It has been three days since I last saw Justin. The lab results are due back tonight, and depending on the results, that may mean I can see him in as soon as a few hours. Honestly, there are two parts of my mind: one that is nervous about the results, though the other is more than excited to see Justin again. It's only been three days, but in all honesty, it feels as if I've been waiting three weeks. Three long weeks, the last one completely unending. I just knew these few hours waiting for my results were going to be complete and absolute agony.
And I was right. Every second I tried to distract myself with TV or attempts at sleeping, even ordering food so I could focus on eating rather than Justin; my attention was always drawn back to him. He was a magnet pulling my mind in a single direction: him. He was perfect in every way. His personality was caring and innocent. His dreamy chocolate brown eyes that had not opened in what felt like an eternity. Full, pink lips that formed the cutest little innocent smile that I hadn't kissed for an agonizingly long period of time. His strong, tattooed arms and tan, toned abdomen. Even his legs and hands—every part of him was like it was carved from a sculpture of a Greek God. I don't know how he liked someone as ordinary as me. He could have anyone, yet he chose the flawed, imperfect person I was to be the one he cared for. These thoughts consumed me, calming me this time, unlike the usual thoughts that dragged me into a pit of fire, overwhelming me until I was screaming for mercy, needing to get out of my mind. These thoughts, on the other hand, made me happy, and took the worry and stress away. If I pictured him in my mind, it was almost as if I was there with him, comforting him as the memory of him was doing for me. God, I miss him so much.
My mind came back to focus, making me vaguely aware of a cartoon show playing on the TV, though the sound was too quiet for me to understand what was going on, seeing as there were rules against having the volume too high for the sake of patient comfort. I leaned back in my bed, nonchalantly attempting to make out the inaudible noises coming from the television, and watching the brightly colored figures converse with one another.
It was a gruelingly boring attempt at passing time, but it must have worked, because at one point a nurse came in with my test results telling me there was nothing physically wring with my body that would cause these panic attacks that I kept having.
"So I can see Justin?" I asked hopefully in response to the ruling.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but if it is not physical, then the only other solution is that it might be a psychological problem, which means that it could be triggered by being around Justin. Your doctor has decided that until you go to the psych ward and have at least three sessions, or you find out what is causing these outbreaks and solve it, you can't see Justin," she replied, explaining it to me slowly, as if I would flip out when I found out. The only thing that kept me from doing so is the realization that if I acted calmly and went through the sessions as quickly as possible, I would be able to see him sooner.
"Alright," I said in a tight voice, clenching my teeth to stay calm, "when can my first appointment be?"
"Well, I was thinking we schedule it for next week—"
"Next week?! I am sorry but I can't wait that long for my first appointment. Is there any way I can have it tomorrow, or the day after?" I said, slowly calming down as I spoke.
"I don't think there is an opening, but I'll check the calendar and see if I can move something around, or possibly find an opening," she said kindly, unfazed by my outburst.
"Thank you," I said, now much more placid than I had been before. She walked out of the room without saying another word, giving me a tight smile, and shutting the door quietly behind her. Back to passing time, I assumed.
"Emily, I think we can fit you in around 10:30 tomorrow morning," Betsy, the nurse who's name I had recently learned, said striding into my room.
"Really? Thank you so, so much!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around her in a tight, unexpected hug.
"It...was no problem," she replied, smiling after a quick hesitation, and hugging me gently back.
"When can we arrange my second appointment?" I questioned, hoping it would be soon—tomorrow, for example, or even in a few hours.
"We can schedule it as soon as you would like," she replied, making my heart soar out of my chest with gratitude and happiness, before crushing it with her next statement, "but the soonest opening we have is next week."
I tried to keep my attitude upbeat, knowing she was trying her best with what she could give me. "Okay, can you set me up for that time?" I asked.
"Of course, sweet pea," she replied as if talking to a two-year-old.
"Thanks so much," I replied, teeth clenched as I hated people babying me. I wasn't one to be rude, however, especially after how I treated her in my panic to see Justin.
She responded, "Of course," before slipping out of the room to leave me alone for the next fifteen minutes before I had to have my counts checked again.
I spent the next quarter of an hour reading a book from the library section in the main area in the pediatric floor. God I hated being a minor. I was seventeen, yet still treated like a baby because I was one year away from being in another wing where I would be treated like an adult. There were teddy bears in my room, and paintings hung of princesses and fairies. I knew some of the rooms had monsters and dinosaurs, so I thanked my few lucky stars that I was in a somewhat decent room with only a few childish features, some of which had been taken down in order for me to settle in. At this point, part of me even hoped that I might be transferred to the psychiatric ward so I would be treated slightly older, though I doubted it would change very much either way, considering if I was in the psych wing, they would treat me like, well, a psycho.
Finally, the loud clattering of the cart being wheeled in, carrying a thermometer; sphygmomanometer; some thing to put on your finger that I have come to call the 'E.T. Finger,' however the medical term is pulse oximeter; and stethoscope. They used all of these tools to take my blood pressure, oxygen levels, heart rate, temperature, and other count levels, along with measuring my height and weight.
By the time this five minute session was over—they had it down to a science—I decided it was about time I should go to bed, even though it was only about 9:00, I just wanted it to be the next morning so I could get my psychiatric session over and be a third of a way closer to seeing Justin again.
I just lay there for a few hours, trying to sleep, but all of the thoughts wouldn't leave my mind. I tried everything to fall asleep—all of the old tricks in the book. I eventually ended passing out around 11:00, drifting quickly into a dreamless sleep.
A/N- hey guys! I'm so sorry I haven't updated, I had extreme writers block, and at this point I don't really know what's happening with this story, so I apologize if the updates are farther apart, but once I get back into it I find out what to do, I'll update much more often. As always, vote comment, and share this with friends. I'm not going to do the whole "I'm not updating until we reach this many votes" because I know that's unfair to my loyal readers, but please, please vote and let me know what you think. Love you all!!
-Nica💕
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Forever
FanfictionEmily grew up with an abusive father, who had tortured her and her mother since finding out that Emily's mother was pregnant. 14 years into Emily's traumatic life, her mother was killed by her father, leaving her under his care, as no one knew the c...
