How The Sun Rises

3: Bruises and Seizures

The second I stepped inside his hospital room I felt like I couldn't breathe. His leg wass propped up onto a pillow, wrapped in gauze. He wasn't wearing a shirt, revealing the bandage wrapped around his torso. His eye was marked by a yellow bruise, along with his arms, and on the back of his hand was an ugly scar that showed very recent stitches.

"J-Jackson." I said.

He was looking out the window, staring at the line of trees outside the hospital room, and picking at a hole in the sheets of his bed. When I said his name, however, he turned his head to look at me. He looked as expressionless as ever, as if everything was completely normal. As if he hadn't just spent the last three months in  and out of the hospital.

"Are y-you okay?" I asked as I took a step closer to him.

He went still and his face contorted just the slightest bit. "Am I okay?"

I regretted the question instantly. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to-"

He sighed, leaning back against an arrangement of pillows as he crossed his arms. "Yeah, I know."

I deflated as his jaw locked and he turned to look outside the window once more. My eyes burned and I was tempted to say something. Anything that might better the situation. One thought came to mind. It was a dangerous thought and one that made my stomach churn. But, I knew it was the truth.

You of all people have no right to try and help him.

"Sorry," I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'll just leave."

I turned around and stumbled forward, wiping away unshed tears as I went. I made it one step outside the door before I heard him yell, "Wait!"

I did. I stood completely still until I heard a creaking noise. Turning around, I saw him struggling to stand up. I immediately rushed over to him, slipping an arm beneath his and around his back to help him stand. He let out a strangled huff of annoyance but allowed me to help nonetheless.

"Help me to the vending machine? I'm starving."

That simple statement was enough to make my heart skip a beat and a large grin overtake my features. He was very visibly uncomfortable at my obvious joy, but I ignored that fact and kept smiling as I helped him. It was a bit difficult and I wanted to ask exactly what happened for him to be hospitalized off-and-on for three months, but I knew better than that. It was none of my business.

"Kyle is worried about you," I said instead, slipping an arm around his torso as we began walking.

"Yeah?" He said, "I'll consider us even now."

I stopped at his words, wondering what he could have possibly meant by that.

"What?" Jackson asked, looking down at me as I could have sworn I saw the hints of a smile playing at his lips.

"N-nothing!" I blurted all too quickly, blushing when he bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing any more than he already had.

The rest of the walk went on in silence. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either. It was a strange kind of silence--the kind that could change upon perception. To me, it was a very uncomfortable quietness. However, I could tell Jackson felt otherwise because he appeared as expressionless and relaxed as ever.

When we made it to the vending machine, which was on the other side of the hospital, I collapsed onto the small bench beside it. I almost felt as if I had offended Jackson by letting out an audible sigh of relief. The feeling quickly went away when I see the corner of his mouth twitch.

I kept silent for a while. As Jackson shoved a crumpled dollar bill into the small slot and waited for his chosen snack to pop out, I sat and watched. As he limped over to the bench, tearing open the bag of Fritos and flinching from the pressure put onto his injured leg, I scooted over to make room for him. When he began eating I realized I needed to do what I was brought here for. I couldn't avoid it any longer.