January

Eighteen

January

The florescent lights burn my eyes, machines beep around me. I try to calm my breathing, but my nerves are getting the better of me. I hate it here. I always have, even before I got sick. I remember my mom taking me and my sister for our yearly check ups and I had a melt down in the car before we got there. She ended up calling my dad to help take me in, with the promise of a new toy if I listened. I probably should've have gotten a toy with that behaviour but it worked. The door creaks open and Bryan steps in. He has a bruise on his jaw that is healing, but the fresher one by his eye is still very purple. I'm assuming they have something to do with Sawyers busted lip. Sawyer. My foxy.

"January." He greets as he reads over my chart. Not like he doesn't know everything in there all ready. "Dr. Bradshaw." He ignores my tone, that was trying to be professional and intimidating. But it really get shouldn't like my voice cracked. "How are you feeling?" The first question he asked me every time. I suppose it's his job, but he can spice things up a bit. Like "your not dead, good sign." Or "you look awful, what's uncomfortable?" I would like those better. "Oh you know, tired, can't eat, a little cranky." I shrug like it's no big deal. I can tell it bothers him when I try to pretend this isn't a big deal. I know it is but if I dwell on it, I'll go into a depression. Then what's the point of having seven months. Seven months that I can try to make worth being put on this earth in the first place. "Okay." That's not his usual response to my symptoms.

Finally some change up. "He knows." It's not a questions and now that bruise on his eye makes more sense. "Yeah." My response is barely a sound between rushes of air. Telling him was the hardest thing I've ever done, and the look on his face killed me more then knowing at my young age of twenty six, I'd be gone. "I love him." I meet Bryan's eyes. "He's my brother I love him, even if we aren't close and I'm not a good person to him. I love him." He looks away from me and sniffs, like he's holding back tears. "He's an easy person to love." My own emotions start tearing at my chest. He nods but keeps his gaze down cast. "Please tell him. He's lonely, and he's about to have no one." I choke on my words. Tears on the cusp of falling.

"He is too good for any of us." Bryan looks at me. His brown eyes Red and puffy. Tears wet his cheeks. He looks so different from the dr.Bradshaw I'm used to. "I'm sorry." He whispers. "You are too good for any of this." I nod, because I can't speak. Words won't come out. Something passes between us. A promise, or a new found respect. He stands and leans down to kiss the top of my head. He doesn't say anything as he leaves me. I try to collect myself, before I go. My mind keeps wandering to the look on Sawyers face when I told him. He broke down, and I just stood and watched. Feeling helpless and hating myself for being the cause. He then kissed me and left. I haven't seen him since.

I was giving him time, even though mines limited. I walk out of my room and down the hall, after I check out I walk to the automatic doors at the exit. I freeze when I see flannel. The doors open and Sawyer stands there with a bouquet of white roses. "Hey Snow White." Tears stream down my face as I run into his arms. "Hey foxy." I'm not wasting another breath on not telling him how much he means to me. He catches me around the waist and I wrap myself around him. He falls to his knees holding me, his tears wetting the side of my face as he kisses every inch. "Don't let me go." I cry, desperate for his touch. "Never." He collects himself enough to move us out of the way of people entering and exiting the hospital. He puts me in his truck, and we leave this dreadful place.

He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his flannel. It hurts seeing him like this. He lets out a couple breaths. "How long?" His words come out pained. I take a glance over at him to see he is gripping the steering wheel so hard his fingers are white. I know what he's asking but I don't have the heart to tell him. I can't shatter him more then I have. I especially shouldn't say the while we're driving. I keep my eyes focused forward. I hear a sob almost escape his lips, but he keeps it together. We pull into his driveway moments later. The hurt in the car so thick I can't even breath properly. His breathing is erratic, I still can't look at him. "Seven months." My small voice booms in the car. A horrific sob tears through him. I grip the side on my seat so hard my fingers ache. I keep staring straight ahead.

"Seven....seven months." He cries. The words barely coherent. I think this moment is worse then dying. He goes moments without a peep, and then he starts up again. It's killing me. I risk a glance over to him and he's curled into himself. I can't see his face but his body is jerking with cries. I look away again. We sit in the truck for so long the sun starts to set. Before he takes me into the house, makes me a Shirley temple, and holds me like it's the last time he ever will, because we both know it might be.