The Rent Boy (EDITING)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Desperate Needs-

    I left the flat early the next day, heading straight for the hospital to sit by Logan's side again. Whenever I walked down the corridor in the ICU, to Logan's room, the nerves seemed to intensify. Shaking my whole body and causing my breathing to deepen. I took shaky breaths and flexed my fingers, fighting away the rush of fear. 

    Stopping outside his door, I peered in through the small window. By Logan's rigid side sat his mother. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, a pencil skirt and white blouse, which had me wondering if she'd even left since we exchanged words. Her hair was now shoved up into a scruffy bun, adding to her stressed appearance.

    I backed away from the door, taking a seat on one of the few chairs that were situated in the cream corridor. I rested my forearms on my thighs, leaning forward and clasping my hands together. I couldn't walk in and intrude on the time his mother was spending with him, but I wasn't going to leave either. I decided I'd wait until she left, and if she never did, then I'd simply stay here anyway. 

    But as that thought was crossing my mind, the air stirred around me as the door was swung open. I looked up to meet eyes with those that could easily be mistaken as Logan's, as they were the same shade of brown. The only thing that gave it away, was how broken they looked. She had dark blue bags beneath her eyes, that also had a red tinge to it, showing how much she had been crying. 

    Logan's never looked broken; they always seemed full of life, bright and happy. If it hadn't come straight from Logan's mouth how broken inside he really was, I never would have believed it. It was a scary thought, how well Logan could hide how he was really feeling. He obviously had a lot of experience behind him. 

    His mother cleared her throat, a surface smile upon her lips as she hesitantly took a seat next to me. She rested her hands in her lap and leaned forward slightly, so that we were eye level. The bead necklace around her neck swung forward and back gently, as she made the movement. I forced myself to look up, towards her eyes, finding only one was visible, as the other was shadowed by strands of her hair that had fallen loose from the bun. 

    "How is he?" I was the first to speak, finding the silence too heavy to breathe in. My voice came out cracked and raspy, as though I hadn't drank for weeks. 

    "The doctors don't think he'll recover," she began, her voice just as weak as my own. "There's nothing they can do." 

    I nodded my head along to the words, wishing I was hearing the complete opposite. 

    "What happened?" I wasn't sure if I was pushing my luck with the questions, but she didn't seem to mind answering them so far. I thought back to the way she always seemed to sneer at me whenever we came face to face, and whether or not that maybe was just her natural face for strangers. Because the Mrs. Young sitting here now, seemed as sweet and kind as her son was. I guess he had to get it from somewhere. 

    "He had a brain hemorrhage." She wiped a tear from her cheek with a quick swipe. "They think he fainted and hit his head hard, which knocked him into a coma. They told me he got to the hospital too late, and there's nothing they could do to help the situation." 

    "So it wasn't from his cancer?" The panic in my voice was clearly audible, as she scrunched her eyebrows at me and shook her head. "Someone could have stopped this? If they'd been there?" I asked, starting to develop an even deeper feeling of guilt in my mind. 

    "If he had got to the hospital sooner, they may have been able to do something,"

    "Or if I'd have been there to stop him from falling," I whispered to myself, hanging my head low and squeezing my eyes shut. I pressed my palms against each other and rested the side of them against my lips, as though I was praying, a tear rolling down to the edge of my chin.