dear diary,
I'm lost.
"What are you reading?"
I peer over the rim of my book, "My Doctor Should Mind His Own Business, a novel written by Hayden Bradshaw."
Peter scowls, sliding some rubber gloves off his hands. "I'm not your doctor, just a nurse."
"So.. you're pretty much my doctors bitch?" I ask, turning the page.
He tosses the gloves into the trash can, "I'm no ones bitch, you little brat."
I raise my brows and smile at him, "Thanks."
He looks at me curiously, "For what?"
"For not treating me like a bomb ready to go off at any minute."
"Your welcome," he says, slightly smiling.
"Is that what I think it is?!" I place my knuckles on the bed, balancing all my weight on top of them. "Is Peter Eden Cade actually smiling?"
"And how do you know my last name?" he asks, chuckling.
"I may have asked a nurse.. and you have 2 last names bt dubs."
"That's not creepy at all."
"Hey, hey! I just wanted to know what to call you whenever I'm pissed off at you."
Peter's smile fades, and he quickly scurries towards the door.
I fall back onto the bed, "Peter, what's—" he shuts the door behind him before I can say more. "Come on! I thought we were having fun!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I rip the tape off my wrist, slowly sliding the needle out of my skin. I then throw my legs over the bed, and grab my gum from the desk. I wiggle my toes as the cold from the floor seeps through my feet and into my legs.
"Where are my shoes?"
Getting on my hands and knees, I lift the blanket and look under the bed. I grab my Adidas and head towards the windowsill. Taking one last glance at the cancer infected room, I unlock and lift the window, landing on the crunchy grass. I duck once I hear the door opening, peeking from the side of the wall.
"Hayden, sorry—"
Peter's eyes widen as he drops his clipboard.
"Hayden!" he roars, throwing my bedsheets aside as if I'd magically shrunken and hidden under them. (They were extremely flat)
Slowly backing away, a twig snaps under my foot, Peters eyes immediately lock with mine. "Hay—"
His words are cut off once I take off on a sprint, cursing under my breath every now and then.
"Are you," breathe, "kidding—" breathe, "me! I got—" breathe, "caught. Because of a twig—" breathe, "like in—" breathe, "every cliché—" breathe, "movie."
I place my hands on my knees, stopping to catch my breath. Once I'm done dying, I look at my surroundings. All I see are people, and stores, and oh god, the smell of hamburgers.
I let my nose lead the way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New Yorkers are heartless, my cancer couldn't even get me a burger. The man just stood there and stared at me as I explained why I had little to no money. I did manage to score some fries, but I haven't had a burger in so long!! Stupid belly tumor. I don't know for how long I've been wandering, an hour, maybe two. All I know is I went from McDonalds, to a drug store by a lost and found.
"Found you."
I jump, cautiously turning around.
Peter is glaring at me, his hair is a mess, there's sweat pouring from his neck and face, he has pit stains, and his eyes are red. Why are his eyes red? Forget it, I'm caught, shit.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Actually, I've never been in it so.."
Peter grabs me from my shoulders, "Do you know how worried I was Hayden?!"
I wince, and he lets go of my arms, "I—I mean, how worried your family and friends were?" he stutters, running his hand through his hair.
"Sorry. I just had to get out."
He rolls his eyes, looking at something behind me, "How convenient, I found you by a lost and found." Letting out a humorless laugh, he grabs me from my arm and leads me away from the drug store, "Move it punk."
October 5, 1994
