Hospital Revolt

As Told by: Courfeyrac

To be blunt, dying sucked. It really did. Ignore all of those people who claim that dying is beautiful and that you will be going to G-d or whatever afterwards. Who knows if that shit is true? The nurses waking you up at ungodly hours, multiple times a day, to prick you or to cut off the circulation to your hand while they checked your heart beat wasn't even the worst part of the entire thing. Try instead thinking about the fact that you don't have enough energy to move. Or how you can't keep anything down, not even water, so you have to get an IV to keep you hydrated so you don't die even quicker. Try not being able to control your bladder or your bowels, so you piss or shit yourself daily. Try not being able to look at your parents or your doctors, due to the looks in their eyes, the "holy shit, my son is going to die, and we don't know what to do or how to tell him." Guess what, Mamma and Papa, I already know. 

Courfeyrac sighed as he let himself go limp. Just for a moment, he wanted to relax. It was one of those rare times when the room was both dark and quiet, although just enough light shined in through the hallway to allow him to barely see his lighting. The thin, plastic curtain was certainly not a blackout curtain, and if he strained, he could see the faint sillouhette of his roommate, propped up with something in his hands. Probably a book, knowing Enjolras. 

"I fucking hate this," Couf said, though his voice was scratchy and quiet. He wasn't necessarily talking to Enjolras, but he had hoped that the blond would reply for the sake of his sanity. 

He heard a small noise from the other side of the curtain-- so Enjolras was reading a book, just like he had thought. Then, a short sigh came, followed by the other's response.

"Do you want to do something?" Enjolras asked, though there was a slight edge to his voice.  He was overly cautious, Courfeyrac knew, even from the short amount of time that they had known each other. He was overly cautious, but strongly opinionated, thus resulting in the intense personality that so few had managed to control, but that Enjolras was an expert on. 

"What can we do? I'm on bed rest, you can't feel your legs. We can't go anywhere."

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Enjolras suggested. He heard the other shift in his bed, probably turning onto his side as though he could see through the curtain and was looking at Courf. 

"We can't see each other, dumbass." 

"Wow, no need to be so rude. I can open the curtain."

"Why would you do that?"

There was a slight pause. "So we can see each other?" 

Although Enjolras spoke in a quiet tone, Courfeyrac could hear the mild accusations in his voice. The tones that he so often heard in school or hanging out with friends. It screamed, "Duh, isn't it obvious?" and Courf could feel his cheeks heating up. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

"You know, maybe we shouldn't," Courfeyrac sighed after a few beats of borderline awkward seconds. He could almost hear the face Enjolras made; the look of disappointment, with his lips pressed together and a slight crease between his brows. 

The night shift nurses, whom he always forgot the names of, knocked on the door and then burst into their room, flipping on the intense bright lights. He heard Enjolras groan.

"Sorry, bud; I know how much you hate the lights," one of the nurses said; it was a male nurse for Enjolras. Courfeyrac hoped that he got a female nurse, so he could woo her with his piss-stained sheets and translucent skin, as well as his beautiful bald patches. Who knows? Maybe he'll even vomit on her. 

Mentally, he added to the list he had started earlier. Dying sucked for another reason, as well-- people pity people who are dying. The looks they give are one of the worst reasons, in Courf's opinion. Of course, when he saw the nurse come from the other side of the curtain, the first thing he noticed was the dreaded look. 

Otherwise, the nurse was really cute. She was very tall; if Courfeyrac stood up, she'd probably be around the same height as he was. Her eyes were a dark hazel and she had a hooked nose. Her very curly red hair was back in a bun, but a few strands had fallen out. The shade of red almost clashed with her tanned, olive tone skinned, but the reddish tint in her freckles warmed her looks up enough that the hair looked really good. She was really pretty. Courfeyrac had to actively force himself to look away when she turned around to set some of his shots up-- he didn't want to disrespect her by staring at her ass.

"Okay, you know the drill. Can you sit up?" she asked as she turned around. She had the sphygmomanometer in her hands. Courf noticed her nametag, hard to miss from the bright stickers that covered it. For a moment his vision blurred as he propped himself up, but as soon as he was still, he was able to read it: Yana. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Had this been a bar and not a hospital, he totally would have stepped up his game to buy her a drink or two, then maybe take her back to his place. Pour her some wine. Then he'd turn the stereo up, listening to classical music, because he was a classy fellow. Then, he'd lean in and let her lean into him to complete the kiss. Once he had her approval, he would--

"How do you say your name?" she-- Yana-- asked. She had a slight accent, but Courf couldn't place where she would be from. 

"Coo-feyr-rahk," Courf said, slowly, and over-exaggerating the syllables. He watched as a blank smile spread across her face as she repeated the name over silently. 

"Courfeyrac. Okay, I got that," she smiled again, but this time, the corners of her eyes wrinkled. Courf grinned a bit at that. Without having to be told, he hold out his arm. Yana wrapped the blood pressure checker around his arm and then pressed a button on the machine-- clearly, this was a high tech hospital. She scowled a bit at the screen when it yielded the results, but she didn't say anything. She scribbled something down on her sheet. 

"How are you doing pain wise?" Yana asked as she took the sphygmomanometer off of his arm. Courf noticed that she smelled sweet, like citrus and vanilla. It was a beautiful scent. Of course, then he had to answer the question, because he wasn't rude. 

"Oh, you know. They same old. Hurts to breathe and be alive. Maybe a 7 or something?"

"The classic number scale, coming to the rescue, I see."

"You know it, baby. Now, give papa his drugs so he doesn't stab himself." 

Yana snorted. "Stabbing yourself is against the rules. However, if you do stab yourself, do it on someone else's watch so I don't get in trouble," she paused for a moment, then added: "Also, if you refer to your drugs like you're some kind of addict, I might have to fill out some paperwork. Don't make me do that." 

She put something into his IV. Courfeyrac pressed his lips together. Before she leaved, he wanted to take a moment to compliment her, because people love compliments. It makes them happy; Courfeyrac loved to make people happy. 

"Yana, has anyone ever told you how georgous you are? And your looks aren't the only thing that make you so stunning. I don't know you, like, at all, but you have a ridiculously cute smile. Also, you seem like you have a great sense of humor and you are very kind. You are amazing at your job."

Yana stared at him for a moment, and then a pink blush spread across her face. She looked down at her shoes and giggled a bit nervously. "Wow, what a womanizer you are, huh?" she said, trying to keep the mood light. When she looked him back in the eye, he saw the look again. The look of pity, and sorrow, and maybe a touch of longing. Courfeyrac wanted to scream. Could not one person look at him like he was a puppy? 

"Do you need your sheets cleaned, Courfeyrac?" she asked. Courf nodded, but he didn't make any attempt to move. Suddenly, he felt really tired, and really numb. All he could do was lay there. 

"Maybe you can come back later to clean them, Yana," he said. Yana placed a hand on his forehead, doing a quick temperature check. She wrote down the rest of his vitals and then left. 

The lonely life of those who are doomed to die, huh?