Jon Cozart's POV
Hospital halls have always given me a calming feel. Which is odd, because behind them nightmares come to life. The cream-colored walls blur, and the ceiling is gridded. The waiting room feels the same, yet bright colored chairs and frames try to deceive you, trick you into believing you're in a safe space.
Two hours I sat there. Long enough to watch other people suffer. A young child with a cut forehead. A family of five to visit a sister who had surgery. A single man walks in to say his farewell to his lover.
A nurse walks in and speaks to the front desk. She points to me, but I don't move. The nurse walk over, gives me a consoling smile, and asks me if I'm here to see Thomas. I follow her down another empty hall. The nurse's voice is like silk as she explains Thomas's state.
"He has a cut along his forehead, and a severe concussion. His neck is bruised..."
Her word run together without meaning. Nothing is being processed until she says, "Thomas was very lucky."
Something said be many people, yet how lucky is lucky? Does lucky mean that Thomas will walk unscathed, or does it simply mean that he didn't die?
We get to the last door at the end of the hallway. Walking in, I notice two rickety chairs in the corner. One blue, one red, both frayed beyond repair. Images flashed through my mind: Thomas smiling, then Thomas broken. Now a mew image shows.
Thomas in a hospital bed.
YOU ARE READING
Your Voice Is My Alarm Clock (A Jon Cozart And Thomas Sanders Fanfic)
Fanfiction:::"No Thomas! I'm done following you around like a lost puppy!" "Jon, you never-" "I'm done Tommy," his voice goes from angry to heartbroken, "I'm just done." "Jon? What are you..." "I said I'm done Thomas and I meant it." I hear him pick s...
