A little story and some important news to those of you who read my blog

So here's a little story. Read this first.
This is from a teenage girl's point of view.


Rock music blaring from my speakers. I'm kicking ass at Tony Hawk's Underground 2. I'm on fire tonight, pulling off tricks I never could do. I pause it when I hear and feel my phone vibrating. I look at the caller ID, it's my Step-Dad. I debate ignoring it, just for a little while. Until I finish this level. I decided against it, when I see the time. He's probably really bored sitting, at his house alone recovering from the surgery. Guilt tugs at my heart for the man that is my father in every way... Except biologically and legally and I've only know him for 6 years.
"Hey!"
"Can you keep a secret?"
I'm thinking, Oh my God. Oh my God. What happened? Should I say yes? What if it's bad and I have to tell someone?
"Yeah."
"Can you keep a secret?" He enunciates it this time. It's big and either really good news or... horrible news.
"Yes, what's up. Who am I supposed to keep this secret from?"
"I have cancer."
My heart stops. I can't breathe. I almost drop the phone, then squeeze it so hard I'm surprised I didn't break it. No, no, no, NO! This can't be happening. It's April 1st and I forgot. I'm dreaming. He's lying because he's turned into the evil step parent. Something that means he isn't telling the truth.
"I..." I don't finish the sentence. I don't know what to say. What can I say? "Gee, I sorry that sucks. Does this mean I get the 65' Impala and the MINI we customized?" Obviously no.
"How long..." do you have? I can't say it. I take a deep breath, holding back the tears that I so desperately want to fall. "have you known?"
"I just hung up with the doctor when I called you."
Wait, Mom's at work. At her soon-to-be house taking care her handicapped sister, my aunt, Molly. If he called me right after he heard the news, that means...
"Does Mom know?" I know the answer before he tells me. No, she doesn't. That's who, along with many people, I can't tell.
"No. You're mother has been taking Xanax for stress."
Lucky her, I'd give my right hand for a few bars right now.
"Taking care of Molly has been hard on her."
It would be hard on anyone taking care of their 59 year-old sister, who has down-syndrome and Alzheimer's. Who shouldn't be alive at that age. Not that I want my aunt to die, but no one expected her to live this long. To outlive her mother, who my mother also had to take care of. God forbid one of her other six sisters help. I don't call them The Seven Deadly Sisters for nothing, each has their own sin that overrides the rest, but they share their selfishness. My mother, sloth. Understandable of course, with all she has to deal with who wouldn't spend their free time just doing nothing?
Linda, pride, because unfortunately stupidity isn't a sin. Ever watch That 70's Show? Know who Midge is? That's Linda, just add no sugar, no spice, and everything bitchy,
Anita is lust, which made her laugh and say, "Thank god. I got the best one," when I told her.
Winnie is anger/wrath. She is the only sister that helps with Molly. By help I mean spoiling her and dressing her like a fucking barbie doll, making Mom work overtime cause she has a 9 PM appointment with her dermatologist. As if.
Jessica is envy. She's the youngest, being the baby in the family she wants what her older sisters want.
Sandra is gluttony. If you see her, you'll see why.
And Molly. Molly is greed. She just has to have every one's cokes. And seats. God love that girl.
I remember that I'm on the phone with Dadto. Get it? Dad and to. Wrong spelling, I know, but "Dadtwo" is too obvious for my liking.
"I mean what am I supposed to do Amelia? Just add more stress. I've been trying to get Sam on the phone, but he's won't take my calls. And Melanie keeps calling me, she knows something is up."
Anger overrode the sadness at Dadto's mention of my step-brother. That good for nothing son of crack-headed whore only talks to his father when he wants money for a new tattoo, to beg for the 65', or to see how I'm doing. What he really wants to know is if I'm dating anyone. He's always hitting on me or saying things to me that his demented mind thinks will help him get into my pants. Since he found out I was a virgin he's been relentless in his pursuit. He's seen Cruel Intentions one too may times.
"Do you want me to call him?" I all but growled. He takes my calls. but not his own father's. Kevin has three kids and I'm the only one that gives a damn about him, calls him, or even sees him and I'm not even his fucking daughter. I shouldn't include Bethany in that statement. She's only six and her bitch mother moved to New York so Kevin never gets to see her. But Sam and Sonya? Is it really that hard for them to pick the fucking phone and call every once and awhile to sees what's up. I doubt they even knew or cared he had surgery less than a week ago.
"Try and get a hold of him and tell him to call me."
"I will."
We talk for 20 minutes or so. He tells me he found out today he won the lawsuit. He got that one jar of peanut butter than had every number matching to the ones infected will Salmonella and bam! He's gets 200,000+ dollars. He says he wants to by me the MINI we customized. A day that should have been happy and full of celebration was turned to one of grief and sadness.
I finally ask the question I'm not sure I want to know the answer to.
"Is it... life-threatening?" My voice broke.
"Not really the way it is now, but there's a chance it is. And as you know I've been fighting cancer for nine years..."
Yes, I did know, but that was in his stomach. From breathing in asbestos while working on a house. It was bad, his esophagus and part of his stomach had to be rebuilt or replaced or something. I feel like shit when I realize I don't remember.
"I don't know, I guess it spread."
We talked some more and his voice starts to break, so I know he's going to hang up soon.
"All right, well I love you and try and get your brother on the phone."
"I love you, too."
He hangs up, I drop the phone, and I do something I rarely ever do. I cried. I fell on my bed and hugged my knees to my chest. Sobs shook my body and I cried and cried until I couldn't breathe. Then, I did something I haven't done since I was six...
I prayed. I doubt God is listening or even cares, but just in case I prayed anyway. Not for me, never for me.

