So This Is Life

Chapter 9

Ah'm back! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Madison's p.o.v

Slide to the left! Take a back now, y'all! 1 hop this time! Right foot left stomp! Left foot left stomp! Cha-cha real smooth...

I really need to change my ringtone.

No, before you ask, I don't know why my ringtone is the Cha-Cha Slide. When it woke me up that afternoon, I actually unconsciously began to move along with the music before waking up properly, realising I looked like a prat and stopping.

Groaning and trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes, I reached groggily for my phone, squinting at the screen. I scrambled upwards, answering immediately when I saw that it was Franklin.

"Yeah?" I said, stifling a yawn.

"Would you mind coming up here?" he asked, sounding tired. I began to get worried.

"No, why?" I replied cautiously, clambering to my feet. Franklin sighed and mumbled something.

That feeling, in those few seconds, when I didn't know what was wrong and whenever I get a phone call about Thomas from a doctor or someone... it's like an itch. An itch deep down in your brain that won't go away no matter how many metaphorical coat-hangers you stick in your ear. An itch that can never be fully placated until something comes along and shoves a boot up it's arse, saying "Go, on, beat it!" which is, quite honestly, rarely if never. Nothing can ever fully cure it. As irritating as it is, you have to just wait for it to make its own way out.

Ridiculous. That's the only way to describe it. Normal behaviour goes out the window as you desperately try to get rid of it, frantically try to erase its presence even though you know it's futile, because you can't. You just can't. It's impossible. It will never be possible.

It stands there like roadworks on the highway. You don't move for an hour, sometimes more, then you slowly lug yourself an inch or so forward before shuddering to a halt. It's unavoidable, as there's no route around it. It's like all the roads around it are flooded, or there's been a tragic accident and the air ambulance blocks the way.

No-one will ever truly understand. People claim that they understand, that they know the feeling, but they don't, do they? You don't know, you don't really know until you've experienced it, felt it, lived it in your own life.

Doesn't matter, does it?

"Thomas is scared of needles and we need a blood test. He says he'd feel better if you were here," Franklin said. I let out a sigh of relief.

"Let me talk to my husband," I said, perhaps a little more harshly that I'd meant. My husband. Sounds so kick-ass, doesn't it? Much better than my boyfriend. My boyfriend sounds so wet and second-grade-like. Down the other end of the phone, I heard some muffled talking and then I instinctively knew that Thomas.

"So what's going on, you little macaroni fucker?" I asked, running a hand through my cropped hair.

"It's a very big needle, Mads," he shot back, trying to sound tough, but his childish language and trembling voice gave it away. "It's like 3 inches long!"

"That's nothing, Tom," I replied as I sat on the edge of the bed. "Look, d'you think you can manage it without me? I'm at Peggy's, and considering lunchtime rush hour, I'll be at least half an hour, if not longer."

"No," he said faintly. "I'm never scared when you're here."

My heart melted a little.

"Okay, just relay to Franklin how bloody long I'm gonna be," I said, sounding irritable. I often sound like that when I've just woken up. "Love you."

"Love you too," he whispered quickly.

The line went dead.

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Thomas was shaking when I arrived at Franklin's office 45 minutes later, teeth chattering and fingers frozen. I swept him into a hug, holding him close.

"Sorry I took so long," I whispered to Franklin over Tom's shoulder. The doctor simply shook his head and smiled.

"Hey," Thomas said softly, standing back a little.

"Look, you gotta get this blood test done," I replied, guiding him to the seat and pulling his arm gently towards me. He whimpered but didn't pull away. Franklin came forward, the needle poised in his hand as he tied the tourniquet. Thomas looked away and closed his eyes.

Taking his free hand, I squeezed it supportively, watching as Franklin tapped the needle a couple of times to expel any air bubbles before taking Thomas' arm and gently sliding the needle into the skin. The blood collected in the vial, and I couldn't help but watch in fascination.

It's interesting, isn't it? The human fascination with blood, I mean. Pain and suffering enchants us, brings us in, makes us curious. Perhaps it's something to do with our fear of mortality. Death scares all of us, whether it be our own deaths or the deaths of the ones we love and hold dear to ourselves. It intrigues me, death, especially murders. What goes through that person's mind whilst they're killing someone, planning a murder? Some say I'm a psychopath. I think it's just natural curiosity.

Franklin took the needle out and lay it on a sterile sheet, holding a wad of cotton wool onto the entry point and securing it with a bit of tape.

"It's over, baby," I murmured to Thomas, who finally looked up at me, tentatively opening his eyes. He looked down at his arm, up at Franklin and then back to me.

"That wasn't too bad," he replied quietly. He seemed embarrassed, a slight red tint coming to his cheeks.

"It's okay, you were scared," I said, rubbing the top of his arm.

He smiled and wrapped an arm around my waist.

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Hope you enjoyed. Gotta go to a family dinner tonight (Lord help me) so it's rather likely that there will be another update tonight. Peace out, dudes.