Tear In My Heart: Ashton Irwin AU

.2

Hospitals are all the same. Every last one that I had ever step foot in, which was many, were all identical.

They are all sterile, white, and reek of wallowers and sorrowers.

Sorrowers being the people who come to a hospital to try to give some kind of escape to patients by expressing their regret for their condition. People aren't ever actually sorry about someone else's misfortune, there is nothing to be regretful of. They are merely embarrassed and uncomfortable with the conversation and use that as a way to try to sympathize with you. Sorrowers are more invigorating than helpful, I find.

Wallowers are what I like to call medicated misfits. The people you see roaming the halls with empty expressions. Some have an IV bag trailing behind them, others cart themselves around in wheelchairs. They all wore an exhausted mask with colorless skin and dark under eyes, all with the same eery frown.

I call them this because I was one.

When I was first diagnosed, I had repeated chest fluttering and often found myself choking for air. My parents thought it would be a dandy idea to lock me in a hospital full of wallowers. I was left to wonder how many days had passed since the last time I ate real food.

I was once the one who sported a hospital gown for four months and underwent multiple analysis over my mental and physical state. Ironic that I'd never been so drained of life. This aside, I couldn't entirely resent my family because stumbling upon your suffocating child on the way to get a bag of doritos is rather traumatizing.

Luke had a blank face painted across his features, his hands folded in his lap. He was patiently waiting until my name was called into the office. All he wanted was to get the appointment out of the way so I would be 'on the road to recovery'.

He made it seem like it was an actual trip and not a series of days hooked up to machines and staring into fluorescent lamps. Maybe it made it more sustainable for him, but every time he mentioned it I wanted to crawl in a hole.

I happily agreed once I heard my name called back in a monotonous voice: Hannah Hemmings. My parents hadn't been expecting me, which was what I think gave me my name.

It had only been weeks after she had Luke. There was no way she could be pregnant again. The most logical answer was a false positive, yet here I am. If that isn't irony, I'm not sure what is.

Even more reason for me to believe that I was adopted.

As of then, I was seventeen, had a joke of a name, and inevitably, a joke of a life. By a joke of a name, I mean that my full name is Hannah Emma Hemmings, making my initials "HEH". The irony is on a roll.

Even in my family, I was the outcast. I knew they loved me and cared for me, I never doubted that, but I was different. Aside from my physical features, I just wasn't anything like them. The majority of them were extroverted. The most painful thing was the look of disappointment and pity my family wore during social events when I awkwardly sat alone, picking at my nails.

The doctor asked me useless questions and listened to my heart closely. The examination seemed to last forever, with moments of his eyes just sweeping over me. All of a sudden, his hand came up to my chin too seductively, tilting it up so my eyes would meet his gaze.

My eyes went wide as my jaw slackened. I could make out Luke's standing figure fuming in my peripheral vision.

Then, his hands were gone and Luke was by my side like a wolf guarding meat. The doctor waved us off, "I wasn't trying anything, it was a mere test," he grumbled.

I quirked an eyebrow at him in surprise. A test? Was that even legal? A test of what?

My brother scoffed, "Mr., I don't mean to be rude, but my sister felt uncomfortable when you put you fucking hands on her." His voice was a low growl, like a cheetah threatening to pounce.

He wasn't wrong, but I found myself gazing at my shoes like a scolded child would. Luke loomed over me, holding a stance that would let him act quickly.

"Nonsense," he cried merrily. "I have to go print up your report, I will be back soon." He turned and left the room, but returned regretfully quickly. I glanced up at Luke hopelessly, wishing that the report would call for the end of the appointment.

The doctor's face was grim and my heart skipped a beat. I didn't even have time for my mind to race.

He handed the report to Luke who's eyebrows shot up, "What's this," he inquired.

"Basically, Hannah doesn't properly distribute proteins throughout her body. This is what causes most of her dizziness, along with her low blood sugar. If you look here, it shows that the left heart chamber isn't fully connected to the artery. I expect this has recently broken since the growth rate is fast. If it had been long term, she most likely would have already bled out into her chest cavity. "

My face fell, "You're saying I have a hole in my heart?"

"Yes, paired with your severe anxiety, it could be fatal. When you're nervous, your blood pumps faster and harder, which will not only widen the hole, but push more blood into your chest cavity. This is extremely critical and you will need surgery as soon as possible. Until then, don't engage in any activities that would be emotionally or physically draining," he ordered.

Piece of cake, I thought.