Before I Wake

Hospitals sent my mind into a whirl, I never understood them.

Everyone seemed to always be in a rush, on some sort of mission, always trying to be anywhere but where they already were and never seeming to do it quick enough for their own taste. The way they spoke to you, as though it was like you were just one of many, never an individual. Who knows how many passed through their doors? You were a name on a clipboard and once you've been checked off that list, it was out of sight, out of mind for as long as possible. It wasn't supposed to be like that. You were supposed to be cared for, looked after, someone’s goddamn priority. They were supposed to help you; instead, they treated you like a nuisance.

I couldn't tell you how many hours I racked up in that hospital, painfully aware of how utterly useless I was and how much time I had lost. Weeks? Months? Hell, it felt like years. I let out a defeated sigh, sinking as far as possible into the uncomfortable pillow placed behind my head, wishing it would just swallow me whole. I'd give anything to be anywhere but here.

Three weeks, twenty-one days, and countless tears had passed since I got the door slammed in my face, both literally and figuratively. Zack was always at the forefront of my mind and no matter how hard I tried, he snuck around every defensive my mind threw at him, to no avail. Not a single call. Not a single text. Nothing. When he said he had been finished and wanted nothing to do with me, I never thought that it could ever be true. My mind had not fully processed those words until I found myself sobbing on the sidewalk after so graciously falling on my ass.

Things with Chelsea were no better, in fact, they were on the same level. My heart had become rigid over these past few weeks, building up the defenses I had once created when my mother passed.

Day-by-day, I laid stone after stone, layered the mortar and continued on, building my wall as high as I possibly could, to a point where you would have to crane your damn neck to the sky to even see the top. I was sick of it, sick of it all. I couldn't stand being around anyone, not the nurses, not Dr. Kyle, not even my father, who had been the one to pick me off of the ground and be my knight in shining armor. I was selfish, just as Chelsea had said and I couldn't deny it even if I wanted to.

My chemo was still on-going and I was feeling like absolute shit, which added wonders to my already fantastic attitude. I snapped my eyes shut, wanting nothing more to just roll over and never wake up. I would enjoy that much more than having to listen to the nurses outside of my room gossiping about which doctor they would love to fuck. I scowled, my mood souring.

"Ms. Thomas," Her Southern voice greeted my ears. I opened my eyes slowly, my face void of emotion. Dr. Kyle had sauntered her way into my room, her long hair swaying wildly as she quickly checked my vitals and drip bag for any sign of disturbance or alarm.

I gave her a quick nod before shutting my eyes once more. The last person I wanted to snap at was the one person who cared and was doing everything in her power to save my life.

"How are you feeling?" She asked softly. I could feel her gaze on my un-moving figure, clearly wanting my attention. I let out a sigh, which sounded more aggravated than anything else. My eyes locked with her pale blue ones, concern written in her eyes and I knew immediately I didn't have enough energy to be angry with her.

"I'm tired," I whispered, diverting my gaze once the words were out of my mouth. I hated when others thought I was weak, but, I knew better than to try and lie to someone who faced death and the toll it took, everyday as a career.

"I think we all are," She sent me a sympathetic smile. I let a small noise, my way of letting her know I agreed.

"How is she lookin', Doc?" My father's voice rang through the small room, startling me. Dr. Kyle sent him a small smile, making her way toward the end of my bed, returning my designated clipboard to its original spot.

My father was never good with hospitals and his distaste and fear of them only seemed to grow the moment after my mother abruptly left this Earth. There he stood, his large figure outlined in a halo of white due to the bright bulbs located right outside my door.

It was as though he was terrified of crossing the corridors of the doorway, afraid that once he was in, he could never get out. He had no idea how it felt to be me and at this moment, I truly felt like I hated him. He was nervous, as usual, wanting to be anywhere but there, running his hand through his dark hair and avoiding eye-contact, not wanting to see me in such a state.

"There hasn't been any improvement, but, things aren't getting any worse." Dr. Kyle answered, her Southern twang ringing in my ears. My father simply nodded, unsure of what to say.

"You look like shit," I voiced, startling him. His gaze flicked briefly to my weak figure, his tired eyes holding no light of life anymore. He stayed quiet, not wanting to get into it with me, again. That had been our relationship from the moment my mother disappeared and I was foolish to think it would change due to the fact that I was dying. Silly me.

He slipped out of the doorframe, his figure retreating into the bright hallway, leaving me as I watched him with disdain.

"I'm fucking dying you know!" I snapped at him, knowing full well he most likely couldn't hear me. I had so much anger built up inside of me, there were moments that I just, snapped. I couldn't hold my tongue the way I used to and I was slowly losing the self-respect I once had. Did I care? Of course, but, nothing seemed to matter anymore, everything had lost its glow once more.

Dr. Kyle sent me a look that would have chilled me to the bone, had I not already felt like the scum of the Earth. She shook her head in disappointment and exited the room without so much as a single word, leaving me to my own devices once more.

As relieved as I was that I wasn't getting worse, I couldn't understand why I wasn't getting better. It was like I was frozen in time, stuck in a place where I was teetering on the edge of death, and no one had the heart to push me over the edge.

Oh, how I wish I was free-falling over that edge.