Ned and Conor

Chapter 3

"Ned Roche?" A light, friendly voice called and he was quickly out of his seat. Conor promptly followed and they took a couple of steps—almost in unison—but Ned recognized the noise and gave him and grimace of misunderstanding and annoyance.

"What're you doing?"

"...Supporting my mate?" Conor blankly said, but his voice carried an air of hope. Ned's red brow ruffled.

"Stay here. Talk to him—I'm doing you a favor." Ned stated with resentment, turning before seeing the mess he'd created behind him but that was what he seemed good at.

***

A tall man, handsome in a nerdy fashion, with wavy black hair and a scruff walked back into the cramped room. "Alright, Ned. This is going to sound odd, but we're just going to do a quick ultrasound."

"What? Why?"

"Well the urine samples came back with high levels of a certain hormone and the testicular exam came back negative, so we're checking for any tumors within. This is common for patients that come in with similar fears." The doctor paused and chuckled, "Not that many come in after taking a pregnancy test."

"Yeah, I've always been special. At least , that's what my mum said." Ned joked, laying back on the stiff bed and only then realizing the man had come in with a contraption.

***

Swiftly, Ned slammed the door to the waiting room behind and beelined to the glass, exit door. Conor's voice faded behind him, as he rushed to the wet curb outside and cried. "Hey, Ned, mate." His friend's—only friend—voice rang out anxiously, hidden behind a nearly emotionless face. "Ned?" The voice came closer and a large hand was grasping his frail, small shoulder, turning him roughly. The boy, placed his hands on Ned's shoulders.

"Well, it's not cancer." Ned deadpanned, swatting away one of Conor's hands angrily. "Drive me to Woodhill." Conor made a weak attention to respond, "Just do I.T." His eyes were fiery, but definitely filled with absolute fear and mortification that he was trying to suppress.

"Right." Conor stepped back, remaining there for a second before heading to the driver's seat of the dreaded car. When inside, Ned place his flushed face against the misty window, his forehead making an imprint. "It'll be-"

"Don't."

There I.T was again. The Berlin Wall. After a few minutes of driving that bender time until I.T gave the presence of hours, Conor's plump lips separated, "What if we ran away? Right now. If you're dying then we'll make sure you live before you die, and I want to support you in-"

"Do you ever shut up?" Ned aggressively spoke, slamming his palm against the compartment between them. Silence ran out, Conor hurt albeit not entirely surprised. Ned stared at Conor, his poor downcast face practically shouting "please, save me" but the words couldn't even get into his throat. No, not something as debilitating and vulnerability creating as that. Without any exchange of words, with slight disappointment, he continued to sorrowfully drive. For a brief second he stared at a couple, sharing an umbrella on this rainy day—making each other's days sunny—and laughing about probably nonsense. In a way, Conor envied that. In a way, he longed to have that—what his parents never did and he always yearned for. In a way, the universe played with him and offered but then reconsidered. In a way, he wanted that with Ned...in a more platonic way, of course.

It's incredible how people so close in vicinity can be so far in train of thought, isn't I.T? Ned was nowhere in a one hundred kilometer radius of even considering love at the moment. He had never loved himself, so no one else would. Either way, now he wallowed in regret and watched the couple in the car next to them have an all out war—their words acting like bullets. Each shot, reloaded, repeated. The wife seemed beside herself, the husband in utter disarray, and the small child in the back seat had tears creeping at the corners of his glassy eyes. In a way, he admired their ability to express themselves—dissimilar to his he could. In a way, he wondered if the whole world was like this and one day the child would grow up to be equally as miserable. In a way, he was revolted that the world could hold so many unhappy individuals.