"So..." he said, as the car veered around to the left.

I closed my eyes, grateful for the seatbelt and just clung on for dear life.

"Do you have a license?" I interrupted.

"Sure," he grinned at me, his eyes nowhere near the road ahead. "I managed it with the lowest pass rate in my driving school..."

"I suppose that would explain why you drive like a maniac. I can't believe your father lets you anywhere near his car. Hasn't he ever driven with you?"

"This is all mine," he protested. "Why would my parents drive with me when they have their own car?"

"Fine, Mister car-owner,' I gripped the door as the tyres squealed around the next right- hand bend. "But maybe learn to handle it a bit better? Any girl you take on a date will have fled before the end of the first block."

"Me - take a girl on a date? There's not much chance of that." He gave a flippant sort of grin that didn't fool me for a moment.

"Nobody is going to fall for me - Not that I want them to."

"That's just crazy - why would you say that?"

"Never mind..." He took another sharp turn, this time clipping the side of a blue bin. "What about you? Any boyfriends, dates I bet they're lining up?"

I should have laughed - I think that's what he was expecting.

"Nothing," I said as the darkness closed in. "I'm Phoebe Wellesley and I'm going to be single for the rest of my life - or at least the short time I've got left to enjoy..."

"Wow - that's heavy," he said.

The silence was almost deafening. I wanted to yell at him to stop the car let me jump out, escape.

"I'm Daniel - Daniel Waters, it's nice to meet you, Phoebe," he was looking at me again, the road ignored.

"Is it?"

"Sure it is," the grin was back. "But you sound as if you've never had a date. Not even one?"

"It's just that I don't want to ruin anyone else's life by getting emotionally entangled. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving them in pieces, breaking their hearts when I have to leave. I've already ruined my parent's lives. I mean, anything could happen tomorrow," I held up my blood soaked-hand as evidence. "I don't want to have to worry about being someone else's support when I can't even look after myself."

"Now who's crazy? Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm dying..." Each time I said the words it grew a little easier to say. They were the truth after all. Everything else, every wish, every desire was nothing but an illusion.

"What the..." he slammed on the brakes swinging the car into the kerb, ignoring the blast of horns from behind. "What did you just say?" his eyes were wide with disbelief and shock.

"I'm going to die," I said more clearly.

"Why - what's wrong - Cancer?" his voice was shaking.

This was the easy bit; the mechanics - how my life ran, governed by the rules of disease. "I'm suffering from a rare genetic condition called Epidermolysis bullosa. I do everything like a normal person, but I'm not normal. It hurts to walk, to do things with my hands as the skin under these bandages is covered with blisters. And people suffering from this condition often die in childhood or early adulthood. Only one man lived to be forty. The average lifespan is thirty for us. So the gist of it is, I'm moving a step towards death, every day."

For a long moment, his eyes bore into mine then dropped to linger on my cheeks.

He raised a finger as if to stroke.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" he asked. There was no pity, just curiosity in his question which made it a whole lot easier to deal with.

I had never had such a weird request ever.

Stupefied, I simply bobbed my head.

He put his fingers on an almost inconspicuous scar running diagonally across my skin, tracing its edges. His eyes were glowing and the way his fingers touched me, created a ripple in my stomach. He seemed to have found something unique, something special.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, his hands gently moving over my cheeks. "Why do such things happen to beautiful people?"

"When you go to a garden, don't you pick the most beautiful flower?" I smiled sadly. "It'll dry ultimately. The not so pretty ones are spared."

His eyes were moist and he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Sharp pain shot through my palm, reminding me of the broken skin.

"We should be going," Daniel said catching the wince of pain. He immediately started the car.

This time he drove steadily, both of us silent until we reached the clinic.

"You're coming in with me," I said not giving him a choice. I herded him to reception and showed them my emergency card.

"Now that's what I call service," Daniel whispered, as we were ushered straight into the Doctor's room. "I'm usually stuck waiting for at least an hour!"

Edited by lindajonesAuthor

A/N What do you think about Phoebe's personality? Let me know.

What could have been Daniel's feelings? Do you like the story so far?

Is Phoebe too pessimistic? Or is that what life is?

What do you think?
Your feedback means the world to me.

Thanks for supporting me throughout this book for the Wattys!