bad expectations | jfg

61

Jack's POV.

I think I'd describe my fucked up brain like a rubber band.

A rubber band being stretched at and pulled at and tested and poked when it's all the way expanded. As if everyone around it just wants it to fucking snap. All you need to break a rubber band is something sharp, and when it finally works, it then stings and hurts whoever's around it.

My best friend kissing the love of my life was the scissors.

Being good for Taylor has been my goal for over two years, and it finally started to fucking fall into place. I just don't get it, I feel like every time I do something that's good, it has to turn bad, as if I have to be fucked over for the rest of my life. I mean, if it wasn't like that, I probably wouldn't be sitting on this pointless hospital bed, staring at my bloody knuckles.

They threw me in here because I was yelling at all the fucking doctors. They're all assholes. They're treating me like I'm a criminal when it's all Jack Johnson's fucking fault.

I didn't mean to break his arm, I just wanted to hurt him. He deserves it. I wish I could yell at Taylor and I hate myself for that. She kissed him and it makes me insane. Thinking about them, wherever the fuck they were, both of them leaning it, and kissing each other. Fuck.

I hit my aching fist on the hard plastic part of the bed and bite my lip when pain shoots through my wrist. It hurts, but I deserve it. I'm a fuck up, he's a fuck up, and she's a fuck up. I'm just the only one of out of the three that consecutively fucks up.

When the creak of the door goes through my head, I snap my eyes over, expecting to see one of those douche doctors, getting an idea to slam his head into the tile floor.

My shoulders fall as I see the girl from yesterday. She's still short, still hairless, still wearing the same jeans. I quickly tense my shoulders back up, the reasons why I'm steaming circulating around my head again.

"What do you want?" My voice is quiet but I say it through my teeth, I don't need to be around kids right now. They're all so annoying.

The little dimple in her left cheek indents when the sides of her mouth turn upward, not enough to show of her toothlessness, but enough to make me feel worse than shit.

"How come you're sad?" She asks. Her voice is high and if I'm not going insane, which I'm pretty sure I am, I think I hear a small accent. I don't know if it's English or something, but I talk again just to see.

"How come you're here?" I raise an eyebrow and still feel my anger bubbling under the surface. I don't want to yell at this kid, she obviously has cancer and I don't need to feel worse than I already do because right now, I can't control my moods.

She lets a small laugh escape from her thin lips before she walks her short legs in and closes the door behind her.

"Hey, listen, you should probably-"

"I heard a bang and decided I'd pay you a visit. You seem alone." Her thin voice is thick with a English accent. My eyebrows raise and I immediately become fond of the sound, me and Johnson always talk like her when we joke around. Johnson. The thought of him makes my anger heat back up.

"You really should go, I-" I cut myself off and squeeze the plastic part of the side of the bed. They told me to lay down but I've been sitting up and having my feet over the side, hospitals creep me out. "You should go find your parents or, or something." I blink and swallow hard.

Her lips move to the side and her thin eyebrows raise as well, "my parents aren't here."

"Yeah, well no shit, kid. You should go find them."