Girl (completed)

35

   "Mrs. Lennon, you have a visitor," A nurse said, and both John and I's eyes went wide.

   "Oh, no. I'm not- we aren't- We're just friends," I said awkwardly, and John looked down, unable to make eye contact with me.

   "I'm sorry, I just kinda assumed. Regardless, someone wants to see you," the nurse informed me, and I forced a smile politely.

   "Who?" I asked, but before I could answer, someone walked in shouting.

  "She's my own damn daughter! I'm not waiting to see her," a familiar voice shouted, and I froze. My eyes went wide as my father barged into the room, my mother on his heels.

   "Harold, be polite," I heard my mother nag, and I couldn't help but smile. It truly felt like old times.

   "D-Dad," I stammered, and he looked at the bundle in my arms before rushing over, the biggest smile on his face. He looked down at the little girl that I was holding, and he seemed like he was going to cry. It was he strangest sight because my dad never let anyone see him cry.

   "Can I?" He asked, and I nodded and handed her to him. He held her fragilely, and my mom picked up the sleeping baby boy.

   "They're both so beautiful," my mother commented lovingly, and that feeling of guilt returned. I once again wondered why I couldn't se the beauty in them, but everyone else could.

   "Yes, well I'm about to have to feed them both, and I'm really tired," I said, and they both nodded, taking my hint. They left, but the feeling didn't, and I was beginning to think that maybe it never would.

  "Blaire, are you seriously okay?" John asked that night as we were going to bed, and I looked out into the dark room.

  "Yes, but you know that you didn't have to stay in the hospital tonight," I said, and the silence hung in the air for a bit, "I'm scared, John."

  "So am I," he said, and I sighed in relief.

  "Oh thank god, I thought that I was the only one," I said, and laughed with relief.

  "you definitely aren't," he assured me, and I laughed warily.

  "It's just that when I look at them, I don't feel that...that feeling,"

  "what feeling? he asked and I shrugged in the darkness.

  "I don't get that overwhelming sense of love. I don't really feel anything actually, but regret and guilt," I explained, and immediately regretted even allowing the words to leave my mouth.

   "Blaire..." John started, but he wasn't able to finish; he didn't know how.

   "I shouldn't have said that. I'm a terrible person," I said, and he slid into the hospital bed next to me, grabbing my hand.

   "You aren't a terrible person, I think you just need help," John said, and I rested my head on his shoulder. He hen rested his head on mine, and his scent was inviting.

   "help?" I questioned, and he hesitated.

   "Maybe a professional," he said, and I pulled away from him.

   "No! I'm not crazy!" I shouted hysterically, and I saw his eyes go wide.

   "I never said that, let's just talk about this later, okay?" he said, and I nodded.  

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so fucking dry. sorry.