Burning

It was two long weeks before anything happened. Every day was the same routine, and the treatment cycles became second nature to me. I made friends with the nurses and several patients who came to visit with me. I was getting restless being bedridden, but I knew it couldn't last too much longer. I had seen major improvements in every aspect of my body. I could sit up and look around now, easily. I wasn't sure that my legs would hold my weight, but I could get into a standing position. And best of all, my skin was starting to regrow. Touching most things was painless now.

The problem with having sat in a bad for two weeks, however, was that I had time to think. I matured quite a lot in those weeks. I realized the value and speed of life, not to mention the frailty of it. Life could be broken so easily…I'd seen that firsthand. You see…the mad that had hit me hadn't survived. Autopsy had shown that he had been not only drunk, but high on prescription pills. Blame for the accident had been placed on him, but I convinced my parents not to press charges. His family had just lost him, they didn't need a lawsuit, too.

That was one of the reasons I was looking forward to today. I was allowed to wander the hospital starting today, and I needed a break from the constant pessimistic thoughts. I needed to get up, get moving so I could stop focusing on the negative. The only thing that lightened my mood was when my doctor came around. It turns out that his name was Dr. Rodd, but he still couldn't figure out why people had been calling him Nim for years. I guess I should be nicer to him, though. He was the one that said I could walk.

It was after noon by the time I was ready. I'd had my ointment that day, so I could dress myself without pain. I ended up in loose black yoga pants, cinched lightly at the waist with string. It didn’t even sting when I pulled it tighter, and I was happier than you can imagine because of that.

The nurses didn't make a production out of my newly found mobility, and I was glad for that. The last thing I wanted was a group of nurses around me, not letting me have the freedom I desired. They were actually nice, though, telling me that I could go anywhere in the hospital, as long as I was back in time for them to change my dressings.

I found it highly easy to walk, easier than I had expected. It only took a few minutes to get readjusted to the way the solid tile felt on my slipper-clad feet. Sick of my prison, I had decided to go visit some other patients. The nurse I confided that in had slyly suggested the short-term ward, which was currently housing several teenage boys, all friends, and all suffering from measles. But I had different ideas. The cancer ward would be valuable. My uncle had died from cancer, and my aunt always spoke of how he loved visitors.

The cancer ward was highly different from the intensive burn unit. Instead of a long hall with lines of beds, it was a long hall with doors off each side, leading to double and individual rooms. Most doors were closed. I suddenly realized what a stupid idea this was. I wasn't exactly the belle of the ball, and it was cruel to spring my appearance on someone that wasn't ready for it.

I turned around, immediately smacking into someone. It hurt, a lot. I wasn't ready for that much contact, and it was hard. I swore a bit under my breath before carefully getting back up. I turned to face whoever I'd bumped into, remembering to keep my face angled mainly down, hoping my still-singed hair would cover enough of it.

I'd run into one of the cancer patients. He looked like he was trying to get his balance. Maybe he was on chemo and was a bit off right now. He didn't have any hair, so that was probable. Even bald, his good looks were obvious. He had a perfect jaw line, not too square, but still definitive. He had thin lips and dull blue eyes. He was absolutely gorgeous. Though I shouldn't have been thinking that. I had a boyfriend, and I was sure that Ryan wouldn't like me looking at like guy like that.

He was just so…venerable looking. It must have been chemo and radiation. He was extremely thin, but he looked…doughy, somehow, as if the little weight he did have was excess fat. He had huge circles around his eyes, dark, sunken circles. He just had an entirely tired look about him; he was slouching slightly.

I realized I was staring, and I looked down and blushed. I muttered an apology, before starting to turn away. He smiled, but seeing that I was turning away, he lightly grabbed my arm to stop me.

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly. His voice was thin and weary. I kept my head down and muttered another thanks. "C'mon, what's wrong?" he said, gently prying my chin up to look at him. He didn't cringe, he didn't gasp. He looked slightly surprised, but there was no disgust in his look. There was sadness there, too, a lot of it.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, sympathetically. I shook my head a little, indicating that I wouldn't tell him. I had never thought that something like this would feel so personal. I felt bad about it, ashamed, like I should have been able to prevent it. He sighed. "You know, it's not your fault…." It seemed like he could read my mind.

"Anyway," the boy said, seeing I wouldn't give in, "I haven't seen you around. I'm Ian."