down from whatever she got lost in.

"You told me it was serious--but you...you never..."He trailed off; helpless. "You need to do something. Why can't you do anything? Aren't you a fucking doctor? How can you just tell her she's--"

"Harry." Clara murmured, closing a hand around his wrist. He stilled, even though her palm was shaking.

The doctor looked utterly torn. Harry wasn't right, of course. What happened, happened. They couldn't control it. She smiled softly at the doctor. The last thing she was going to do, was spend her time crying.

"Why?"

"There's a tumor in your brain, it attached itself to one of your glands. It's spreading quickly; too quickly for the pain to have really caught up yet. You might have just been feeling headaches, I...I wish you would have come in sooner...but there was no...we couldn't...I'm sorry."

"How long do you think I have?"

The doctor tugs at his collar. He's uncomfortable. "About 2 weeks until the pain really kicks in, maybe a week after that..."

Harry tenses; goes completely rigid. His jaw is set, clenched so tight it looks ready to snap. Outside, someone calls for the doctor, urgently.

Clara understands; she's not the only person in the world with problems.

He looks torn between staying and leaving. "I'm sorry, I have to go, I'll be back to check on you in a little."

It's utterly silent in the room. Harry's so tense she's surprised he isn't cramping up. Then, he crumbles, gripping onto her hand like it was his lifeline.

"Is this a joke? How can this happen? This isn't happening. Clara, you're not dying on me. You can't, you can't, oh God Clara you can't." He keeps mumbling against her shoulder, already hunched over her. She pulls her hand free and rubs his back, tears prickling against her eyes.

"Shhh..." She soothes, which is ironic, considering that she's the one dying.

Then again, she looks at it this way: it's Harry that's going to have to live on without her. She almost wonders which fate is worse.

It was silent again, except for their deep breathing. Harry's insides were screaming at him to talk, to talk now, because it was almost over. He should be talking now, because Clara was almost gone, and then he'd never be able to talk to her again.

The thought alone almost made him go mad.

*

Day 2

"I love you."

The doctors and nurses always managed to step out just as Harry came around. Harry wanted to this it was coincidence, but their broken smiles led him to believe otherwise.

"What was that?"

"I'm in love with you." Clara repeated, pushing herself up onto her elbows. She winced, pain hitting every where. The doctor may have been a little off with the timing.

Harry felt his heart squeeze, and it was good, but then it wasn't.

"Why are you..."

"Telling you? I don't know, really. I don't want to die with regrets. It's kind of stupid, I guess, but..." Clara flushed, and it was really visible against her sickly pale cheeks. Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"it's not."

"Hm?"

"Stupid. It's not--it's not stupid."

"Oh."

Harry stayed where he was, and Clara watched him through heavy eyelids. She looked worse for wear. Harry punched the wall. Clara winced.

"Why...why didn't you tell me sooner? Why did it have to come to this?"

"Our friendship! I didn't want to..." Tears pooled in her eyes and she looked away, rubbing at them swiftly. Harry sat down on a chair, and pulled it to her bedside. Neither of them spoke, until Clara started going over old memories.

Harry sat silent for once, content with listening, and allowed Clara to share moments from her point of view, until she fell asleep.

When the doctor returned, he said nothing of the tear-stains on Harry's cheeks.

*

Day 1

Sunlight poured into the windows as Harry laid on the bed. He glared at it. Clara made him go home for the night, pleading with him to lay on a bed instead of a chair. He didn't sleep, but he stayed in Clara's room.

It smelt of books and makeup and something sweet that just smelt like her. He spent the whole night thinking about her.

He was in love with her. It wasn't as scary as he thought it would be, admitting it.

It wasn't as scary as knowing that she was a dead woman walking.

He pulled himself out of bed, his rumpled clothes still on--because he didn't want to do anything--and he made his way to the hospital.

-

"I'm dying today."

