That day, I woke up, brushed my teeth, did my makeup, and wondered, “What the hell is wrong with me?” It was a normal thing for me to look into the mirror, stare for a few seconds, and comment on how terrible I look, so don’t worry—I really am always a negative person.
After I completed my morning rituals and decided to skip breakfast for the thirty-second day in a row, I walked out the door and hopped into my black Sequoia. The windows were frosted over, but the layer of thin ice slowly melted as I warmed up the car. I sat there with my forehead pressed again the steering wheel. I couldn’t help but think about myself and how I had no friends, how I had no motivation, and how I had no faith.
Ten minutes passed and I finally realized that I should probably leave the safe confides of my driveway and make my way to the judgment filled building that some strange man decided to call, “School.” So, I put the car in drive, let out a sigh, and drove away from my safe haven.
My mind was wandering through libraries of thoughts. I was thinking of things like my dog, which recently passed away in my backyard. I also thought about my life and how one day I’ll feel beautiful. I imagined what it was like to walk down the noisy hallway and have the voices stop for a second. In that second, everyone would notice me. Just once. My mind was glued to the thought of being the girl that everyone wants to see. A smile began to emerge on my face. I was finally happy. I finally had hope—that was when it hit me.
Slowly, I began to see through my partially closed eyes. It was completely quiet except for a faint beeping I heard in the background. When I finally got my eyes all the way open, I scanned the room to find out where I was. I was in the hospital, and I was sitting alone on a bed. My heart began to beat faster. I started breathing hard and I frantically ripped the IV out of my limp arm. It wasn’t until I jumped out of the bed that I realized I had a gash the length of a ruler on my right calf. The stitches ripped open and I cringed from the sharp pain that was sent up the back of my leg.
The pain wasn’t as severe after a few moments, which is when I realized my parents weren’t in the room with me. I became infuriated. My head was flooded with things like, “How dare they leave me here? I could have died and they aren’t even here to protect me.” That was when all of the pain went away because I was so focused on how terrible my parents were. Through my tear filled eyes, I looked into the hallway—It was empty.
I stepped out onto the vast highway of blue and white tiles. They were cold underneath my bare feet, but they grew warmer with every gentle steo. I made my way halfway down the hallway as quietly as possible. I needed to get out of there so I could run away and never see my parents again.
“I am genuinely sorry to tell you this, but he didn’t make it.”
My heart stopped. Right around the corner was a nurse. I pressed my back against the wall, as close to the corner as I could ger, and I listened. I heard a boy. He was crying. I imagined what it would be like if it were my parents who died. My body began to ache and a tear rolled down my cheek. I loved my mom and dad, but I needed to get away. They hurt me. They didn’t care about me. A few minutes of silence passed and I decided that I would come back to see my parents when my anger subsided.
Soon, I inferred that the nurse must be gone, given all I could hear was a faint whimpering. I peeked my head around the corner. There was no one there except for a boy. He was about my age. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. His broken heart was draining out of his big, brown eyes—streaming onto his tan, freckled cheeks. His elbows were pressed onto his knees and his long, lean fingers were enlaced. He reached down to satisfy and inch on his leg, and I noticed that his right pinky was crooked—he probably broke it a while ago. He had short, dark brown hair that shone slightly red under the fluorescent hospital lights.
I looked around once more before I emerged from behind the corner. I walked up to him really slowly and sat down by his side on the blue, cushioned bench. We sat in silence for a few seconds before I could get up the courage to break my awkward tension.
“Hi,” I softly said. I didn’t know what else to say. He was upset. I’ve never really had experience with talking to someone else given my lonely misfortune.
A few more seconds passed and he looked up at me and replied with an equally quiet, “Hi.”
He continued to look at me through innocent, bloodshot eyes, but I quickly broke our gaze. I never was the best with eye contact; plus, he was the first cute boy to ever give me the time of day, even though it was only one word.
Next I said, “I’m really sorry,” and glanced back up at his face. I grew extremely nervous, so I laced my fingers together and rocked my feet back and forth, from heel to toe. Occasionally, I would glance up and just gaze at his defined jawline and his long eyelashes. It seemed as if hours passed before either of us said a word.
Finally, he looked at me and whispered in a gentle voice, “Do you want to go somewhere?”
Before answering, I looked down at myself. I was still wearing the hideous, paper hospital gown. He noticed my discomfort at the thought of walking around in a backless dress, so he handed me his sweater to tie around my waist. We both let out a shy giggle—Everything changed that day.
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