The thing is, when you break your own rules, you have nobody else but yourself to blame.
If you want to get deep, there's some quote by Picasso that says, 'Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist' and no, that doesn't really fit when it comes to slipping up and staying longer than a few minutes, but when you're on the brink of losing someone, hell to the rules. Like Picasso.
Where that quote does fit will come much later. You're a conditioned woman in her late twenties that has grown up with a very different outlook on life than virtually anyone else. You're going to struggle with giving yourself slack for having to learn things that may seem trivial to others. Safety is something you've never known, you've never had a family – the one closest to it is in front of you on life support – and you certainly have never experienced anything close to love.
Or maybe you have. You wouldn't know. Love or, maybe more accurately, care is something that you earned over the days you behaved. Do what they say, and you won't get hurt. Not getting hurt is the closest you've felt to love and care. You're not going to see everything the same as others and maybe, just maybe you'll meet people who understand that one day. But you'd have to be incredibly lucky to meet someone who saw you for more than what someone or something made you into.
"Miss...Petals?" The doctor was back, checking the patient's chart for his next of kin, and even though you had talked to this same man not a week ago, have argued with him over money and treatments for months, he was only recently given a name.
Not having insurance or being Sam, the shop owner's wife or kid and only paying in cash, has let you slip in and out of this hospital without having to drop one before. And if the people at the front desk asked you to sign in for visiting hours, you'd always give a fake one, changing it up often. But now, as things grew grim, he wanted someone down to know who to notify if it went south.
You nodded solemnly in response.
He slowly came into the room, obviously wanting to talk to you, and you got up to round the bed, stopping at the end and keeping your eyes on the man who laid practically lifeless on it. There were so many tubes and wires, and he looked so small and helpless. Your eyes darted between his face and the monitors, pain rising in your chest as you faced him, wishing you could switch places, but the doctor kept his attention on you as he approached with a chart in his hands. He looked sympathetic, but it didn't even register with you.
"This wasn't supposed to happen." You muttered, more to yourself, avoiding the large bandage over his middle and all the other ones that covered stitches from previous surgeries that should've healed by now, but his body's white blood cells weren't properly functioning under the conditions.
It was one bullet, but it wasn't a regular hit.
The doctor, Darryl Penn, according to his tag, sighed, "If your uncle continues on this trajectory," You slowly turned to the doctor with a broken look that turned into disdain, your anger slowly creeping up on you again as it carefully returned with his next words, "The machines may keep him alive but-"
"He'll be dead." You concluded on a breath, knowing what that meant.
"Technically," He slowly nodded once, eyeing you steadily, "Yes, I'm afraid so."
"So, there's – there's no recovery," You shook your head, gritting your teeth, and your words were coming out quick as you frustration and panic filled your chest, "There's no bouncing back – there's no nothing?"
The doctor sighed again, "I'm afraid that's in god's hands now."
You slowly blinked once, opening your eyes only to narrow them as your anger crept in again to replace the rest – you didn't have time for weakness anyway.
