Love Sick [boyxboy] [Watty's2015]

I. Meeting Simon Harries

The thing about hospitals is that it is depressingly depressing. Eerie silence haunts these clinically white halls. A mother's wailing for her dead son pierces my ears, and covering my ears and closing my eyes won't do anything to subdue the horrid sound.

Hospitals, I thought as I watched some nurses pass by me, are definitely not for me.

Too bad, my father works here.

You see, Dad works as an administrative officer for a hospital here in Belfast, and at the same time he works as a doctor here. During the Christmas break, for two exact weeks, I am staying over my grandparents with him here in a rural city on the outskirts of Belfast, and possibly it might have crossed his mind that I was interested working alongside him (and, believe me, I wasn't), so he decided that I was to have a fieldtrip.

For me, that's a total crap. Ever since day one, I have made it clear to him that I wasn't even remotely interested in his work. Heck, I wasn't even interested in anything, except maybe playing the cello, drawing, reading, and photography. I guess he isn't that attentive on the hints that I was not-so-subtly dropping in front of him.

But then again, he didn't also noticed the hints that I was throwing in front of him when I came out. He actually noticed it when I actually yelled it in his face.

So anyways, Hospitals. I was sitting here outside my Dad's office, patiently waiting for him to finish his little meeting with the other staff so that I could go home and watch MTV. I could go home on my own since my grandparents' house was only a few blocks away from here, but those blocks were longer than the average city block, so I quickly eliminated the idea.

'Are you Doctor Drake's son?' A squeaky voice interrupted my thoughts. I looked up and saw a rather mousy redhead nurse staring at me, waiting for my response to her question that I haven't heard.

'What was that again?' I asked. I looked behind her just in time when another nurse was pushing a stretcher with what I assumed was a dead patient. I also assumed that the dead person was the one whose mother just wailed for his death.

'I was asking if you are Doctor Emerson Drake's son,' she said slowly as if talking to a three year old, which made me glare at her annoyingly then nodded. I get this reaction from people often times because I have an attention span of a goldfish. So, I always ask what the person told me twice when my mind wanders elsewhere.

'He says I should take you on a tour here. His meeting might take a little bit longer,' she said and I grunted in dissent but stood up anyway. Dad will only badger me then eventually he will command me into it.

We walked further into the hallway and she ushered me inside a double door, which she called, and I know, as the operation theatre. Inside were a sterile bed and a few machines, such as a heart monitor, and a table full of surgical tools.

She handed me a hand sanitizer and a face mask. I put on the mask and squeezed a generous amount of sanitizer.

'We don't usually let guests or anyone really inside here. Health protocols. But your father asked for this, and seeing that he technically runs the hospital, you were allowed here,' she informed me.

I nodded and looked at the tools. They looked like brand-new. Are they preparing for an operation?

'However,' she added, 'we are not allowed to be here any longer.'

'Is it because you are preparing for an operation?' I pointed at the tools and she nodded.

'Cool. I want to watch it,' I said in the most nonchalant voice I can muster, but really I am giddy about the idea. Finally something exciting! Maybe I can take a video of the whole operation then write a blog about it. The nurse, however, looked appalled by the idea.