❝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...
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luke.
You know how in the first grade or maybe in church school, you were taught that the Golden Rule of Life was to treat people the way you want to be treated? Or that respect is the key to happiness, or that you should walk nine miles in someone else's shoes before you judge them?
Yeah, no, that's all bullshit.
The Real Golden Rule of Life, take notes, is to never make decisions after ten p.m. when you're lonely, and sleepy, and kind of wanna cry. They're always the wrong decisions. Period. End of story. Not debatable.
I never actually thought the rule would even apply to my own life up until now. Up until I woke up this morning and realized that last night, I sent the one and only girl I've ever really actually liked a voicemail where I shoved my said liking for her down her windpipe, accomplishing nothing other than making myself look clingy and desperate and pathetic and clingy.
I grunted and sat up in bed as the realization started to sink in a little too much and ran my palm down my face, leaving it there to cover up the fact that I was probably as red as an average white boy could get when said white boy felt humiliated.
I fucked up.
What did I even think that was going to do? What did I think that was going to accomplish? Had I just assumed that after listening to that voicemail the odds of someone like Fallon liking me were going to magically do a 360? Because I'd bet on my actual life that what I'd done last night only made our odds even worse, only made her afraid of me. And if Fallon didn't bother to show up today, either, I wouldn't even be surprised, anymore.
Note to Self: Next time, don't be an irrational piece of shit, and actually think, Luke.
I exhaled and puffed my cheeks out, licking my dry lips and moving so that I was sitting on the edge of my bed, away from the door and towards the window - I winced as my limbs stretched. Everything felt sore, but my mind was in so much panic that I couldn't even get myself to think of the ache. Honestly, I felt like throwing up.
And if I didn't feel nauseas in that moment, I would've laughed at how ingenuous I was being - it was like I was fifteen all over again.
It wasn't like it mattered, anyway. At the end of the day, the cards I was given sucked. I had brain cancer, and Fallon didn't. She was ordinary and undamaged and all around perfect and there was no alternate universe where she and I could become anything more than what we merely, already were - platonic.
