My face is reflected in the mirror. I'm dressed up, my hair is done, my makeup is thick, but why shouldn't it be? If this is my last hour, why shouldn't I look my very best? I'm fumbling with the contacts, putting them in, peeling them off, over and over. I can't stop thinking of how pointless it is. To be working so hard at putting those contacts in when I'm going to die anyways. Everything has to look as normal as possible, I remind myself, for my friends, for my sanity. I've had this deep misery in my gut since that day, when I found out. But also, I feel accepting of it; a sort of satisfied accepting. My mother comes in. She's so calm about all of it, so unfazed. She never even blinked when the nurse told us. I don't know what to think about that, only I know it makes me even more certain about dying. It would be better that way, for everyone. Wouldn't they be sorry for the way they treated me, when I was gone. I just didn't want to leave you.

Mother asks me how I'm doing, says that I'm taking a long time. It doesn't matter, I think, the party is so large that nobody will notice me gone. The music's rhythm is pumping through the floor and the sound of a glass shatters somewhere downstairs. Aloud, "I'm having trouble with the contacts. Can you help me?" Then you come in. You're looking for me, you say you can help, but mother gives you a stern look and you just sit on the bed and watch. You look the same as you always do, you didn't dress up, but you don't know. That light blue T-shirt, pilly and worn, those horrible little boy jeans, but you still seem so handsome to me. You've always been so handsome to me.

We manage to get the contacts in, and mother rushes off to scold someone, probably. You're smiling, and gazing up through dark-rimmed glasses. Those eyes, so blue, like ice, like a clear sky on a sunny day; I could never help falling into those eyes. I sit down perpendicular to you, look down at my hands. You don't know, so to you I'm just acting funny. That's okay, you'll understand it soon enough. "Thanks for always being such a good friend." I look up, into those eyes, and lean in. Our lips touch, warm and sweet, just like I'd always imagined. I see that you feel the same way about me, it shows on your face, but how ironically sad that is. We had so much time to be together, but now it's too late.