Be My Boyfriend (ft. Narry)

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7. Goodnight Sweetheart

Ever since I was a child, I hate hospitals. I don't care if it is a large one, or tiny, clean or filthy, or anything. If it's a hospital, I automatically dislike it with a vicious passion.

I don't particularly sense a memory of someone exclusively special to me losing their life in a certain white-shaded building that smells like disgusting medical medicines. The reason for my abhorrence is quite simple; hospitals are the place of death, although they're less scary compared to cemeteries, hospitals are where at least one dies while some experience pain, whether it is an ache that is physical, emotional, mental -- either those three, they're all a feeling of misery.

I'm a kind person. I've claimed that quality myself when once, I realised that everyone has a rightful right to have a joyful life; and to be quite honest, a way to have a life of glee is to have forgiveness and patience. And not the dramatic patience, just patience in general. For instance, going to queues, going through traffics, ordering fried chicken in KFC only to find out that they ran out of breasts and you have to suffer and eat small chicken legs instead. That kind of patience.

And yea, maybe patience isn't what I really want to emphasise here but forgiveness. You know, despite wanting to cut Darling's hair and let horses eat it, I've forgiven her. I'm not saying I'm the father of Darling's kid, because I've established this over and over: I'm not. The thing is, let's get to my religious side, the Bible says this clearly: we should all love and forgive. I don't love Darling, but the least I can do is forgive her.

And if ever deep down, I'm still angered with what she's done and her secrecy to cover up the mystery man I've figured as the father, then I guess I'm just worried about her as a person.

I remember when I was four. My mother came home from somewhere after three days. I hugged her in excitement and happiness, for I truly missed her. She was crying, I noted, but I had no idea on why she was sobbing in despair.

I asked her as a child, "What's wrong?"

And as if the house that was once brighter than the sun became darker than the night, she answered, "Alice is gone, Harry."

I looked up to my father, who just came in with his cheeks draped by crimson colours, and confusion painted itself on my face. "What do you mean?"

Dad shook his head and I looked back at Mom and noticed one thing: the bump in her stomach disappeared. Alice was supposed to be my little sister, I was supposed to be a big brother, Mom and Dad were supposed to have three children, but their last child vanished, said goodbye without bidding farewell.

That day, I cried with her and that night, I cried alone. The days after that, I wished that I didn't know anything at all.

Mayhap that's the reason why I fear going to hospitals yet worry about Darling's baby. I'm frightened by the possibility that another innocence can say goodbye without bidding farewell, and although I'm not the father of Darling's child, it's still a child. Children deserve to live.

So once I enter the hospital, panting due to the run I had from the parking lot, I quickly rush over to the counter, questioning the nurse behind it for a patient that's named as Darling Heart. The nurse, Joy, says she's in Room #2194 and offers me a coat. I say please and thank you and go to the indicated room number.

I wait outside Darling's room until I see Sally Prescott coming out from it. She eyes me and cracks a small smile. "Jesus, Harry! Hospitals are cold. Wear a shirt."

I look down at my bare top and grimace.

Oh, I forgot I was at Louis' pool gathering.

That's why Nurse Joy asked if I wanted a coat.