Cold Colours (EDITING)

White walls 2.O

   Your POV

There's just something about hospitals.

Something that makes me want to reach up, tear out my own hair, and scream at the top of my lungs. Like the walls are closing in on me and there is nothing I can do about it...

I don't understand my hatred for hospitals. I mean, it makes no sense. Hundreds of people are saved here, and yet I wake up every day hating places like this. Granted, I probably have more of a reason for it then most.

It started it high school, I had to guess. My freshman year, to be exact. I was so excited for the future, moving on from middle school and stepping into the building some call Jail was the best feeli in the world.

I remember taking one step into my high school and making a pack to myself. Making a promise that the past would stay the past. The present would stay the present.

The future would be mine to decide.

It was a time of great hope, and before shit hit the fan I thrived in it. I was known as 'the girl who never frowned'. People walked past me and patted me okay the back, teachers loved me and as I moved up in the ranks the younger kids looked up to me. I was active in FBLA and Band, soon becoming a leader, and, I loved it. It was the best time of my life by far, and it will probably remain that way.

It had lasted to senior year. My popularity was skyrocketing and my grades were exceptional. The future seemed bright for me, and I absolutely adored the fact that I could possibly do something wonderful for the world.

However, home and school were a different thing. My mom was always hurting, my father always worrying, and me... absent for most of the time. Off doing one thing or another for one club or another, I was never really around to take care of my hurting Mom or my also very busy father.

It took months before my mom's pain got to the point where she went to a doctor about it. I remember the day she went. Dad had made me give up some band rehearsal, making me mad and Mom sad that I was being pissy.

It was a rainy day, one that I felt fit my mood at the time.

It only took about an hour for the doctor to come to us with the news, and, well, it destroyed us.

Cancer.

My mom had cancer.

When the doctor had said the diagnosis, I swear the room had fall silent. Eerily silent. Like in movies, right before the attacker ends someone's life. It was absolutely crazy.

Not that I thought it was crazy at the time. My mom had asked the doctor to repeat himself, and he had. Hearing it for the second time didn't help either of us very much.

Of course the first thing I had asked about was treatment, and even that didn't look too good for this situation. Money was short in our three person family, especially with everything they had to pay for me to stay in the extracurricular activities I was.

As much as I was messed up about the whole thing, my dad was ten times worse. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, he just... worked. To try and lay for the treatments he got two more jobs. These jobs became his life, his Everything. He threw away family simply to get the money he needed to pay for my mother's treatment. It slowly killed him. It slowly killed me just having to watch it.

Even with the extra jobs money wasn't coming in fast enough to pay for my mother's things, and eventually my father got tired. Although he never stopped working his body became to give out. His brain began to give out. He just... he couldn't deal with all the stress. No one should have to.

He had nightmares. That was the first thing I noticed about him, where I would wake up late at night to go to the restroom he would almost always be up, lead by insomnia that plagued him for ages.

One day, when I had just gotten back from vision Mom as she was in the hospital - it was a bad time for her - I found my father in his bed. He was laying there, pale as can be yet more peaceful then I had seen him in a long time. In his hand... was an empty bottle of pills. Above his head was a handwritten note, stuck the wall with a piece of the gum my father always seemed to chew on every chance he got. Written inside, through pen and paper, was an apology and a promise. My dead father made me promise to not let my mom found out about this... 'tell her it was a crash' he wrote.

After that day, it took a lot for me to go to school. Every day felt like another challenge. Every day felt like a new hole that I had to desperately try to dig myself out of. I was simply dealing with too much. I lived alone, was working three jobs along with school, and had to visit a dying person in the hospital every single day. To put it simply, I wasn't doing well.

The only person I ever really talked to was (F/N). My best friend. She had been there since the very beginning, helping me and patting my back as I cried onto her shoulder. She gave up so much for me, and yet I repaid her by treated her like shit...

I'm glad she found someone to take care of her...

(F/N) May have saved my life, but Eren definitely saved hers.

In conclusion to this little rant, through all the hospitals I've been to and all the people I've seen die...

I don't like hospitals very much.

---

"Sir you must understand how much this costs-"

"You think I care how much money is involved! Stop talking to me about treatments and treat her!"

"Sir you don't understand-"

"I understand very well! Money is not a problem, just save her life."

"There are also risks involved that we would need a guardian or partner to-"

"I'm her partner and I say to do the operation! So do your job and serve her life!"

"..."

"You're a doctor for crying out loud! That what you're supposed to do, so do your job!"

"Okay, okay, we will do it. But I don't think you understand what this type of transplant could do to her-"

"Stop! Every single second you stand her fighting with me she dies just a little more. Go!"

"Yes sir."