Devon's wish to leave the house soon came true, but not for a good reason. She went in for yet another checkup at the hospital, when they found that I was starting to spread again. She began to get sicker and sicker. She was sent back to the hospital and went through all the tests again. They found that I was becoming more and more vicious. They said they didn't know if they could stop me.
Her parents got worried. They had always thought Devon would get better; they never knew I could take over. But I was, and they were terrified.
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Devon began radiation treatments which I fought hard through. I couldn't let them get me, not when I had already come this far. I had to keep hold of this child, I had to do my job.
But Devon was fighting me back just as hard. She would muster up all her strength each and every day just to get up and go through all the crap that the doctors and nurses put her through. I almost wanted to let her win sometimes. It was hard to keep up with her.
But I couldn't allow myself to lose to this pathetic eleven year old girl. Instead I kept pushing harder to win, laughing in her face when she lost battle after battle with me.
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Soon after coming back to the hospital, Devon began seeing Tate again. He was always there giving her words of encouragement, and helping her. Sometimes he was so much worse than her, but still trying to help her. She wondered how a person could be so wonderful. He was only six years old, yet held so much wisdom.
He was by her side whenever he could be. Both of their conditions were getting worse, so they spent less time talking and more time just enjoying each other's presence. They would watch Disney movies into the night, laying side by side, hand in hand.
It was hard for them to leave each other, they were becoming closer and closer as the days went by and their conditions worsened. It became clear to the doctors that it was going to take a miracle to heal both of them.
Their parents became close friends. They became close in the fact that they both knew their child had a very slim chance of surviving me. I was a horrible disease, eating away at the cheerful children they loved. They hated me. But it somehow felt nice to be hated so. It meant I was winning.
