❝Who're you?❞
❝Fallon. I'm your candy striper for the next two months. Who are you?❞
❝I'm a lonely, incredibly depressed, cancer-inflicted, dying, nineteen year old boy.❞
❝Nice to meet you, a-lonely-incredibly-depressed-cancer-inflicted-dying-ninete...
leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream.
- the only exception ; paramore
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fallon.
Later that day, Luke decided that he wanted to take a nap, claiming that he was abnormally tired, per say.
A part of me was honestly a little upset, considering for the past two hours Luke and I had actually been getting along pretty well - in fact, I was kind of starting to enjoy his presence.
It wasn't like I was friends with many other people at the hospital, either, so if Luke were to go to sleep, I really wouldn't have anyone else to hang out with. I'd considered just finding and clinging onto my Mom until Luke eventually woke up, but I felt like I'd already pushed her enough by asking her to take me into the morgue to see Michael.
If things had worked out a little differently, maybe I would have been able to walk down the hall to Michael's room and hang out with him for a while. Maybe we would've been able to discuss politics and the idea of religion and everything we actually liked about Luke alongside with everything that made us want to step on his throat.
Maybe.
Anyway, I'd feel a little selfish asking Luke to stay up just to keep me company, so I settled on leaving the boy alone for a few hours so that he could rest while I wandered around the hospital to pass time. There were still a ton of floors and units that I hadn't seen yet.
I was walking around the pediatric unit on the ninth floor, passing by each open cubicle that housed kids of different ages inside. Quite frankly, the sight was heartbreaking - the number of little kids I was seeing being held inside of these cubicles, being held inside of the hospital, made me nauseas.
It also made me feel a little shitty, too. I remember complaining about a ton of things when I was a little kid, like not knowing how to properly tie my shoe laces or not having the huge, sixty-four pack of Crayola crayons. While I was bitching about my first-world struggles, there were children that were trapped within the confines of four hospital walls that were struggling to even wake up every morning.
I was just walking down to the end of the corridor where the elevator was when my stomach started to grumble. I cringed at the sound, only then remembering that the last time I'd eaten something (half of Adrianne's pistachio muffin) was a few hours ago at graduation rehearsal.
"Shit," I murmured, threading my hand into my hair distressedly.
It was around six in the evening now, meaning there wouldn't be anything being served in the cafeteria until about seven or eight. My lips pursed to one side of my face thoughtfully, only spreading into a grin once I remembered the vending machine full of snacks on Luke's floor. Score.
