He was always brutally honest with me. I’m ashamed to admit that’s a quality I admire in people. I suppose Doctors have to give you that impression though. Trust and all that. I’ve never been one to fall for stupid things, even though I guess you could call me a good liar. That’s a quality I hate about myself.
‘Megan,’ he said, the crinkles forming around his eyes again ‘You know things won’t get any better if you don’t start talking. Come on, now.’
His surgery made me feel queasy. Probably because I always feel sick when I’m in it. It’s a small, cramped room which is always too warm and smells too clean. There’s a green plastic bed covered in paper for you to lie on, one window permanently with the blinds closed and him. Doctor Hilary. What an unfortunate name. Still, at least his first name is Mark.
‘I can’t sleep and I can’t wake’ I said finally. My skin felt warm on the outside but I shivered. Everything was hurting.
‘You can’t…wake?’ he said dubiously ‘Now that’s a first.’
‘Not really,’ I said with a bit more force ‘It means-’
‘I’m aware of what it means. It’s a first you telling me what’s really wrong, that’s all. How are things at home?’
He was pushing his luck. I closed my words. Doctor Hilary seemed to realise this, because he sighed like some kind of dying man. I mean, what’s he got to complain about? With a cushy job, three buck-teeth kids and a plump wife. Awesome. I’d shoot my own dog for a life like that.
‘That was a silly question,’ he smiled ‘I know things must be hard. But you have to understand that none of this is your fault, Megan. If you would just let me refer you-’
‘What’s the point?’
Psychologists, in my opinion, aren’t necessarily the devil. But they still wouldn’t help me. The Doctor’s face crumpled in despair.
I didn’t mean to make him look like that, but it felt good pilfering some of my pain onto his wrinkly face. His hair was going grey. A sign that he’d be dead of a heart -attack give or take about fifteen years. Things weren’t so kind on me.
‘I just want you to give me something to knock me out,’ I said finally, looking at the floor
‘Seeing as the treatment’s over, we’ll set you on a course of sleeping tablets.’
Over. There’s a euphemism. Failed would be more accurate.
He wrote the form, god love him. I bet he never thought when he delivered me in that hospital that he’d get rid of me so quickly. There’s life for you. Or death, I suppose.
I walked out of the building. It was pissing with rain outside, the last of the autumn warmth swept away on a cloud of wind and loose leaves. Mum said she’d drive me, but I prefer doing things for myself. I always have.
‘Meg! Megan!’
The familiar voice made me smile. But then I remembered that I had forgotten how to smile and it quickly vanished. A gangly teenage boy emerged from the mist of parked cars, his scruffy hair and rich clothes in a mismatch.
‘Oh,’ I said, more to myself than him ‘Hey Prospero.’
I went to turn and keep going, but he caught my arm gently with his bony hand. I used to hold that hand. I’d forgotten how nice his fingernails were.
‘Wait, please- Meggie wait. Why don’t you answer your phone anymore? And don’t tell me you haven’t been in when I call around. I know you are.’
‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’ I said ‘Just leave me alone’
‘Who am I? I’m your boyfriend in case you haven’t noticed’
I had of course, noticed. But I wasn’t that Megan anymore. I was the new Megan. The one who had walked out of the scan that day with cancer. People like me don’t have boyfriends, because we don’t have futures. Just cancer.
‘I miss you,’ he said, tears now streaming from his eyes. They always changed colour in thunderous weather. I often wondered if he was real after all, or one of those perfect changeling children the fairies leave for you in the place of the old baby. Someone would love him one day.
I watched him for a while, before putting my hand on his arm. He was warm. Somehow he managed to hug me.
‘I miss you,’ he said again.
‘I miss me.’
alas something my writing is infamous for! hahaha
Gender:
Points: 1075
Reviews: 344