Catboy

21

Julian hadn't had any experience with hospital waiting rooms, but he now knew that they sucked.

Everything was quiet, and he was fully aware of the sound of his own breathing. Subconsciously, he reached up and patted the sides of his face, checking to see whether the concealer had shifted. He didn't miss the way that Lawrence shot him a glare from across the room.

"What the fuck do you want?" Julian spat, and it came out a lot more violently than it should have. Lawrence didn't reply, but his stare intensified until Julian had to look away. He stared at the ground.

Ky and Arin were sitting next to each other, their hands intertwined, faces pained. Arin had woken up to the sound of the crashing in the kitchen, it seemed; he just hadn't gotten up to investigate. Normally, Julian would ask them when they had somehow gotten together, but this really wasn't the time.

Ky had been resting her head on Arin's shoulder, but she turned slightly to look at Julian. "You okay there, buddy?"

Just brilliant, he wanted to say. My best friend's fucking dying, and I've been in love with him for months. And I never got to tell him that. I'm absolutely great.

"I'm fine," was all he said, still looking at the floor. Maybe it would tell him what was going to happen. Maybe it had some kind of sign, some kind of clue. Maybe it would explain everything.

Of course, none of that happened. It was a floor. Julian watched as a speck of dust floated through the air, settling against the white tile. He heard Lawrence shift in his own chair, all the way across the room.

That was another thing. Who the hell's Lawrence been talking to? Who's Lucy?

Even though he had tried not to, Julian had taken her messages way too seriously. He knew them by heart- are you still hanging out with those loser guys? i know you don't like them. They had replayed in his head all night, only stopped when he had finally fallen into an uneasy sleep. He had only had that blissful quiet for a few hours before Lawrence had barged in, and the whole thing had gone to hell.

The drive to the hospital had been an absolute nightmare. Even though Lloyd hadn't stopped breathing, Julian had had to check on him constantly. The hospital was only five minutes away, but every second had felt like an hour. Lloyd's head resting in his lap would have normally been something welcome, but it was hard for him to feel that way when Lloyd was unconscious.

He felt tears begin to prick at his eyes and he bit down on his lip, wringing his hands anxiously. The waiting room was way too quiet. They were the only ones there, which he thought was probably surprising. No mothers crying over their kids, no husbands waiting for their children to be born. He supposed that it was early in the morning.

The doctors had come out about ten minutes ago, telling them that Lloyd would be going into emergency surgery. The head surgeon had bags under his eyes and his voice cracked when he explained that they didn't know how high the success rate was.

"He's got a tree," Julian had said, somewhat lamely. "You need to water the tree."

The surgeon hadn't responded, only smiled and left.

Julian leant back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. Just like the floor, it was white. Plaster was peeling off of it, and there were thin, spidery cracks through the corners. He looked away.

He watched as Lawrence got up and walked over to one of the tables in the room, leafing through the stack of magazines on top of it. Julian couldn't stop the surge of irritation that coursed through him.

"Lloyd is dying," he bit, " and you're goddamn reading?" Lawrence didn't even look up, only grabbed a magazine and went to sit down again. "You're goddamn unbelievable, you know that?"