It doesn't fucking help that I'm was already in a PMS fueled conniption fit worthy Artemis herself (A Dark-Hunter joke) because the dog at my brownies.
I had sent Ashley an Instant Message as soon as I heard to word "cancer". Of course she's the first person I'd tell. Not only is she my best friend, but she's lives 1000 miles away in Pennsylvania so it doesn't matter if she knows. Who will she tell that matters?
I'm thankful I finally learned how to type without looking at the keyboard, my vision was so blurry I couldn't make out the letters and words if I tried.
Almost, instantly she makes me feel better. One sentence that if it wasn't the right moment, I wouldn't even notice could be a joke, let alone be offended or mad she could joke at a time like this. I guess it was the right moment because I laughed/sobbed and thanked her.
Gods bless this girl, I don't know how she wormed her way to the top of my friends and earned the title of "best". Especially since I've never met the girl and other than maybe five phone conversations, we only talk via AIM and text, but I'm lucky she did. I don't know what I'd do without her.
I call Brittany, because I feel like hearing my friend's voice would make me feel better. It doesn't, she asks questions I don't want to answer, and then tells me to hold on while she repeats everything I just told her to her boyfriend and baby-daddy. I'm like, "Jesus fucking Christ Brittany, thanks! Can't you wait to tell you boyfriend everything I just said until after I'm done sobbing and hyperventilating? Do you have to me to 'hold on' right now?", but of course, I don't say that. I say, "I'll call you tomorrow" and hang up. I'm not mad at her, not really. It's not her fault she doesn't know how to deal with me when I'm crying. I've known the girl my entire life and she's only seen my cry once, this past Sunday as a matter of fact, and tear up maybe twice. So of course I don't blame her for not knowing how to make me feel better. To her, and everyone else down here, I'm emotionless. I laugh at jokes because I'm supposed to, not because I'm amused. I cry at the funerals of my family members because I'm supposed to, not because I'm sad. As far as they know I'm a rock, nothing can get me down. It's not their fault they don't know me. People can only know you if you let them, and I don't. I never have. Ashley knows me best. Dad, Mom, and Dad2, know a little more than my friends, but not much.
I continue to talk to Ashley and she continues to make me laugh and feel better without acting as if I'm not an emotional wreck. Ashley knows how to segue into a different topic without it seeming like she's ignoring my pain. So we talk about her boyfriend, Matt, and this insanely cute, almost too cute, moment they had today. I even had a witty and sarcastic comment to say, I'm getting better.




End of story, sorry if it bored you. If you're thinking somethign along to lines of, "Why did she make me read that? It was pointless, let's hope this news is good and involves a review or interview." then I'm about to make you feel guilty.


Now, in a perfect world this would be the part where I say that's an excerpt from my book that I just found out was being published and I celebrate and you guys leave a bunch comments saying congrats... But since when is this world perfect? See that little "story", isn't fiction at all. It's what happened to me about 2 hours ago. This time, no names were changed, it was all real.
The news is that I'm going on another hiatus for obvious reasons. To the authors who sent me their books to review, I'm sorry but there will be a delay, maybe indefinitely. I doubt I'll be reading much. Kevin wants to try and get Sam to come down to the apartment so we can talk about arrangements, just in case. While I was writing this he called again to say, he told Mom and I think he decided to give me the 65' Imapala, because he was talking about Sam not being responsible enough for him to trust with it. It's about damn time he realized Sam would either tear it up beyond repair, ruin it by "pimping" it out, or selling it.
After the whole Shauna-trying to choke/kill/exercise-me fiasco on Sunday, I just can't handle this. Not right now. So I'm going to go and read Acheron (by Sherrilyn Kenyon) again and cry some more because of the book and the news, eat a lot of ice cream to replace my dark chocolate fudge brownies, and debate whether or not I should find some Xanax Bars. Maybe even play some video games...