My Father Is Who!?

Struggle

"They're so sweet," I say handing back Austin his phone, while I grin like an idiot

"They're the best," he says hogging down the rest of his pancakes and taking me and Alan's plates to the sink,

"Well, I better head home," says Alan, "I've got to clean the house while I can be bothered,"

"Awh, when will you be back?" I say,

"Well, how about we go out for dinner or something tonight? A little celebration of you joining us," he says smiling at me cutely "I'll even shout."

"Oh my god can we go to that really nice pizza place!?" Says Austin, sounding like an excited child

"Sounds like a plan, I'll text the guys to see if they can make it too," he says before patting me on the head, grabbing his phone and walking out the front door.

"You excited?" Says Austin washing the dishes,

"Of course, but I don't do well in public places," I say, a little nervous

"Do you have social anxiety?" He asks,

"Mum could never afford to take me to get diagnosed," I say "but that's okay, because I hate hospitals and clinics."

Austin giggles "doesn't everyone, but we should get you some medication for that,"

"I'm not taking medication, can't I just smoke pot?" I say laughing,

"You are not!" He says laughing along with me, "we've got to go the hospital anyway."

I gulp, "what for?"

"I need a check up, you know I have marfan's syndrome don't you?"

"Yes! I donated most of my pocket money towards the charity,"

"You're a sweet kid," he says smiling "well my appointments in half an hour, so you can go get ready if you like."

I jog upstairs into my room and pull out my big old makeup case from under my bed that mum got me for Christmas a few years ago, I hoarded all the makeup she could afford to get me in this thing.

I lug it into the bathroom and sit on the bench and do my usual makeup routine, winged eyeliner with a bold red lipstick and pale foundation to try and cover my freckles. By the time I'm done it's time to leave for Austin's appointment.
I meet him in the car where he's on his phone making tweets and a second after the notification pops up on my phone, "ready?" He says turning the car on and pulling out of the drive way.

We drive through the streets filled with people of all sorts, and we pass a couple with big black boots, spiked collars and side cuts with the whole pale look with black makeup.
"They regularly come to our concerts," says Austin "nice people, and they're always front row."
Its nice how Austin recognises and remembers his fans, he doesn't just meet and forget.

We arrive at the hospital, the sad vibe coming from it makes me uneasy.

"Are you going to come in or wait in the car?" Asks Austin, "I'll be about an hour."

"I'll come in," I say, and Austin looks at me uneasily.

We walk in through the entrance and the emergency room is flooded with people, some holding bloody towels to their head being walked out by nurses, and even a man with his wrist severely dislocated and he screams in pain as everyone turns their eyes to us and stares.

I tug on Austin's shirt "Austin, I gotta go back to the car," I say my voice strained, "I cant deal with this,"

"Once you pass through this room it'll be quiet," he says looking at me worryingly and a man comes in being supported by two people so he doesn't fall and he passes in and out of consciousness, "I promise."

"No, I gotta go now," I say feeling my chest and throat tighten at the sight of the room full of distressed people we're walking through,

"Here are the keys to the car, I'll be out as fast as I can, I promise," says Austin reluctantly handing me the keys and letting my leave by myself.

How am I supposed to go on a busy and intense tour with them if I can't even handle a hospital?