My Roommate

Chapter 22- Oh Look It's Buddy Man

Blake's P.O.V.

I stand in line impatiently tapping my foot against the ground. There are three people in front of me to sign in at the hospital and it couldn't take longer. It's like they need to have a conversation about their whole damn life before they sign in. Like come on people I'm just trying to see my friend.

Melly sees my worried expression and comments. "You ok?"

"I'm fine I guess." She glares at me. "Well-I'm a little worried. We haven't talked since this morning and I don't know-I don't know what she'll think."

"Wow, she really has changed you hasn't she." Melly puts her hands on her hips and looks at me like I'm a project.

"What?" I snap.

"Nothing. Why would you be worried about that. Like its 11 right now which would mean that that wasn't even 24 hours ago!" I squint trying not to show any expression. "Ohhh. It's not about the distance of time you haven't talked it's about the topic of conversation you last talked about!"

Dammit. I shrug trying not to give away any more details.

"What was it?"

"Nothing." I say quickly.

"No come on tell me, what was it about."

"Nothing! Dammit Melanie can't you just leave it alone!" I yell

"Sir." The man at the receptionist desks says calmly.

"What! Oh sorry uhhh yeah." I mumble.

"Name."

"Blake Thompson and Melanie...." I look at Melanie to say her last name.

"Fisher." She blurts out.

"Ok and now the name of the patient." He is dark skinned and has a deep voice.

"Molly Michaels." I say proudly.

He types the information into his keyboard. "Ok," he smiles. His smile is unexpectedly warm given his mustache and deep voice. "Room 42, to your right."

As we walk past him a card falls off his desk. Melanie bends down to pick it up, her facial expression drastically changes as she sees the card.

"This must be yours." She says very plainly.

"Ahhhh yes it is. So sorry it is always falling." He smiles that dad smile yet again.

Melanie stiffly walks away and I follow. I'm almost about to ask what was that all about but we have walked up to Molly's room. A middle aged man walks out quickly while checking his phone. I stand there for a couple seconds, unsure if I should go in or not. I wipe my hands of sweat. Seeing that it didn't do much I stick my hands in my pocket before walking in.

The first thing that catches my eye is Molly's face. It's bruised and has a puffy band-aid on the nose. My eyes dart down and catch a bulky cast on her left arm. She is observing me and finally lets out a word.

"Blake." Her voice is raspy and weak.

Thinking quickly I go with the stereotypical: "Molly."