No Regrets {#Wattys2016}

The Beginning of the End

  Song~ Sweater Weather by the Neighborhood 

***

I sit on a doctors bench with my legs dangling off the edge and swinging back and forth in a repeated pattern. Right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg over and over again. My hands are tightly gripping the edge of the bench so hard my knuckles are turning white and the parchment cover crinkles under my grasp. I relax a bit bringing back some of the color in my knuckles.

  The tall balding doctor that currently has a needle jabbed in my arm looks up at me. He opens his mouth to speak and I give him a look that tells him I'm not in the mood to answer his questions. I know it's coming. It's the same questions he's asked me every time I've come here for the past one and a half years. I shake my head slightly. Don't do it.

"How are you feeling?" He asks for the millionth time.

Oh my god. I roll my eyes inwardly.

"Good." I reply simply for the millionth time. He takes the needle out of my arm and puts a band-aid over the prick that starts to produce a small amount of blood.

"Vivian, would you like to elaborate at all? Do you feel depressed or hungry or tired-" I tune his voice out. He rattles off emotions that should be normal given my condition.

"Like I said before. I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. It could be from whatever you just injected into me. You know like a side effect," I say dismissively hoping he'll drop it.

"No, that is a symptom of your heart. I have told you that a few times. I just injected a new drug because the others don't seem to have any effect on you or your health. We have scheduled a meeting for you-" he pauses and looks down at his clipboard. "-tonight. Your parents will be there along with yourself. Don't worry they already know about it. We're done here. Have a great rest of day Vivian." He smiles sympathetically.

Every time someone asks why I'm in the hospital or asks about my heart defect, I get that exact look. The one of pity. I don't want people to pity me or sympathize me. I'm fine and I can't stress that enough. Those are the exact words I've been telling myself since I was a little girl. I was born with an abnormal heart. It was too small and everyday I've had to live with it. It was a miracle that I survived this long since my body was rejecting most medications. Whatever has been accepted will only keep me alive temporarily or so they say.

"Thank you," I mutter before rolling down my sleeve. The prick hurts a little, but I've grown accustom to the pain of needles. I hop down from the bench and leave the room. I swing my leather bag over my shoulder and allow it to bump against my thigh every time I take a step. I walk down the all too familiar hallway. Person after person walks past me not even sparing a glance at me as I pass by. They're too devoured in their phones to even notice. An older lady with a young boy, not much older than five, clacks down the hall in her heels with her hand towing him along behind her. Although, the child seems quite content chatting to himself. However, I am disgusted with how she ignores him to stare at her phone. What could be more interesting than your child?

People these days.

I was so engrossed with glaring at the inattentive mom that I didn't watch where I was going and collided right into another person. I stumble backwards a couple steps and almost fell, but a large pair of hands wrapped around my waist to save me from my embarrassing fate.

"Thank you-whoa," I mumble as I look up to the guy who saved me from some pain. This guy is amazing. He has gorgeous chestnut brown hair that was combed back slightly at the top. It's the type of hair you want to run your fingers through repeatedly. He has mixed eye colors which are cross between blue and green. He has on scrubs, but even then he can make them work.