Shed Your Yellow

It was quiet in the hospital for the next few days. Charlotte spent most her time inside the sunny yellow walls of the cafeteria, pumping coffee into her system in a fruitless attempt to energize her worn-out self. It had been four days since she last slept and now as she clasped the lukewarm mug around her clammy hands, her eyelids dropped wearily in mere single-digit second intervals. Her shoulders ached from keeping her back straight and upright and her legs fizzed with pins and needles. Once again she fell back onto the cold beech wood of the cloned dining-room chair, gasping upon impact. Ironically enough, despite the fact she had spent the past week or so in the general hospital of Belleville, she had somehow failed to show her injuries to a doctor or nurse. Or perhaps it was purposeful; she was too busy concentrating on staying awake to care.

'I don't need the questions' she thought as she softly massaged her aching back. She needed to get back home; a shower -Charlotte was sure- would do wonders. Nonetheless, she couldn't, or rather she wouldn't, leave her mother alone. With that, she stood and tipped back the remnants of her once-warm drink. She left the cafeteria, still visibly wincing at the taste of the coffee, wondering why on earth she insisted paying for a vile drink which she had never, nor would ever, like.

Another hour passed inside secluded hospital side-room. Her mother was still sleeping; she tended to do that a lot these days it seemed to Charlotte, more so than she normally had previously, even post-diagnosis. And once her mother woke – she’d flee at first opportunity; like a criminal from the cops. The red-head liked herself less and less with each passing day; with each pointed look that the confused, withered woman sent her. Charlotte felt a fury for her mother in some respects - after all if she hadn't refused further treatment, she wouldn't have had to clean up this mess. She wouldn't be on a hit-list that marked her on endangerment of extinction, which read as clear and uncertain as a prophecy. Be killed or run. But her mother hadn't meant for any of this, and all of a sudden, those flashes of fury would be absent -- replaced with an unsinkable feeling of guilt, that followed her like a shadow, creating a black shadow over her already tarnished demeanour.

Now, she was mute despite the maternal company, she barely took the time to speak to the doctors, far less the nurses. Her mind just seemed abuzz with a flurry of never-ending incoherent thoughts, none of which were in anyway reassuring to her. Gerard Way was a reoccurring theme that plagued her thoughts. Much to her disgust, he seemed to be the one of the best things, amongst many bad, to dwell on. She almost wanted to have his arms around her again, then as quickly as the thought came, she would reassure herself it was only lack of company; lack of comfort; an urge for closeness she no longer had.

As a child, she had always found the blinding white that hospitals characteristically glared, dizzying. The smell of soap and sterility obnoxious and sickening, the superior looks the doctors shot children degrading and infuriating. Nowadays, she just found the places plain unlucky and ill reputable. After all, she couldn't recall a time where she'd ever been grateful to be directed to a hospital. No, the white pristine glows of such places were merely to hide the darkness. Her thoughts dampened with the more time she spent locked in the solitude of the place, the only thing to occupy her, was the rhythmic ba-doom of the heart monitor. It was times like these, where her headache brought on by so many depressive thoughts, settled in and she suddenly felt more irate that she had previously. She could feel her blood pressure rise, her anger stir and she knew instantly, she had to get out. So all of a sudden -out of the blue- she stood, sending the coat and book on her lap falling to the floor; frightening the nurses that had became accustomed to her still-as-a-statue form; disturbing the silence that had hung dangerously over the room.

Before a word could be spoken she ran. Not a fast, adrenalin fuelled run or a light-hearted jog but a quick no-nonsense borderline power walk; a warning to passers-by that she was not to be acknowledged or greeted - at all. Once again, she found herself walking the same route as she had on her last escapade, not letting herself think of anything but her path ahead. She soon found herself at the place where she'd fell -quite literally- across the two Way brothers and she stopped unsure of her next move. It was as if all the subdued anger that had pushed her here had ran out, as if her mind had decided it would settle for a moment or two.

She felt an urge to sit down and so she forced herself to take the few steps to the bench just beyond the gates of the park entrance, rather than sit where she had stood in the middle of the pathway. She felt groggy, on the edge of a drug induced comatose, she wanted to lie down and sleep. Her eyelids flickered up and down wearily, her tire finally catching up on her. A yawn escaped her parted lips and she internally bargained with herself as she leaned carefully against the back of the bench, 'two brief seconds, that's all'. Her eyes closed and she knew that she wouldn't open them again, not now. She physically couldn't, she could feel her brain shutting down. Finally, the teen fell to the side of the bench and shut off the rest of the world.

It was the next day when she woke. The scent of grounded coffee beans permeated her senses whilst the cold wind whipped harshly across her face; the gusts splaying her hair across her face. Finally, the red-head managed to open her eyes, the morning light a little too vibrant for her sleep entranced body. The fuzzy outline of a figure presented itself in front of her and as the groggy blur fell, she found it to be Gerard Way sipping quietly at the take-out cup in his hands.

“Morning,” he said, eyes still locked ahead of him. Charlotte noted his coat was laid across her upper half and slowly the events of the previous day came to her.

“How long have you been here?”

“A couple of hours tops. Although left for a bit at seven to get some coffee, I was gone about half an hour” She didn’t particularly care for these details but nodded nonetheless, partially in thanks. A small silence ensued, as it tended to do a lot whenever she was left with him.

The girl propped herself up, pondering the situation. There were many questions she wanted to ask him but didn’t know how. Why did he bother? What happened to the hostility between them? Mostly though, why did he put up with her? She’d certainly not shown him her ‘best face’ as her mother used to call it. She wondered about her mother and how well her facade was holding. She shut her eyes, rubbing her temples delicately - too many questions, too little in place of answers.

She opened her eyes to see he’d turned fully towards her; a concerned look graced his face. She shook her head in reply. No matter what had happened in the car, she wasn’t ready to spill her soul to him. She barely knew him for goodness sake!

“Hi, I’m Gerard Way,” his voice broke through the silence. Not knowing what to make of the situation she raised an eyebrow in question. “I thought we could do with starting over” he said after shrugging, he didn’t need to say it, she knew he was reminiscing on their little scene in the car.

“Charlotte Davies,” she managed sticking her hand out. He accepted and once more silence overcame the two teenagers. “This doesn’t make us best friends you realise” Charlotte clarified.

He let out a sardonic laugh, “I’m not completely brain dead, you know” She bit back a smile, turning away from him. She wouldn’t call him a friend at this point, she’d barely call him an acquaintance but not dealing with the hostility was one less trouble for her; something she definitely needed in her situation.

She stood up stretching her arms, “Come on, you’re taking me back to the hospital.”