Chapter 52: Chapter 52

On Christmas morning, I get out of bed at four in the afternoon. Mark is currently sound asleep, but I have a terrible want to shake him awake. I have a soft spot in my heart for the holiday of Christmas. I just adore getting up early, going on a walk in the dark while the tree is lighted up, and taking in everything that comes with the experience. I can't even begin to express how much I adore Christmas.

"Mark." I drag out. He appears to be awake. "The Christmas holiday has here." I respond by saying that I am getting ready to shove him off the bed once more. "Have yourself a merry little Christmas!" I say to him while I'm helping him get off the bed.

"Why did you do that?" Mark asks, groaning and rising up. The Christmas pajamas he was wearing had finally been shown to me. I burst out laughing until I am crying with laughter. "What?" Mark asks snappy.

"Your PJs." I will say when I am not under the influence of alcohol or drugs. He casts his gaze downward and lets out a muffled chuckle. I am making an effort to bring myself under control so that I can truly speak. "I hope you have a wonderful Christmas." I say again, getting up and giving Mark a hug.

Even though he is taken aback, he gives a quick hug in return. "I hope you have a wonderful Christmas."

"Is it possible for us to go take a look at the tree right now?" I inquire like a young kid. Mark snorts as he walks out the door, but he continues on his path.

"I'd like to get some more sleep, is that possible?" Mark wants to know when we are going to make ourselves comfortable on the couch.

"If you want to be pushed once more, go ahead and give it a try." When I say this, everyone should be staring at the tree. You awoke me at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. Mark mumbles something while scratching his eyes.

I can't help but smile as I glance out the window while I laugh. "Get with the program!" I say pulling him up.

"In what direction are we headed right now?" Mark inquires while still in a groggy state.

"Outside!" I step through the door and quickly put my shoes on before opening the door. Mark accomplishes the same thing, albeit far more slowly. As I take a seat on the front steps, I breathe in the crisp winter air.

"What is it about Christmas that bothers you so much?" The question comes from Mark, who has just taken a seat next to me. I am acutely aware of his gaze upon me.

"Christmas is the time of year when I have the happiest recollections." I take a couple more deep breaths and then I close my eyes. "When that happened, I had no choice but to pass the time at a medical facility. Another occasion, on the evening before Christmas. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, and the list goes on and on." I have my attention drawn to Mark. "The nurses took extraordinary measures to ensure that I experienced a speedy recovery. They were kind enough to provide me with paints, canvases, and brushes, and even posed for photographs." As a tear rolls down my face, I can't help but have a chuckle to myself. "I did not try to stop them from painting me. Despite the fact that they did a terrible job, I felt better after seeing the results. When I was in that age range, one of my career goals was to become a nurse. I had previously informed them of that. They rejected our application and stated that we needed an artist. It would be a shame to see your talents go to waste by having a career in nursing. I hope to one day have a career in the arts, but I also want to be able to assist others. I am looking forward to interacting with young people. I'd like to devote my time and energy to an endeavor of significant importance." When I turn to face him, though, I am so overcome with emotion that I can hardly see him. "Being an educator is my ultimate career objective." That has been something I've mulled over for the better part of the last five years, but this is the first time I've actually voiced my thoughts on it.

Then you should consider a career in education. Mark says, shocking me. "If I had to guess, I'd say that you'd like to work in the art education field." Mark inquires while being aware that he already possesses the information. I nod. The advice is repeated several times: "Then become an instructor."

"What if it turns out that I'm not going to make it?" I ask.

There is a diverse range of artistic programming available. Mark starts.

"I can't agree with that." I was able to put an end to that. "Cancer." At this point, the tears are falling freely.

"The treatment that you are currently undergoing is one of the most effective available." Mark wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in closer to him.

"I see what you mean, but the truth is that nothing is ever one hundred percent. What if I put all of my time and work into education, and then I don't even get the credit for it?" I am asking because I cannot control the tears that are falling.

Mark reaches out and holds my face, forcing me to look in his direction. "Are you interested in pursuing a career as an art instructor?" He asks.

"You're right, but..." He bypasses me in the conversation.

He questions whether or not you are interested in assisting other people.

"Yes." This time, he can refrain from interrupting me in the middle of my sentence.

"That should settle it for you. You will enroll in an art school, become a teacher in a school, and assist people in need, just like you promised to do the day before your first day of chemotherapy treatment." It sounds like he's letting go of his hold on me.

"How?" I inquire while avoiding his piercing blue eyes in an effort to avoid being stared down by them.

"With your company." "with your company." He says. I decide to look directly into his icy blue eyes and my eyes begin to widen as I do so.

I respond with a simple, "What?"

"I was aware of the argument you had with my father," the person said. He says.

"No, Mark, it was nothing, it was-" "No, Mark, that was nothing, it was-" Once more, he does not allow me to finish. I am completely unable to explain why I feel the need to defend John.

"Stop. For a very long time, I've been aware of the fact that my father is not a particularly admirable person. I was simply unable to muster the courage to confront him because of my anxiety. As you reprimanded him, you demonstrated to me that I ought not to be doing what I was doing." I get a slight tremor in my lip, and I grin weakly in response to his comment.

"Thank you."

"Okay, what are the steps that we need to take to get you the company?" He asks while bringing me in for a hug and laying his chin on my head as we embrace. He is attempting to make everyone laugh and lighten up the atmosphere. "Well, to tell you the truth, I'm already familiar with the process." I say. He steps back, and I give him an embarrassed smile in response. He doesn't say anything else other than to laugh and then offer me another embrace.

"Let's get inside, it's getting colder, and we can't have you getting sick because we can't have that," the speaker said. As Mark walks in the door, he makes a statement. "There is a business that needs our attention right now." He smirks.

This only makes me adore him even more.