just a second [JesBible]

One [Behind the Glass]

Bible

I stared at the stark white walls of the hospital room, my thoughts swirling like the sterile scent of antiseptic that clung to the air. My body was a battleground, and diabetes was the enemy I never asked for. The beeping of machines felt like a cruel reminder of my condition, each sound punctuating my frustration and despair. I was twenty-four, and yet I felt like an old man, tethered to a hospital bed with tubes and wires snaking around me like chains.

I had been admitted for the third time this year, my blood sugar levels fluctuating dangerously, and my doctor—Jes—had been on me about my management. I could feel the weight of his disappointment each time he walked in. It was almost as if my illness disappointed him as much as it disappointed me. I hated that I needed help, hated that my body betrayed me. This wasn’t just a disease; it was a relentless reminder of everything I had lost: my freedom, my dreams, my sense of control.

The door creaked open, pulling me from my thoughts, and in walked Jes. He was handsome in a way that made my heart race, but right now, all I felt was resentment. How could someone so vibrant and full of life understand the agony of living with a chronic illness? He wore his white coat like a badge of honor, and each time he approached, I felt my anger simmer beneath the surface.

“Good morning, Bible,” he said, his voice steady and calm. I hated how his presence somehow made the air in the room feel lighter.

“Is it?” I shot back, unable to hide the bitterness in my tone. “Is it really a good morning when I’m stuck here? When my body doesn’t function like it’s supposed to?”

He frowned, and I could see the internal struggle on his face. Part of me wanted to scream, to lash out, to push him away. But there was a small part that craved his understanding, his reassurance. It disgusted me how much I needed that.

“I know this is frustrating,” he said gently, taking a seat beside my bed. “But we’re trying to get your levels stabilized.”

“Stabilized? You mean managed. Like a ticking time bomb. I hate this, Jes. I hate everything about it.” The words poured out of me like venom. I could feel the heat of my anger burning through my chest. “I didn’t ask for this life. I didn’t ask to be dependent on medication, on needles, on…you.”

He didn’t flinch at my outburst; instead, he looked at me with those dark, piercing eyes. “I understand that you’re angry, Bible. It’s okay to feel that way. But I’m here to help you.”

I wanted to scoff at his words, but deep down, I recognized the sincerity in his tone. He genuinely cared, and that infuriated me even more. “You think you can just come in here with your compassion and fix me? You can’t fix what’s broken inside me.”

“Maybe not fix, but I can support you,” he replied, his voice steady. “You’re not alone in this fight.”

His words hung in the air like a lifeline, yet I couldn’t bring myself to grasp it. I felt trapped in a cycle of pain and hatred, a place where hope seemed distant and unattainable. “What do you know about it?” I spat, my voice dripping with venom. “You go home at the end of the day. You live your life while I’m stuck here, battling my own body. You don’t get it.”

He sighed, and for a moment, I saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t live with it, but I see its effects every day. I see the people you could be, the potential you have. And I want to help you see that too.”

I wanted to shout at him, to tell him to leave, but there was something about his determination that stopped me. Instead, I turned my gaze out the window, watching the world move on without me. I felt like a ghost, haunting the edges of my own life, while everything I once loved slipped through my fingers like sand.

“Bible,” he said softly, pulling me back from the brink of my thoughts. “Please, let me help you.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I let the silence fill the room, a silent battle between my pain and his compassion. The resentment within me swirled, desperate to escape, while the flicker of hope fought back, trembling like a candle in the wind. I didn’t know how long I could keep it up, but one thing was certain: I didn’t want to let him in. Not now. Not ever.