Finding the Pure Note

An Incredible, Withering Love

So it all comes down to choices, doesn't it?

We all make some pretty terrible choices—fact of life. The problem is when you don't learn from them, but keep on making those mistakes, deluding yourself into believing it will eventually get better. The problems will eventually resolve themselves. You will eventually find happiness.

It's all bullshit. Fletcher is everything to me. To think I allowed myself to push him away, when for so much of my life I wanted nothing more than to see him with every waking second. I don't know, maybe that's a bit overkill. You need a break from people sometimes, but that's just what love is, I suppose. I love him... loved him since I was a child.

I poke at the meagre piece of chicken, then swirl the lumpy mashed potato with my knife and sigh, dropping the utensils, pushing the tray away. Scratching at this little wristband that's connected to some I.V. thing, I reach for the remote and change the channel. News. Football. MTV. Stop.

As the screen goes blank, I stare up at my reflection. There are rings around my eyes, and I look like a ghost. My skin is pale, and I'm skinnier than before. The gown chafes at my neck, yet I can't help but feel it's ten sizes too big.

I try and smile, but it's hard. Dad's here, just two floors up. Does he know I'm here? Does he know his son's in hospital because of drugs, the golden treasure of his youth? Does he know how I've torn apart this family and burnt everyone who ever cared about a selfish prick like me? Did mum tell him even that, or am I still his pride, his unassuming son, on the cusp of stardom? Hah.

There's a sound in the doorway, like a little choke, and opening my eyes, I feel my heart stiffen. Mum hovers in the doorway before charging at me. I don't even have time to react before she throws her arms around me. I sit there blankly, not hugging her back. I can't. And it's not because of all the drama between us.

It's because I feel ashamed. She has to know why I'm here. She must despise me. Pity me, at the very least. And I can't live with that. When she pulls away, she sits on the edge of the bed, stroking at my chin, then my cheek. She just keeps her eyes on me, perhaps probing for something. I don't give her anything.

"How are you feeling?" she says soothingly, almost like a lullaby.

I shrug. A pretty damn loaded question, mum.

That's when I notice that Hunter is standing behind her. He was frozen in the doorway, winding his fingers together. Now he approaches, smiling awkwardly.

"Hey," he coughs.

I try and smile. It must look pathetic.

"Hey," I finally say, clearing my throat once I realise how coarse it is.

Mum lets go of my face, reaching down into her handbag. She rifles through it until she produces an envelope. I stare at it for far too long before taking it, vaguely recognising the handwriting on the back. More the artistic flourish, way more effort than anyone else puts into writing a fricking name.

"Also," she smiles, reaching back in before taking out a chocolate bar. "I know hospital food isn't very appealing. Lord knows your father would moan to high heaven about how much he despised the stuff." She grins, but I don't return it. "Grumbled the whole way through eating the stuff. I know he enjoyed the pudding, even if he wouldn't admit it."

That manages to tug at my lips, and mum livens up at that small sign, that something.

"Who's it from?" I ask, turning the card over in my hand.

"Just open it."

I rip it open, pulling out a get well soon card to rival the others. Most of them are from people at school: Sean, some of Chelsea's friends. Not Chelsea, though. Suppose that's not surprising. And Fletch... It's been two days and in that time they haven't allowed visitors. Not till now. They needed to monitor me, make sure I didn't go under again. I was waiting for Fletch to come through the door. Guess mum and Hunter beat him to the punch.