No. It won’t. Nothing will be okay. This changes everything.

The realization of losing my hair sets in.

No more eyelashes.

No more eyebrows.

No more going out in public.

No more Parker.

No more Parker?

My heart begins beating rapidly, and my breathing becomes sharper.

This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening

Fuck. This is happening.

With a shaking step, I lean off the wall and examine the rest of my body. All my hair below my abdomen? Gone. The hair on my arms? There, but barely. The hair on my face?

My head?

Gone. It’s all gone.

Panic sets in, and I let out a muffled cry. My throat is tight and I swallow lump after lump, refusing to let them form.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Fuck. I’m crying.

The tears start falling, and no matter how fast I try to wipe them away, more fall in their place. With every fallen tear, I get more and more frustrated. I’m frustrated at myself for crying, at this f**king cancer for taking not only all my hair, but now Parker too.

A scream escapes my chapped lips and I bang my palm against the wall behind me. I’m pissed at myself for getting so upset, but everything I thought I had is now gone.

Lost.

My hair.

My freedom.

Parker.

Everything.

I can’t go out in public without eyelashes.

Without f**king eyebrows! My eyebrows, for f**k’s sake!

“Taking the hair on my head wasn’t enough! You’re ruining me!” I shout at the top of my lungs, my voice going hoarse on the last word. Yanking the towel off the hanger, I knock over the potted plant on the small table next to the bathtub and it crashes to the floor.

Before I can let out a breath, I hear loud footsteps getting closer to the door. I wrap the towel securely around me.

“Aundrea!” Genna yells from outside the door, followed by my parents.

The shower is still running, so I reach in and shut it off. Finding my voice, I yell back, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I hear hushed voices speaking just outside the door. I don’t want to deal with anyone right now. I just want to crawl in bed and hide until I’m cured.

“Are you okay?” she asks again.

“Just give me a minute. Please,” I say, annoyed.

I can’t look in the mirror again. I can’t look at myself. Turning off the light, I stand in the dark and count to five before making sure my towel is tightly wrapped around me, and open the door.

The door isn’t even all the way open when I hear a sharp intake of breath and hands slapping skin. My eyes meet Genna’s. Her mouth is a perfect O until her hands cover it. One on top of the other. Jason is next to her. He doesn’t say anything. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing. He’s looking right at me. Not at me, but at the spot that once housed my full eyebrows and thick eyelashes.

My mom begins to cry right away, leaning into my dad who doesn’t say anything, but I can see the pain of seeing me like this in his eyes.

“Dre,” Genna says softly.

Jason clears his throat. “Umm, I’m going to give you all a minute.” I watch as he walks away from us, leaving me standing in the doorway of the bathroom with my family.

He can’t even stand to look at me.

My heartbeat begins to slow and I grab hold of the door jam for support. My head feels light and my legs start to tremble.

“It’s going to be okay, Aundrea,” Genna whispers.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she asks cautiously. I can tell she doesn’t want to say or do anything to upset me.

I can feel the stinging in my eyes as tears begin to form, and I will myself to calm down before one escapes.

“Say that. Just don’t.”

I move past them in fear that I’ll break down any second. I can feel my hands shaking at my sides, so I clasp them together in front of me as I walk into my bedroom.

Genna tells my parents to give us a moment, and my dad takes my mom into the other room.

“I … I just …”

“You just what?” I snap at her.

“I promise everything will be okay. Okay?” she says walking into my room.

“Stop saying that! My God, please. Will you just stop saying everything will be okay?” I’m irritated. I hate hearing those damn words. For the last four years, that is all I’ve heard, and I’m sick of it!

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” I turn to face her, holding up a hand to stop her from continuing. “Don’t even say you’re sorry.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something else! For once! Can someone just look me in the eye and not tell me everything will be okay, or that they’re sorry? I am not okay! This is not okay!” I yell, causing her to flinch at my words.

I’ve never yelled at my sister. Not even growing up. I've never had a need to. People don’t believe me when I tell them we don't fight, but it’s the truth. She’s my best friend and we’ve always been open and honest with one another. We’ve never had a reason to fight.

I turn away and walk toward my dresser to put on something other than the damp towel clinging to my body.