Of Course He's Bad (HOLD)

ix. crashing and burning

"Missing you comes in waves, and tonight, I'm drowning."

Chapter Nine:
That day, I walked into the room with my head held down. It was not high, showing pride; but lowly hung, indicating the many emotions that I'd tried so hard to mask. My breath hitched as the click of the doorknob had sounded. It opened; the door had opened. I entered, one skeptical foot after the other - anxiously waiting for the first words I would hear.

I entered, rubbing my somewhat cold hands together to keep warm and also because I had nothing else to do to hide my fears. I finally looked up at the girl who lay on hospital bed before me: pale, thin, fragile. Her eyes were closed, and the blonde hair that flowed around her shoulders appeared significantly more white. I took a seat on a grey chair that was against the wall; the nurse - I think her name was Alice - told me that Holland was awake, so I'd decided to wait until her pretty eyes fluttered open. After multiple silent moments, my thoughts had become too overbearing. I shook my head in disappointment, mostly to myself, and slowly got up. My head flicked back to Holland before I reached out to grab the door. But I heard her. I heard her before I could leave. "Tyler?" she croaked. I closed my eyes; I took a deep exhale; I turned around once more.

"Holland," I replied, my voice barely audible.

Her voice hoarse, she said, "You came." I nodded. That seemed like all I could do for the past week.

"How long has it been?" she asked, "About two days?" She shakily sat up, scooting back into the uncomfortable mattress. I found another seat nearer the bed, and I sat in it.

"Six days," I replied.

Holland's head shot up in alarm, "Six days? I feel like it's been one night at most."

"Yeah," was all that I could muster up. After an uncomfortable moment of quietness, I spoke again, "I brought you something. Let me just.." I excused myself with a faint nod, peeking behind the door to grab a decorative paper bag. I handed it to Holland, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. Her tired eyes seemed to have lit up when she saw one of her favorite meals - but then she looked up at me for just a split second, and the light was diminished. Guilt clawed at the back of my head, as a blank expression washed over Holly's face. But my Holly, my best friend - the best friend that I knew was gone.

"Thank you," she said, a tight smile on her face.

My lips were forced together as I nodded. "So," I said as she stabbed a forkful of greens and steak into her mouth, "how are you holding up?"

The black plastic fork dropped directly out of her hands and clattered against the bowl, "I'm concussed, have an anxiety disorder, and asthmatic - I don't have cancer. I'm fine." Her face was solemn, stone cold; I didn't know how to respond.

"Okay," I winced, trying to analyze her emotions. "Well, did they say when you can come home?" The mood was awkward to the point where I had to pat the corduroy pockets of my black pants just to not die of suffocation. I attempted to lighten the mood, but judging by the emotionless face Holland had put on, the only thing getting lighter was her skin. (That's not a racist joke to any of my readers; she's sick, so she's becoming pale. Plus, Ty is trying to lighten the mood.)

"Soon," she replied, picking at her nails. The food on her lap was now untouched, with only a single lettuce out of place. After she looked at me with an expecting look of cavalier, she spoke up, "I think I'm free to go after a few more diagnostics and a final checkup."

I nodded, studying her face. "That's good," I said earnestly. She not-so-discreetly rolled her eyes, but she still bobbed her head in agreement. I watched her closely for a few more moments, and I'd suppose she finally sucked up her pride - because she began to eat the burrito bowl once again. "Look," we said uncomfortably in unison.