YELLOW

PART 8

"Let's schedule an MRI and conduct blood tests, along with everything else, by the end of the day," the doctor instructed the nurse who was near the IV stand, where several bags were hanging.

I stood there, wearing only a hospital gown, completely exposed beneath it. My eyes darted around as two nurses guided me into the room that housed the enormous MRI machine.

"Don't worry, you'll be just fine. Just lie down and relax. We have headphones for you, and we'll be right outside," one of the nurses reassured me, glancing at the glass window where the doctors stood with their arms crossed, observing us. I nodded in response, unable to find my voice.

I lay down on the cold steel bed, the chill seeping into my skin as the nurses exited the room. I felt paralyzed, not a single muscle in my body daring to move.

"Now, Marcus, please don't move. You'll hear a lot of noises, but it's nothing to worry about," they instructed as a large, confining structure loomed in front of my face. I tried to remain calm, but a wave of suffocation washed over me, making me feel as if I were trapped in a coffin.

The music began to play softly through the headphones they had given me, but the overwhelming noise from the MRI machine was too loud, causing my muscles to twitch involuntarily. I fought to remain still, and somehow, I managed to do so.

"Can I have one last dance, Miss Bougerois?" I asked with a smile. She nodded in agreement, allowing her hands to rest gently around my neck while mine found their way to her waist. We swayed together slowly, our noses almost touching. "I wish I had the superpower to read your mind sometimes," I admitted. She chuckled at my comment, replying, "You'd be surprised at the number of wish lists for clothes I have stored up in there—an entire boutique."

I rolled my eyes playfully at her teasing.

"Don't move, Marcus," a male voice echoed through the microphone. However, the relentless drumming noise from the machine began to pull me back into a dark memory, casting a shadow over the moment we had just shared.

"Mom! Marcus has stolen my shirt!" my older brother Nate shouted, his voice filled with indignation.

That shirt was oversized, almost reaching my feet, but I felt like a cool kid wearing it.

"Marcus, don't go through Nate's things, and Nate, try to be more patient with your brother," my mom replied, her voice calm as she prepared breakfast in the kitchen.

I shuffled into the kitchen, a little dwarf in a gigantic hockey shirt and a hat that hung low over my eyes. My mom, the sweetest person I knew, turned to me with a plate in her hands, a fluffy pancake resting on it. "You're just the most adorable," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with affection.

"Mom, don't call me adorable! I want to be one of the cool kids," I protested, gripping my fork tightly in my small hand.

"One of the cool kids? You'll never be one, you little dwarf!" Nate laughed, his tone mocking.

"Nate!" my mom shot him a glare, her patience wearing thin.

I smiled weakly, feeling small and lost beneath the brim of my hat, wishing I could be someone else—even just for a moment.

I grabbed my backpack and made my way to my mom, wrapping my arms around her legs as she helped me put on the oversized bag. I was just a little six-year-old kid, feeling small and vulnerable.

Suddenly, my father burst through the door, the school bus scheduled to arrive any minute. He reeked of alcohol, and as he stumbled in, he slammed the door behind him, carelessly tossing his keys onto the couch. He marched toward the kitchen table, his dirty hands probing into every plate, leaving a mess in his wake.