Forever Young

Be Prepared.

"You must eat," Dr. Evans says, sticking a spoonful of nasty soup in my face. It smells like complete garbage. However, I would be lying if I would say I haven't had worse.

"No, I'm not hungry," I protest, even though I know that's a complete lie. Hungry is an understatement. In fact, I'm starving. I haven't ate in two days. I'm barely making it through.

"You're lying. Just eat it, Swift."

I groan at the new nickname. He seems to have picked it up from his boss.

"That's worse than calling me , 'Miss Swift,'" I grumble, barely able to speak. The throbbing in my stomach is killing me. The pain spreading through-out my stomach seems to worsen by the hour. I squeeze the pillow tighter against my aching stomach.

"You're stubborn. Eat the food!" he yells placing it closer to my face. "You will thank me later," he mumbles. He shoves the spoon almost down my esophagus and parts the spoon from my mouth a moment later.

I allow the hot contents of the nasty, yet filling, soup to slide down my esophagus; it leaves a trail of warmth behind. My stomach gradually starts to feel better with every shovel of soup.

"Taylor, what ever you do, be prepared," he says. He leaves me behind as I wonder what he meant by, 'be prepared.' Prepared for what? How could I possibly ready myself if I don't know the reason why I'm preparing myself?

"I see you have finally decided to eat," a voice says from behind. I close my eyes in disgust. It's the boss, Charles. "I'm here to finish are discussion from yesterday."

"I have no desire to listen," I mumble into a pillow.

"Unfortunately, I have no desire to hear you complain," he says, sternly. He sits on the edge of the pink bed I'm currently moping on. "Can you please sit up?"

I listen, not wanting to stir anymore trouble. However, I don't lock eyes with him.

"Okay, Charles. Why do you have me locked up in a bedroom, hotel, or whatever this is!?" I ask.

"I don't know how to say this kindly, but you aren't going to have a normal life again."

I roll my eyes. "You never answered the question," I point out.

"You are special, Swift. As well as your friend, Ed," he sighs.

"I'm tired of everyone dodging my questions. I already know I'm immune to the elixir. What are you going to do with me?"

As Charles rises from the bed, he releases a frustrated sigh. He spins around to face me. "Not everything is meant to be shared."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Then, why are we having this discussion?"

"We are going to discuss your living arrangements; not the reasons behind your stay."

"Surely, I'll find out eventually," I say.

"Maybe," he shrugs. "To be honest, we're not even sure exactly what we are looking for; we just have some theories and hypotheses. We think the solution is Ed and you."

I cross my arms over my chest. I don't understand what changed his mind. He was going to tell me yesterday, but I purposely interrupted. Maybe he changed his mind?

"Enough about that; let's talk about where you will be moving into permanently," he says, not looking in qqmy direction.

"And where is that?" I question rather harshly.

I never have enjoyed being rude to people, but it's how I protect myself from breaking down, from becoming a wimp, from getting hurt emotionally; it's a safety mechanism. I have been heart broken before and I refuse to let it happen again. If I wasn't rude right now, I would probably be crying like a baby, showing my weakness. I don't want Charles to find out that I'm truly terrified of what's going to happen to me. And I don't want to trust him or like him. I tend to want to trust people in the blink of an eye, but I refuse to.