Life Ends, Love Stays (A Moey Fanfic)

Chapter 21 - 'The Dying Girl'

Joey's POV

I was now filled with a huge amount of confidence. There was a skip in my step, unlike my failing legs before. They felt stronger, like my shriveled up muscles suddenly started growing back, working again. The colours of every room, and everything I walked by were now brighter. The dark, saddened colours of the world now disapeared. The sun shined through the occasional windows in this hospital corridor. Everything seemed brighter, more happy, all because Meghan had woken up.

I hadn't realized until now, the state of depression I had been been put into, all because Meghan's eyes had closed for longer than normal amount of time. I had realized the state of weakness it had put me in, the way my shoulders slouched and my eyes failed to stay open. I had realized the way I looked at the world, every colourful, cheerful thing would not excist to me anymore. My eyes would skim past it, I only looked at, and thought about Meghan. 

Now it was different, better, I felt better. 

***

Meghan's POV

Joey and I ate in silence. Only looks of pity were exchanged from Joey to me. I looked away, I didn't need anyone's pity right now. I don't need people to look at me as I pass them with a face of loss. That gleam in their eyes, the stare that burns into my face and into my very soul. They pass me quickly, after looking at me, with a small "I'm sorry," that they breathe. I'm just 'the dying girl' that they know.

I didn't want to be that girl. I wanted to be the one the smile and wave too. Say a friendly "Hello!" as they pass by me. Maybe even give me a hug, a hug without fear. A hug without the fear that I'll slip away, right through them, like I'll float up into the sky as they watch me. A hug without the fear that they're hugging 'a dying girl'. A disgusting, shrivelled up, dying girl.

The stereotypes people keep in their minds about people who are dying are never true, This is coming from a girl, who herself is dying. They expect them to be weak and tired, unable to have fun, or put a smile on their face. They expect them to see the world in black and white, watching as every blissful thing raced by them. They expect them to always know, at every hour, every minute of the day, always know they are dying. 

But the truth is, I try to keep my coming death pushed as far back into my mind as I possibly can. Always fighting the image, the thought, of death that always screams at me. Of course there's times when we are lying in bed, unable to sleep and that thought pops back into our brains. Then we are incapable of fighting it and just let it torture us. Until the tears are streaming down our faces with everything we will miss flashing before our eyes. 

This, of course, is our weakest point, but we are always better. Joey was now sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. He had finished his small cafateria meal and placed it on the chair he was sitting on. We now waited for the sound of clicking heels, indicating that the nurse was coming to get me. The silence was now starting to become loud. It pounded in my ears and a voice in my head screamed at me to say something. My mind searched for something to say, a conversation starter, but all I could think of was,

"How are you?" I had heard his from everyone, including many times from Joey. People asked it mostly because of the curiosity of my health. I had noticed I had not yet asked Joey how he has been feeling about all this. He cleared his throat before he spoke,

"Good," he lied. The cracks in his croaky voice made him almost impossible to believe. He didn't bother to bring his eyes up to mine. He just continued to stare down at the grey speckle patterned floor.  I decided on not replying, his nervous breathing patterns made it hard for me to even look at him. I'll let him tell me when he's ready. If he'll ever be ready.