The car ride home from the hospital is dead silent except for the distant rumble of the engine. Mom grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles are pure angry white. Lily decided to sit in the back next to me, her hand rubs my back in a comforting way. She doesn’t say anything, her actions speak louder than words. Not like words themselves are very welcome right now. How do you comfort someone with simple phrases after they’ve been told they’re going to die in an estimated year? This whole situation is numbing and unrealistic, like a surreal dream. The news has yet to sink in. I was supposed to live until at least my forties and fifties, survival rate for kids from ages 10-18 is 63%. But, guess I didn’t get lucky. I’m the other 37. I want to say something to them, but I can't. They're losing a little sister and a daughter. My eyes scour the passing buildings and people as we drive further into the more rural suburban area of our neighborhood. The clicking of the turn signal ticks in my ears as she turns into the driveway, vehicle jolting to a complete stop.
”You girls go ahead, I’ve got to get something out of the trunk” Mom says, dull face staring at us through the rearview mirror. Lily and I share a look of concern. Eventually, my sister decides to open the door and slide out of the car into the wintery weather outside. I follow her lead in a zombie like daze. Snow crunches underneath our shoes as we walk to the porch and leave mom to herself. Lily unlocks the door and we both step into the heat of our home.
“I’ll cook dinner tonight, your choice” She tries to lighten up the melancholy mood clouding over our family. I slip off my boots and place them in the shoe closet.
“(Your favorite meal) would be great” My stomach can't take any more hospital food. They don't exactly serve gourmet meals. You get sick of them after a while. Lily shrugs off her coat and places it on a hanger while nodding.
“Alright, if you want you can come help” She calls while strolling through the hall and into the kitchen. I bound up the two little stairs in our entrance way to the living room area where there’s a large window looking out at the front yard and driveway. My heart sinks when I spot my mom still sitting in the now turned off car. Her shoulders are shaking, muted sobs -I can’t hear but can clearly see- wrack her body. The pure despair illustrated in her expression causes my eyes to burn with tears.The situation finally begins to weigh on me...I’m going to die.
I run upstairs to my room and slam the door shut behind me. My back slips down against it as I slide onto the floor. Why me? How is it fair? I knew it was coming but...not this soon. I’m supposed to live longer than 19. I should’ve been at least able to live half of my life. The medicine cabinet across the room that holds all of my supplies mocks my sorrows . The sadness slowly dissipates into absolute animosity. Something snaps inside of my chest whileI throw the first object I can find as hard as I can at the wall. The hairbrush clutters onto the floor. My tantrum doesn't end there. The cross that hangs above my bed taunts my whole entire miserable life. I stomp over to it and yank it from the hook it was hanging on, open up the window of my room, and toss the artifact out. Rage begins to take over the rational part of my brain. Any other religion related things I sentence to the snowy backyard outside like my bible. I’ve prayed so much, wished for the pain of needles, surgeries, and testing to stop. But not once were they answered. And now after going through all that effort to keep myself alive, all that torture, I’m going to die. How could God let that happen? Well here's some news, God doesn't give a shit.
“(Y/N)!? Baby are you okay in there?” My mom frantically knocks on the door, snapping me out of the spell of negative emotions mixing and swirling internally. I stop my little rampage and frown at the mess I've caused.
“Yeah mom, my arm went numb again and I knocked a few things over” I lie and wipe the angry salty water from my eyes. After making sure that the redness in them has disappeared and the streaks of tears on my cheeks are wiped away, I blow my nose with a tissue and sigh. No, getting upset won't do anything about this. It'll only make things worse. I hear Lily clinking pots and pans downstairs. Distractions, that's what I need for now.
YOU ARE READING
365 Days (Eyeless Jack X F.Reader)
Horror365 Days. 52 Weeks. 1 Year. That's the time (Y/N) has to live before a chronic illness she's been battling since childhood finally comes to claim her. So, when a blue masked man pops up in her room at midnight with murdering intent, they strike a de...
