Room 1013

He's Not Okay

"One, two, three," Keith counted his small jumps as he hopped through the hallways of the hospital. His small feet fit into the yellow speckled tiles perfectly. "Four, five, si-" he bumped into a large object and stumbled back.

"Keith, how many times have I told you to stay in bed?"

Keith looked up to find a nurse. He stood over him in his colorful octopus scrubs with a clipboard in his crossed arms. The dim light from the windows cast a menacing shade into his dark skin, but in reality he was as soft as a kitten. Keith rolled his eyes, "A hundred times?"

He held out a hand for him, "Come on, let's get you back in bed."

Keith took his hand, "I'm sorry, nurse Mack."

He looked down to give him a smile of pity, "That's alright, Keith. I guess I can understand." They turned a corner and entered a small hospital room. The walls were painted in blocks of green and yellow; stickers of cartoon animals decorated the furniture and cabinets. Keith jumped onto the yellow bed and sat on his knees. Mack slipped a nasal cannula over his head, "Your body is much too small and works much too hard to keep you going." Mack tucked him in, "Just try and stay out of trouble, okay?"

Keith nodded, "Okay." He closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep, clutching a fluffy, brown teddy bear.

Keith snuck out of his room again a few days later. He found the matte walls of his prison as monsters that watched and waited for him to die. He's spent all ten years of his life in and out of hospitals, only to be back again.

Keith was brought out of his thoughts by a melodic beeping. It was distinct. Keith knew it well. He slowly turned his head to the right and looked into the room. The walls were painted a pastel pink and a kitten backpack sat on the floor next to the hospital bed. That room wasn't there before. He would've seen it if it had been. Keith looked up and down the halls for anyone who might catch him. All three nurses were focused on their own tasks–they never paid attention. He took one last look, then tiptoed into the room.

Across from the doorway was a lime green couch; to the left was the cabinets and sink; to the right was the bed. Various machines surrounded it, sprouting wires that all connected to one place. Keith climbed up onto the pink chair next to the bed and looked into it. Wrapped in the pink and white blankets was a small, tan boy. His body was all cut up and both his legs and one of his arms were wrapped up in thick bandages. A brace cradled his neck and tubes were shoved down his throat. His face was bruised. Badly. Skid-like cuts dotted his right cheek and a deep cut ran through the left side of face down to his jawbone. His eyes were closed gently, as if he was some kind of sleeping angel. Keith inspected the patient board on the opposite wall to find out his name. Lance. Lance McClain.

He turned back to the boy and leaned over his bed, "Hello Lance. My name's Keith." Keith wasn't really expecting an answer; and he didn't get one. He wasn't even sure why he talked to him. "Um, I guess you're new around here. You look like you're my age, so I hope we can be friends." He crossed his arms over the bedrail and leaned onto the back of his hands, "I don't have any friends around here."

He inspected his face for any movement. He must've been sleeping. "Hey, Lance." Keith leaned over him again, "What happened to you?"

"Keith!"

Keith flinched at the voice of his nurse and slowly turned his head with a nervous smile. Mack came over and checked the machines, "Did you touch anything?"

"No, I just looked." He stepped down from the chair.

Mack took his arm and led him back to his room. "Keith, you can't be in there."

He jumped up on his bed and pouted with crossed arms, "Why not?!"

Mack replaced his cannula and extended his arm to start an IV. "Because he's hurt and you're sick."

"But I won't hurt him!" He felt the needle enter the inside of his elbow, "Hey Mack?"

"Yes, Keith?"

"Why is Lance sleeping? Is he gonna die?"

Mack shook his head in frustration, "Keith, I can't tell you about his medical information. It's against the rules." He secured the needle and walked to the other side of his bed.

Keith followed him with his eyes, "Please?"

Mack wrapped a blood pressure pump around his arm with a sigh. He was silent for a moment, finishing his check-up. When he was done, he put everything back and sat on the edge of his bed. "Okay. I will answer your questions as best as I can."

Keith's chest lit up in satisfaction, "Okay, why is Lance all cut up?"

Mack answered his questions with an unamused expression, "He was in a very bad car accident."

"Why is he sleeping?"

"He's in a medically-induced coma."

"What's a-" he tried to repeat Mack's words, "medically-infused coma."

"Medically-induced coma," he corrected, "and it's where a doctor puts someone to sleep so their body can heal."

"Okay," he trailed off in thought. "Is he as old as me?"

Mack held up a finger, "One year younger. He's nine years old."

"Is he gonna die?"

Mack opened his mouth to answer, but quickly shut it. After a moment, he finally answered. "They don't know yet. But he isn't like you if that's what you mean."

"Oh," Keith lowered his gaze. "Okay."

Mack reached over and ruffled his hair, "Don't worry, lil' guy." He stood and walked toward the door, "They're gonna switch you to Sprycel tomorrow and see how that goes."

Keith grabbed his teddy bear and played with its ears, "Hey Mack?"

He turned around in the doorway, "Yes?"

Keith's eyes teared up, but he held them back. "Am I ever gonna stop getting worse?"