TFIOS: What About Isaac?

" My names Isaac. I'm 18. Had a touch of eye cancer and got this old guy popped out when I was a kid." I introduced, pointing to my left eye. "And then this bad boy later decided to try and kill me so the docs decided to pop him out too." Pointing to my right eye. "Now I'm living life with NEC and walking around with this old thing." I said, lifting up my white, retractable guiding stick. "Oh... Did I mention I'm blind?" I let out a slight cough as I finished my last sentence an then sat back down rather ungracefully on my ass on my fold-up chair, in the Literal Heart Of Jesus.
"Great, Isaac." Patrick the support cancer support group leader answered. He had cancer a few years back in his testicles, and after getting the bad boys cut loose, he became NEC- no evidence of cancer- and had been living his divorced, depressing life ever since.
I sat between Lisa, this chick who had a rather sexy voice and Matthew, a 13 year old who had Leukaemia.
I can remember them attending support support group before my big, blinding op, but I can't remember what they look like.
But if Lisa looks anything like her voice sounds, she's smoking hot.
God I wish Gus could have been there to help me figure it out. Patrick began to rant on about his ballessness- As Hazel would call it- and I got lost in a tidal wave of thoughts.
It was my first time attending support group after my beloved friend Augustus died, and to be honest, I actually thought it would help.
What a load of crap, I was thinking.
I got my mom to text Hazel before she dropped me to support group to ask if she was coming, and she said she was too tired.
That's what's she said a lot, after Gus.
Tired.
More like grieving.
It'd been two months since Gus's funeral and to be honest, Hazel had been coping really well. Also her health wasn't so bad. I mean her lungs were still crap at being lungs but, she was hanging in there.
She's a fighter.
My train of thought was interrupted by Patrick singing some crappy "encouraging" song about how god was our friend and he'd be there until the end.
Seriously Patrick?
If he's such a good friend why the hell did he make me blind? Or kill Augustus with cancer? Or give Hazel crappy lungs?
Ugh.
Then he began to read a list of unfortunate 12-18year olds who attended the group, but then died with their illness. The list grew longer and longer each week.
And of course right at the bottom was a name that made me die inside when he read it out.
"Augustus waters"
Nobody said anything to me when support group was over. I could hear the shuffling and folding and stacking of chairs and the constant whispers of, "did you hear about Augustus?" And "yeah, what a shame. He was pretty hot."
It made me want to scream. Scream that there was more to Gus than just cancer. Than just his prosthetic. Than just being good looking.
Just before I was about to scream something I knew I would regret, I heard footsteps and an arm folding around mine, guiding me of my chair.
"Mom?" I asked.
"It's Patrick, Isaac. before your mom left after dropping you of, she asked for me to take you outside to meet her after the session."
"Oh. Okay."
"So how've you been Isaac?"
What, you mean other than my blindness, loosing my bestfriend and not to mention the love of my life? Pretty good, thanks." There was a hint of sarcasm in my voice that I wish I hadn't used. I felt guilty, because well, I suppose Patrick just wanted to help.
It was his job.
"Isaac...please." Patrick replied in a soft tone, as we walked out of The Literal Heart of Jesus (or the basement of the local church, as normal people would call it.)
"I'm sorry" I started, as we stopped and I heard Patrick hitting the button to the elevator. "It's been hard. But, I'm coping...were coping."
"By we, I assume you mean Hazel?"
"Yeah. She's been grieving obviously, and she's been claiming to be tired a lot, but, her doctors said she be fine, and to just give her time."
"She lost someone close to her. its understandable." He replied.
I heard the elevator doors shimmer open, and Patrick guided me inside. He got the button, the doors shimmered closed and we started to float up in the metal box. When they opened again, seconds later, he guided me by a gentle grip on my left arm out the front door.
I knew we were outside in the car park by the blustery wind, beating my face. I fixed my glasses and stood in an uncomfortable silence with Patrick by my side, waiting for my mother to rescue me.