Clever Subterfuge

Lackluster

There was a subtle rhythmic beat sounding in near proximity. Different needles pricked here and there, trying to stay still was the worst. This will make it all better. It has to, she mumbled internally, huffing a strand out of her face.

She carefully scanned the room, trying to assemble a reason as to why she sat in irritation. It had to be the lack of color, yes it had to be the lackluster white walls and linoleum floors. Or possibly it was due to the cloudy weather outside the window pane.

Chewing stealthily on her lower lip, her thoughts were interrupted by a subtle knock that almost went missed. Without asking for permission, one of the volunteers snuck in with a finger pressed against his lips pledging for silence. Quickly shutting the door behind him he moved to her side and pulled a chair close to sit.

"You're almost out of here, aren't you happy?" He whispered, leaning his face near so as to prevent anyone outside the walls from hearing. Carrying a naive grin, he searched her expression eagerly and sat patiently.

"No of course not, I'm actually quite fond of being pricked by needles incessantly and only seeing a maximum of three people a day." She smiled brightly to hide the anguish standing on her chest, "The doctor, nurse, and my favorite volunteer, you."

Just as quickly as the smile was to surface on his face, it fell. His eyes moved from her face, almost afraid to see her beguiling grin. The way it tried so hard to prove it was really okay.

"Oh stop looking like that, someone's going to come in thinking I did something awful like kick a puppy." She mumbled as she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "And yes, yes I am... Happy that is."

His eyes scoured every minuscule detail of the decor in the room, or rather, the vast lack of it. Usually as a volunteer his duty was to communicate with different patients outside of visiting hours, those who were capable of keeping a conversation with decent enthusiasm.

This wasn't the case for Fiammetta Vanderburg. Eventually his hazel orbs matched her dark lackluster irises and he couldn't help but give some mediocre grimace in response. "But no one came to visit you." He whispered, almost to himself. "Last time I checked, there were no restrictions on who can visit."

She heaved a sigh and intertwined her fingers together, "yes well, what can one do?" Her eyes moved to stare at the sunshine covered panorama beyond the windowpane, with a small chuckle she mumbled "besides, wouldn't you eventually get tired of it all?" The whole facade to demonstrate the capability of being the loving people they weren't. The lies and false smiles.

Before she could mention anything further she clamped her mouth shut and puckered her lips before absolving to a light giggle. Watching her, he found that it was best not to press further. He bestowed upon her a grandiose smile that he was sure would brighten up her day, even if it was a little bit. His mind wandered to the neurological link between visualizing another smiling and the release of personal endorphins responsible for the brief sense of what someone may deem an inkling of happiness.

"I really liked talking to you this past while Miss Vanderburg, I hope to see you again after you get discharged," his eyes widened into saucers as he glimpsed at his mistake, "of course, not here! I'd never want to see you again if it meant you had to come here." At this point he moaned and leaned his face onto his palm in defeat.

"I really liked talking to you too, maybe we'll see each other again somewhere. Not here, like you said. But I'd be delighted to see you again outside of this cold hospital," she gave a small smile, "besides, you've seen me without makeup, greasy hair, and this awful ear bandage. There isn't much left I can do to scare you off now."

They both laughed until he remembered that he snuck into the room during his break. Turning on his heel with a slight squeak, he paced towards the exit and before he grabbed the door handle he paused, "the name is Jamison Wells. You know, in case you were wondering."

Flashing a smile, he twisted the knob and exited quickly with a curt click in remembrance.

Her eyes averted back to the window. Not once did she allow her eyes to wander from the sunny exterior. Watching the hospital garden with different volunteers fertilizing and watering the plants in a simultaneous pattern. Butterflies, the simple words flashed into her head and she had no clue as to why it popped up the way it did.

But it was all she could think of at the moment. The common, beautiful monarch butterfly. She pressed her mind for more information concerning why this creature was so important to her. Because it felt that way, it felt like she clung to the concept of this fragile being as if it were to crumble and dissolve into nothingness if let go. Yet when she made the attempt to ask herself any questions it was as if her brain had pressed the vivacious red button that erased any information on the matter. Wiped clean. Locked out.

And it was just as so. She figuratively stood on the outside of a gate with an armed guard. The mere attempt of opening the gate herself was futile, but the curiosity leading to the knowledge of what lay behind the barriers was numbing.

Earlier a nurse had left a cup of apple juice and some lime gelatin on the table. Instructing her to consume both in due time with the action of placing the white plastic spoon parallel to the cubic gelatin carrier. Fiamma scooped up the apple juice first and sipped from the cup cautiously as she escorted her thoughts elsewhere.

She sat in this hospital room when it could have been entirely avoided. It wasn't like she was ill or anything. Just a minor deformity in her eardrum that allowed it to tear and deteriorate to the point of replacements in both ears. Since she lived alone as a working student, recovery procedures were a little tricky.

Really?

No one?

The people here in the hospital must have felt so bad that they sent a volunteer in for company. She preferred it this way, she had no one, but if there was someone, she paused. No, stop right there.

She remembered her father's last words during their most recent argument, "how can it be possible? How can such a strong woman appear so fragile right before me?" His deep voice ingrained in her mind, its cut so fresh and tender that the mere sight of approaching the subject made her want to cringe.

Upon recalling the small triviality, she responded in the same fashion she did then. Only difference was that she sat in a hospital bed in a paper gown. No point in giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing your pain. Especially when they try so hard to hurt you. So she did as such.

She smiled.