What I Couldn't Tell Him

6 - I'm 𝐹𝐼𝑁𝐸

JAIMIE POV

I left school as the bell left, not a second later. They have been running tests on me for a long time and I have been waiting for the results that will determine the remainder of my life.

We drove straight to the hospital after school, ignorant of everything around me.

I felt sick. I am terrified, all day, every day. When I don't sleep, it's in fear. Every second is precious, precarious and passing.

It's pathetic, I remind myself. Of course, I'm going to die. So will everyone, but I'm getting it over and done with first. Anyway, my life isn't mine. When it ends, I won't notice. When it's over, there's nothing to be afraid of anymore.

It doesn't help.

In the car park, my mother offers me a weak smile, which I do not accept. Now is not the time for pretending. I don't think there is ever a time. If I have to deal with this, I'm not handling a fake amnesty with her too.

I nod and walk-in. I try to breathe steadily but my throat is dry and difficult to relax.
I give up and settle for the shaking, erratic breaths.

"How was school? No drama, I hope." She comments and I nearly shout. I nearly scream. We never say what we mean. Nothing's ever easy or honest or normal. Just say it. Just say: I hope you're lonely and self-sacrificing. I hope you're cold and unloved. Like we agreed

"Dont worry." I roll my eyes.

"Jaimie! Don't make this pointless. We didn't move so you could make a whole new set of friends."

I am reminded yet again that she never wanted to move. Apparently, I ruined her life by moving. I think dad ruined her life, but I don't mention that.

"Good afternoon miss." A small, ginger girl greets me, her eyes are wide and flutter femininely. She is a receptionist, sat behind a desk the is far bigger than her, so she stands to greet me. I think it is a strange gesture, standing up seems like trying too hard. Maybe my standards are too low.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Dr Jenkins, I think." I reply, but without a smile. I seem to have forgotten what one is.

"Yes. Please go straight into room 187." She points to a hallway to her right. As with all hospitals, it is never that easy. She tells me about the things to look out for, potted plants, x-ray rooms. I start off, following her detailed accounts and my mum trails behind me. Neither of us have appropriate words for the situation.

My mum fails to reassure me, unsurprisingly.

"Are you ready?" She mutters, more to herself than me, as we pause outside the door. Dr Jenkins has a sprawling green plant outside his door. It smells of grass. There is a window into a dreary garden in the hallway opposite.

There is nobody else waiting, but I am taking my time to knock. Knocking on his door is like choosing this fate, asking for him to tell me. I am only just brave enough.

"Miss Perron!" He flings the door open theatrically.

"Dr Jenkins," I answer, dumbstruck.

"Come in! This must be your dear mother, Joanne is it?" He shows off his teeth, which are straight but yellow.

"Anne." My mother says curtly, shaking his hand. His clasps her hand in both of his and shakes it with his whole body.

You can tell a lot about a person from their handshake, but I already knew what his would be like.

"Please sit!" He waves a hand at two armchairs. They are plum coloured and cracked, and I sit hesitantly. They have little bony springs in them that poke into me. I shuffle a little.