Ronan: To the Moon and Back

36. Peter Pan and Wendy Darling

Just four days after the wedding, things begin to take a turn that Rae hopes won't be a pattern. Rae finally, finally, flops down onto her bed, groaning from exhaustion. She doesn't understand how her days have become progressively worse. Double shifts that hug the line into a triple shift at the Diner because a new coworker likes to bugger off and drink into the morning light. She doesn't know why Jasper hired him in the first place. 

She pulls out her phone from her pocket, which takes a great amount of effort, checking any updates from her mother who's actually staying the night at the hospital. Nothing. Rae sighs, then plugs her phone into the charger.

Ronan began to spike a temperature on Monday, slowly crawling up with each passing day. The nurses said it could possibly be from the chemotherapy since they upped the dosage of it. To which, Rae doesn't fully understand why. She was informed of some new, suspicious activity in Ronan's brainwaves. Doctor Ramsey decided to call for a new type of medicine just recently discovered to help. That doesn't sit right in Raelyn's stomach, but her mum give the consent for it.

 The new dosage and medication calls to be at the hospice more often than not, and she is just tired. Rae knows though, no matter how tired she is, it will always be harder on her brother. She reminds herself of that when she thinks is a bad day, is absolutely nothing compared to living in a hospital and sitting through a grueling eight hour chemo session.

For today however, she allows herself just five minutes of wallowing. A wallowing that she only does in her mind, reflecting on the day and accepting that it did, in fact, suck bollocks. The new co-worker who burnt the coffee at the Diner, the dent in the back bummer of her car because someone decided to backup into Charlie while Raelyn was at the hospital before her shift and not bother leaving a note. The hospital, the hospital was the worst. It seemed like every beautiful child had a horrible day. Cries of pain, cries for mummies and daddies, cries of exhaustion and cries that didn't come from a child, but the parents of one. 

Rae doesn't want to go there because it'll just make her chest clench up like it did earlier. Because Rae has become a bit of an unwilling masochist. In which she just attempts to make herself cry, force out the tears that haven't shed for three years by watching the parents of the children who are called upward. All it truly does though, is set off her panic attacks and her chest spasms so painfully it literally takes the breath out of her lungs.

However, she is the healthy, she thinks now, because her wallowing is over. She lives at home, with no tubes or needles or beeping machines. No linger of death's spirit every day, no pain in walking, breathing, living. Rae sits up, rubbing her hands over her face and listening to the silence of her house. It's quiet, as always, an empty silence that's anything but peaceful. She much prefers the sounds of the Hospice, no matter how depressing they can be, but it's better than being alone in a dark house; alone with her thoughts. 

She hates the quiet, hates how she can hear her heart beating, her blood flowing through her veins, the air in her lungs as she breathes in and out. She hates being alone. She hates the darkness of it; shades of gray like those of a black and white photos. Grays and blacks that surround her and swallow her up and she can't help but think if they do that to Ronan. If the dark colors his organs, courses through his blood only to attack his heart.

A sharp pain breaks Rae's thoughts and its only then she realizes she's been digging her nails into her chest, scratching as if she's trying to rid the pain there. She shoves her hand under her thigh, and inhales deeply. Before anymore thoughts can invade her mind, a faint rapping from downstairs sounds. 

Confused - it's one in the morning, who the hell is knocking at the door- she gets up slowly. She grabs that same threatening umbrella on the way out of her room, and quietly descends down the stairs. She peeks through the peep hole, then drops her menacing weapon in the corner, because of course.