misfits · calum hood

day thirty-one

day thirty-one - home

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"Vicky?"

"I'm sleeping."

I felt Steph smack her pillow on my face as she yelled, "Shut up. Get outta bed."

"I don't want to."

"It's your last day, get up," She smacked me with the pillow again, and I groaned into my pillow and, eventually, managed to open my eyes.

I glanced at the clock. "Steph. It's 6:30."

"Yeah, I know. I'm spending every minute with you as I can before you go." Steph smiled, sitting down next to me on my bed.

"S'cute," I yawned, sitting up.

"I know, right? I'm a cuter boyfriend than Calum is."

I laughed, and then asked, absolutely random, "What is Ashton like?"

"What? Why?" Steph said, knitting her eyebrows together.

"I don't know. Like, what does he look like. Act like. You've told me about him, but not all the details. . .Like, if I happen to see him around or something I can know its him and then I can be like, 'Hey. . .Steph says hi and she loves you' or something like that." I smiled.

"Mhm. Okay. Ashton. He's 16. Curly dirty blonde almost brunette hair. Glasses. Thick black ones. He has nice arms. He wears a lot of black skinny jeans. Like you do. And like Calum does. He's quite shy and nervous. . .but when you get to know him, he's really loud. Sometimes obnoxious. He laughs a lot. Not really a laugh, more of a giggle. Always giggling, at everything. You almost wouldn't know he's sad most of the time. . .he likes to hide it. His accent is really thick. His middle name is Fletcher, he really hates it. He loves his family to death, especially his little brother. . .he doesn't really hate anyone. But he hates himself. He likes coffee. And he likes poetry. And he likes music. He really loves music, he loves to drum. Always tapping a beat. You'll like him easily. Hell, I loved him easily. So. Um, yeah. Ashton."

"He sounds really lovely," I said, and she sighed.

"He is. I miss him."

"I know you do."

Steph started laughing, which seemed odd. It just came out of nowhere; one second she was sighing over missing Ashton and the next hysterically laughing. "Speaking of Ashton, I know you sent him like two of my letters, and you're a bitch for it, but I also love you for it, because hey," She walked over to her bed, pulling out the box. She opened it and it was empty, "I sent the rest. I'm writing to him everyday now, and I send them. So thanks, I guess?"

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The rest of my last day wasn't anything special. Talked to more doctors than usual, but it was still the same. Wake up. Take pills. Go to breakfast. Therapy. My last therapy session at the hospital, at least. My doctor had told me I'd probably go to group therapy outside of the hospital at least once a week, possibly twice. Which was fine, I was used to that.

Breakfast was fine. Wrist holding. Ankle kicking. Eating. Talking. Michael still hadn't given back Kat's crown (I gave it back to her the night before, he obviously stole it from her again.)

And then we went to group, it was as boring as it normally was. Linda asked me how it felt to be leaving the hospital. I said good. She asked if I was happy about it. And I said, "I think I am."

After group we all went back to our rooms and everything felt weird, because my stuff was all packed into my duffel and I had actually made the bed for once. After we spent like three minutes in our room, instead of going to school we went downstairs. I had to bring my stuff, meaning I was leaving. Soon.