What is your name? was the first sentence that left his lips. I stayed quiet, not because I wanted to ignore him, but I knew for a fact that I would become a potential burden to whoever that came to know me.
After all, who would want to carry the weight of conversing with a suicidal monster?
"How are you feeling today?" the nurse would ask me, and I dreaded it. It was the question that made me nauseous, without fail. I knew that she asked out of politeness, and the answer that came after my reply would be fixed.
If I said, I am fine. She would reply, "that's good."
If I said, I am not okay. She would reply, "cheer up."
And yet, the boy beside my bed would always catch me off guard.
"It would be nice if you're here with me." he tells me, with a sickly smile on his face. I wanted nothing to do with him, but this patient had somehow a different approach to him that made me curious.
Every now and then, he turns to me with a smile, asking if I'd allow myself to live a little longer. I refused each time, and yet he made my resolve weaker as the hours passed.
"You have very beautiful hands" he told me another time, holding firmly to my wrist that was filled with self inflicted scars.
"You're lying," I pulled away my disgusting hand, afraid to taint him with my filth. But Jimin would look at me with sincerity, and I would doubt myself again.
When the time I finally decided I could open my heart to him, reality betrayed me yet again. When I finally decided I wanted to live with a purpose, it was all taken away from me in a single moment.
"I have something to tell you." Jimin sat up beneath the pale white sheets, blending with them as the cold blue veins showed though his translucent skin. His cheeks were dyed red, his breath heavy and sick.
"I only have three more days to live."
YOU ARE READING
4pm | pjm. √
FanfictionEveryday when the hour hand strikes 4, I tested death. The one who saves me each time, undoubtly, was Jimin.
