DEAR BUTTERFLIES [ COMPLETED ]

17

ELIZABETH'S POV :

"Move move move", I yell running down the corridor, holding coffee cups, files and what not in my hands, running through the crowd of nurses, doctors, staff and patients, trying not to spill or throw anything on anyone .

Sorry 

Excuse me 

Move aside 

Incoming, were the only words that had left my mouth in the past ten minutes of me running on my heels to the office, frantically trying to get there, finally reaching it. I put everything down and look at myself in the small mirror that sat right on my desk, I look at the mess on my head, hair everywhere. 

"Bunny? What are you doing here?", I heard someone say 

"Alex", I said, hoping my voice did not etch out the emotions I had held back since the moment I read the file, since I flinched away from him . I tried staying composed and not melt into the voice at the back of my head . 

I wanted to apologise, I wanted to beg for forgiveness, to have assumed the worst off of the situation but I didn't, I understand how triggering it can be for someone, I can see why my mind and my body react to situations like this in a defensive way, why I end up on fight or flight every single time something remotely close to this happens and I've made peace with it. I've made peace with the fact that it was okay for me to be not okay, that it wasn't my fault to have felt what I did when he raised his hand, it's all the memories I carry on my back, even the ones that hurt, it's their fault, it's the fault of those people. 

"Hey", he said, he was standing near the door, his hands in his pockets, something he did when he was either nervous or serious. 

"Hey, come in", I told him, making him walk in and sit down on the sofa.

"So, what's going on?", he asked 

"The file you gave me was the one with Myles' reports " 

"I am aware of that, Theo told me" 

"Did Theo tell you what was in the file ?" 

"No" 

"He doesn't have B-Cell Leukaemia" 

"What do you mean?" 

"He has mixed phenotype leukaemia , he was wrongly diagnosed, so wrong drugs and wrong treatments" 

"But that's nearly impossible" 

"God", I said as I leaned against the table, rubbing my forehead with the pads of my fingers. This is fucked up. 

"Lizzie"

"Yes?" 

"Look at this", he pointed out to the laptop screen, a page with the most recent statistics for the same.