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//chapter thirty-six • truth or dare
𓅰彡𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘
THERE'S A QUOTE FROM the Greek philosopher, Aristotle whom died in 322 BC. He said, "It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." It was a quote Andrew had thought about a lot over the last few months. Something that sat with him, as he tried to look for the good things in his life. Like his sisters, his boyfriend, his friends.
Right now? Andrew Lee-Cameron is pretty sure that the only light he's gonna be seeing are the gates to hell, because being gay is a sin and he was currently dying.
It's funny to think that before all of this, Andrew had everything. He nice house, a promising future, money, and at least a little bit of respect. His life on Figure Eight wasn't perfect but he was safe. He as gonna go to Harvard Med and get a high education. He was gonna be a surgeon and make enough money to pay Ward back for everything. At least then he wasn't dying from an infected gunshot wound.
When Andrew was nine years old, his dad had a heart attack. It had been coming on for a while, his dad had always had a heart disease. Jason didn't die from it, but Andrew did watch it happen, watched his father drop to the ground. Watched his step-mom panic.
And seeing and meeting the doctors who saved his dad's life was what inspired Andrew to be a doctor, aside from the constant need to not be a burden to Rose. It was a win-win career. It's what pushed Andrew forward in life.
It's why Andrew hurt certain people. It's why Andrew tried to be a quiet, good little boy for others. It's what he thought his mom would finally respect him for.
It didn't matter now, though, because all those people had abandoned him. And he felt guilty for that fact that, the people he had found home in, might watch him die within the next week.
"I want black dahlias at my funeral."
At least two of the people near him sighed heavily.
"Drew, the funeral jokes got old three days ago."
"Pardon me, for being realistic."
"Andrew-"
Sarah shook her head from where she sat, weaving another cot out of strands of tropical leaves. "Andy, knock it off."
"I'm the dying man."
"You're not dying." Kie scolds. Andrew sits up halfway as Kie dabs the last of the rubbing alcohol on the infected wound on Andrew's leg. It was bad. The makeshift stitches were not helping the situation.
When Andrew's gunshot wound was discovered, it was Kie who kicked into hero mode and did most of the medical, under Andrew's instruction. They used what they could find on the lifeboat. Stitches done with fishing line and a hook. The wound was cleaned with sparing amounts of rubbing alcohol from the first aide kit, and bandaged with what was in the box and parts of Spencer's t-shirt.