Harry was sitting on his spot next to Clara(earlier he had just barged right into the room and into her cot/bed, pulling her close. She didn't complain.) and allowed himself to play idly with Clara's hair. His grip tightened lightly.

"You don't know that."

Except, oh, of course she did, and when she looked at Harry he understood.

"No, Clara--no. That's not...no. Please, no, Clara, you have a couple of weeks, you have--"

"Weeks of what, pain? Pain and suffering? I don't want to go like that, Harry. I'm scared. I don't want it to hurt anymore."

Harry's throat closed, and his eyes burned. He willed his body to shut down, but it wouldn't. He knew she was right. He didn't want her to be in pain, either.

"Clara..."

"No, Harry. It's okay. It was happening eventually. I've--I've said everything I had to. I'm okay now. I'll be okay and so will you."

Harry felt the tears behind his eyes, threatening to make their way out, and he bit down on his lip. "You can't, I won't allow it."

Clara grinned up at him, and for a moment, she was the girl from a month ago, healthy and sneaky. "When have I ever listening to an asshole like you?"

Harry slammed his eyes shut, feeling tears prickle against his eyelashes. Clara pulled him down, down, down until he was lying next to her. With his face hidden into Clara's neck, he let the watery gasp escape his lips.

"I love you, too." He tried, one last futile attempt to get Clara to stay, as if it were enough to cure her. As if it were enough to make everything okay.

"I figured, I'm pretty irresistible once you get to know me." Her words were light, but her tone wasn't, and Harry felt another wave of tears hit him.

"You can't leave." Harry was proud. Harry wasn't one who asked. Harry didn't beg.

Except, he did, for Clara.

"Oh hush, it won't be so bad. You're going to finish college, get a kick ass job, marry a sexy ass lady, and have a couple of toddlers. You're going to be a great dad, you know? Just watch out before that point, because I'm not around to make sure you take care of yourself, you slob."

Harry let out a chuckle that sounded more like a sob, and his fingers dug into Clara's shirt.

"Come on, now. You didn't sleep last night, did you? Let's get some rest. Close your eyes, Harry, sleep with me." Clara was working her fingers through Harry's blonde locks, slowly, and Harry pulled his head back. He stared at Clara for a few moments, memorizing, before pressing his lips against hers. Clara's eyelashes fluttered shut, and Harry could feel them tickle his cheek. He kept it sweet and chaste, but he made sure to put every ounce of himself into it. When he pulled back, Clara looked pained.

"You're right, maybe I should have told you sooner." She tried to joke, but Harry could see the sadness in her gaze. He moved slightly, to let her sit up and grab the morphine pills. Her hands trembled.

Harry set his jaw, and held his tears. He did more crying these past few days than he did his entire life. Right now, he needed to be there for Clara. Clara, who was going to die. Soon. Today. Clara, his best friend, and the girl he's loved for a while. Clara, who grew up with him and collected worms with him when they were 7.

He helped her bring the glass of water to her lips, and swallow the pills down. She swallowed a piece of his heart, too. She kissed his eyelids closed, and he pulled het back against his chest.

"I love you." Clara murmured, sleep taking over. Her fingers clutched at Harry, and he could tell she was terrified. He arranged them so that they were on their side, and Clara was pressed into his chest. He nodded, and closed his eyes as well, falling asleep with Clara and the taste of bitter tears on his tongue.

-

Harry awoke, rested, but broken.

Clara was curled into him, soundly, ghost of a smile on her face. Harry closed his eyes once more, and for a moment, he let himself believe that he and Clara were on his bed, curled together on a rainy morning, ready to sleep the day away.

"Clara," He whispered, voice cracking. The tears he held in for Clara pouring out of his eyes. "Clara, it's time to wake up."

Except, she didn't.

*

This is the story of a girl. It might be a little overplayed, and a little familiar, but it's was hers. It was her story.

Harry takes the time to tell anyone who'll listen about the girl who entered his life without a warning and made a beautiful mess, and how he fell in love with her. How she had to leave, and how she took a piece of him with her.