Back to Reality: Niall's Cancer Battle sequel

Chapter Twenty-Four: Switch

-Niall- 

Cats sleep sixteen to eighteen hours per day. In the average lifetime, a person will walk the equivalent of five times around the equator. My name is Niall Horan. When you die your hair will still grow for a couple of months.

"Niall."

I am part of the band One Direction.

"Niall."

Every year about 98% of the atoms in your body are replaced. I sing and play the guitar. 

"Niall Horan." 

Thanatophobia is the fear of death. 

"Niall!"

A large hand comes right up to my face and a loud snap rings in my ears. I react by slapping away the hand in front of me before I come to my senses. Brown eyes that have become all too familiar appear clearly a couple inches from my face. The matching disapproving mouth has also made its appearance. 

"Are we done having a mental breakdown?" Lauren McAdams says, her voice completely condescending. I've grown accustomed to it though since we meet every single day at the same time. She's a schizophrenia specialist that works for the Bright Hill Mental Institute and since I've been labeled as schizophrenic, she and I spend a lot of time together trying to figure out what's wrong with me. 

Or at least that's what we're supposed to be doing. Lately I've started questioning whether any of this has a purpose or not. 

"Well?" 

I nod because it's the reaction she's looking for. "Yes. Sorry Lauren, my mind was on other things." She gives me a pointed look before squeezing herself into a rolling chair with arm rests. "Sorry, Doctor McAdams," I say, emphasizing the professional rank that she demands I remember to associate with her. 

Doctor McAdams rolls her chair behind her desk. The squeaking noise that occurs makes me wonder if it's from old age or her weight. This entire place reeks of old age. Then again, she is on the heavy side...

"Niall, are you even listening to me?" Her voice slices through the air and I know I need to start paying attention if I want to get out of this room anytime soon.

"Sorry, I'm finding it a bit hard to concentrate on things." 

"Are you taking your medications?" 

"Of course," I tell her. I leave out the part about how they've become almost mandatory in my life. There's something incomplete about me when I haven't taken them. 

Doctor McAdams nods in approval and starts writing things on the papers that are always littering her desk. I assume the papers say things that I tell her and medications she thinks I should be on. I know that there has to be the word "broken" written at least a dozen times on those papers. 

"How are you feeling?" Doctor McAdams asks, wheeling her chair over until she's sitting directly in front of me. Let the typical questions begin. 

"Fine." 

"Taking your medications?"

"Already said yes to that one."

"Standard procedure. Went to sleep at the directed time?" 

I roll my eyes. "Of course." Not like I have a choice. 

I watch her lips twitch before she leans in closer. "Has something different occurred since the last time you've been here?" 

"I don't know what you mean," I tell her simply.  

"Niall," she warns me and I know I better start talking.