Don't Waste Your Time on Me.

Alex

"I don't want to go, mom!" I exclaimed, angrily throwing the flannel I was holding into the corner of my oh-so-clean room and crossing my arms over my chest as I walked pouting in the hallway where my mother had busied herself with organizing the enormous bookshelf while waiting for me to finish packing my stuff.

"Come on, Alex, I'm sure it's not going to be that bad." she tried to soothe me but only resulting in making me even madder.

"Yes, because slowly rotting in a hospital full of dying kids my age is so much fun, isn't it?" I snapped, instantly regretting it when I saw her face falling, tears threatening to spill over. "I'm sorry, mom. I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just.. hard."

She took a deep breath to calm herself before saying "I know, darling, I know. I don't want you having to go through this either, you know that, but I can't do anything about and I swear to god I'd take your place in a blink of an eye if I could, Alex, because you're all I have and-" she cut herself off with a heart-wrenching sob, falling into my arms.

I rubbed her back comfortingly, waiting for her to stop crying. It was something I've grown accustomed to, it became some sort of routine - put up a fight with her, snap at her, making her cry and then holding her while she tried to regain her composure. I knew that it was hard for her, what with losing her only son and all, but sometimes she tended to forget that, in fact, I was the one dying. The situation got even worse since the doctors told me that there was no help for me. I wasn't shocked in the slightest when I got the diagnose, I had seen that coming since I've been diagnosed with leukaemia almost three years ago. I was surprised that I've lasted that long, to be completely honest but not so my mother. She's been a wreck ever since, trying to keep herself together and being strong but failing miserably. Who could blame her though?

Over the past few years I had learned to accept the fact that no one could help me, yet I hadn't and would never accept that I would die soon. I was mad at god and the universe and the doctors and yes, maybe I was even mad at my own mother for putting me through all those useless treatments, because let's face it: we all knew that they wouldn't be able to keep me alive long enough for me to experience everything I wanted. Knowing that I probably wouldn't ever be able to see the world with all her bright, inviting colors and mysterious yet fascinating treasures, that I would never find the love of my life or even get married was constantly on my mind, saddening me. I couldn't believe that this life, my life was over before it had begun. That soon I'd be nothing more than a memory, a tear rolling down someone's face, a thought in someone's mind but most importantly: an insignificant gravestone amongst others, found at a dull, lifeless cemetery. I was a lost case, on one hand desperately clutching to the last straw of hope while on the other hand wishing for this living hell to finally end.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by my mother speaking up "Can we just get this over and done with? You only have to spend three days in the hospice."

"This month." I said with an edge in my voice that the small woman in my arms chose to ignore instead opting with an "I'm sorry, baby."

I sighed, deciding that yeah, getting this over and done with would be the only thing guaranteeing me at least a tiny bit of peace and quite from the constant stress my mom and I were under. I gave her one final hug before pulling my arms back and walking back into my room where I finished what I've been doing before mom's crying-session had interrupted me.

Once I had finished I headed downstairs where I found my mom already waiting for me to be ready. I put my bag onto the backseat before climbing into the front, fastening my seatbelt and pulling me headphones in. My mother had learned to not try and talk to me while I was listening to music since it always ended in her getting ignored, not that I did it with the intention of not talking to her, it's just difficult to notice you're being spoken to with closed eyes and music blasting in yours ears.

The drive to "Manhattan's Hospice For Children" as they called that oh-so-lovely building was fairly short which was good, because I couldn't get away fast enough from the sympathetic side-glances my mother gave me, obviously thinking I wouldn't notice them which well, I totally did. I wasn't too fond of entering the building either, wishing to just be able to curl up in my own bed and never leave it, but I had learned early enough that such thing as a merciful god didn't exist.

I gave my mother a hug before grabbing my duffel bag and walking towards the entrance, watching her slowly drive away. Sighing one last time I walked through the main door, instantly being greeted with a comfy atmosphere. It didn't look like the tiniest bit the way I expected it would. While I thought it would resemble the ICU of Manhattan's main hospital, it looked more like the house of a huge family. The walls were painted in a light green, dark parquet redeeming the usually depressing white linoleum covered floor. Self-painted pictures were grazing the endless-seeming halls who where leading to elevators, stairs and patient rooms.

I headed towards the desk where a tiny woman, probably in her mid-twenties, was sitting and filling out some important-looking forms.

"Excuse me" I said, gaining her attention "I'm Alex Gaskarth and I'm supposed to spend a few days here."

"Oh yes, of course!" she exclaimed, all too happy before standing up and walking away "Follow me! Your room number's 217 and your carer will be.." she trailed off, searching for something in her documents "Ah, there it is! You're lucky, Jack will take care of you for the next three days. He's one of our best carers and he's a really nice guy." she said, smiling widely.

I could tell by the way she was talking about him that she had a crush on him and seeing as she was quite pretty I figured that this Jack guy had to be pretty hot. I kept that to myself though, as I followed the blonde, who's badge told me her name was Judy, into my room. She said her goodbye before turning on her heels and walking away, leaving me alone in a room that didn't feel like home at all. This room did not have anything in common with mine, my walls being plastered with posters, concert tickets and pictures and all while those were blank. Painted nicely yet too not-plastered for my liking.

I set my duffel bag down on the floor, moving to sit on the bed with my head in my hands. What had I gotten myself into? Before I knew it a few tears escaped my eyes, all my bottled-up emotions starting to surface. As I sat there I cried about everything and nothing at all, cried about how much of a fuck up my life was. I was too engrossed with wallowing in self-pity to notice someone entering the room, until I heard a overly excited yet somewhat comforting voicex say

"Hey, I'm Jack and.. you're in need of a hug."