I'll Be Fine

What Happens Next?

This time, I don't run home. In fact, I run far, far away from it. I run back to Hope Haven. And I feel guilty about it every step of the way.

But I can't help but wonder. I've always told myself the "what if's" will destroy you. But I can't seem to stop them from coming. At first, they're positive.

What if she didn't really die?

What if the doctors were able to revive her?

What if she's already healing, waiting for me?

But nothing good lasts long. In my world, at least.

What if she really is...you know...

What if she's mad at you?

What if you could've prevented this?

And that, ladies and gents, is how I single-handedly depressed myself beyond belief on the 60-mile jog to the hospital. Nice going.

Once I get there, I'm out of breath and panting like a dog, despite my many  breaks along the way. I don't know how I managed to jog this far, and yet I somehow ran  all the way home last night. I don't know why I'm here. There's nothing for me. Just bad news, fake-sympathetic apologies from people who could care less. I know it'll make me explode eventually.

And yet I can't seem to stop myself.

There might as well be a compelling magnetic force around the hospital. I'm drawn to it, like a moth to a lantern. I feel myself being physically dragged to the hospital. I can't turn away, can't turn around and go back home. I want to so, so badly. But I just. can't. do it. Call me hopeful. Call me an idiot. Aren't they the same thing nowadays?

I walk up to the hospital door, and the automatic door swooshes open. I can't do this. I can't do this! Get me out of here!

YOU HAVE TO DO IT!

YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!

WATCH ME!

Over and over, the voices in my head wage a painful, noisy, dizzying war. And I'm the only casualty. When did I get so dizzy? Oh God, the walls are spinning...help...help...

And then, darkness. Sweet, welcome darkness. How I've missed you.

*****

I wake up in the mental hospital. Ha, gotcha. I actually  wake up in a hospital room. I'm not hooked up to anything, just lying on a bed under a thin sheet.

Well, that's not creepy at ALL...

I immediately sit up. The rush of blood to my head is something I definitely don't expect, and it leaves my hands flying up to the sides of my head. I let out a groan. How long have I been lying down?

My groan alerts a doctor who must've been standing just outside the door, because right after it escapes my lips the doctor walks in. Again, not creepy at all. Dang, what is it with this place?

The doctor-I can't read his name badge-gives me a small, reassuring smile. He has a kind face, and he appears to be in his mid-40's. He looks to be about 5'5, and he's lanky. Another thing? His teeth are pearly white. Not a super-clean kinda white, but almost an oddly clean white. He doesn't look old, but he has the wrinkles of someone twice his age; from stress, I'd presume. He looks like a family man. He just has one of those faces. The kind that makes you want to trust them immediately. The kind you have to watch out for.

I instinctively scoot up on my bed, closer to the wall behind me. I need more space in between me and Mr. Care Bear over here. I don't trust him, not one bit. If there's one thing I've learned about doctors, it's that you just can't trust them. They always look  like they have good news, sure, but underneath that smile? Maybe your mother died. Maybe your uncle's cancer got worse. You just never know.