Disinfectant. The air is thick with it. It brushes my nostrils in unpleasant swipes and causes my stomach to clench in tight knots. For the majority of the population, hospitals are places to go to be sick or to visit the sick. Neither of which are pleasant things to do and hence the smell associated it with hospitals - disinfectant - too becomes an unpleasant smell. I am no exception to this.
Zachary Evans is supposed being kept in room 36G. I scan the passing room numbers as I walk down the corridor: 31G, 33G, 35G. I hadn't told anyone I was coming today. So instead I rely on hope and fate to ensure he will be in his room, he will be awake and he will preferably be alone upon my arrival.
A lady down the corridor tried selling me gifts for the patient I was visiting - flowers, get-well-soon-balloons, that sort of thing. I declined at the time but now walking in empty handed seems rude almost. In truth, I'm not sure what the socially-acceptable etiquette is for visiting ex-now-maybe-future-boyfriend's whose in hospital from a psychopath that almost tried to kill the lot of us. Maybe I just wish I had something to hold to distract me from the building circus of butterflies flocking within my gut?
36G. The door is closed and again I am overcome with uncertainty. Do I knock? What if I knock and there's twenty different beds in the room - all of which unsure whether to say 'come in' or not? Or what if I don't knock and Zach's in the middle of getting changed or worse? My mind's overthinking things faster than an Olympic running race and I need to get of the carousel before my big head causes me to do something I'll likely regret later. Why can I never think straight when I'm near him?
I end up knocking and then instantaneously entering - a safe middle road between the two grey areas. The room is small with a single bed planted in the middle. The occupant of the bed is awake and very much alone. At least luck has given me this much.
"Hey," I say at last.
"Hey yourself."
I choose the empty seat next to his bed to sit down on. I'm surprised how much better he looks today in comparison to the bloodied mess he was the last time I saw him. Despite the cast strapped to his arm and the stitches I can see along his scalp, he looks remarkably healthy. His skin has retained it's healthy glow under his faint tan and his eyes, those damn eyes I can't get out of my head, are as bright and aware as ever.
"You look good."
"Don't I always?" He's joking. It's a good sign.
It strikes me that he's been cooped up in this same room for almost a week now, doing probably not much more than browsing his phone and binge watching the first decent channel he can find on the decrepit television in the corner of the room. He must be going crazy with cabin fever. Is that why I look to be the only nervous one in the room? Because he's too bored and starved of entertainment to have time to be anxious?
"I, um," My gaze slips to the multitude of get-well-soon cards, balloons and even the occasional bouquet to decorate the otherwise stark room. "I never got you anything, sorry."
"That's okay," He's smiling. Why does he have to be so confident after surviving a fist fight with the Grim Reaper? Why does the thought make my heart race faster? "I didn't expect you too. I'm just glad you came."
I nod and look down at my hands. I can feel his eyes watching the top of my head where my own eyes used to be but I can't find it in me to look up. Shyness has gripped my body and I can't seem to shake it. "I just, uh, came to say good-bye. Mum's packing us up and taking us back home. I think she's been freaking out about all this more than I have." I try to lighten the moment but neither of us are laughing at my sorry attempt of a joke.
Lies. Well, half-lies. It's true that I did want to tell Zach I was leaving sometime during this visit but that's not why I came. I came to check on his health. I came to ask what's the deal with us now. In short I came to see him because I wanted to see him. Because I love him. But I can't say any of that now because I'm still the girl he hurt all those months ago. He broke up with me, therefore it's going to have to be up to him to spill his feelings first if he even is feeling the same things. His 'green pastures' speech was cute but I'm going to need more than that if I'm going to dive back into the deep end with him. I want to be sure he's as invested in our relationship as I am because I don't think I could handle another heart break on account of Zachary Evans.
YOU ARE READING
Misplaced (COMPLETED)
Teen Fiction|misplaced/mɪsˈpleɪst/adjective| 1. incorrectly positioned. 2. temporarily lost. So the story goes: a boy once loved a girl. The boy stopped loving the girl. The girl got over the boy . . . until a hundred kilometres from home said girl kept encount...