If I Stay✔️

95

I was somewhat mesmerised by it's appearance. My eyes scanned every inch of the place in a vain attempt of harbouring every speck of it's rundown, rustic beauty, in the hopes I could mirror it's unique characteristics with my oil paints on a canvas in the next day. Which I did.

"What is this place?" I asked him, in an almost childlike state of awe. My voice was higher back then; squeaky in a way that told anyone who heard it that puberty hadn't quite grasped me and yet my innocence was long gone.

"A place for you to turn all your hurt and pain into anger, and, eventually, somewhere down the line, you might be able to let it go." I remember staring at him then instead of the unstable structure around us, the look of awe never fading.

It felt like the first time Marco saw me as anything more than his own use for pent up stress relief. It was the first time his words didn't make me question the why of our friendship; the first time his words infused their way into my mind without making me feel like my heart was sinking. It was then, I realised, he wasn't all bad.

Every Friday of every week, the place; which I now knew was a securely hidden, underground fight club, became our new thing.

For a few fleeting months, Marco felt like my friend again. A true friend; the same good friend I thought I'd found in that park at the naive age of twelve.

Fighting was exhilarating and freeing and compelling all at once.

Until it wasn't our thing anymore, but his.

"Earth to Leo?" I snapped out of my daze when Dr Owens called my name. He clicked his fingers in front of my face. "How does that sound?"

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, I had no idea what he was talking about. I vaguely remembered him entering the room and taking the free seat beside Dad before he began listing off everything wrong with my MRI. That's when I retreated into my head, leaving the adults to discuss things I suddenly cared about but couldn't handle hearing.

"Uh... good?" It came out as more of a question than an answer. In all honesty, I didn't need to be included in this conversation; I trusted Dad to make my medical decisions more than I trusted myself.

"You weren't listening." Dr Owens deadpanned. "I don't know why I find that surprising." He let out a soft huff before writing something down on his clipboard; probably about my 'uncaring' attitude. If only he knew how much I'd changed in that river. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd already scheduled me another mandatory therapy session after this. God knows I needed it.

"My apologies," I said, mockingly. "You were saying?"

He didn't look impressed. Not that it surprised me; I'd never seen anything other than disapproval or pity when it came to him.

"As I was saying, you'll be staying in the ICU for the next two weeks, at least. Given the fact you're hypothermic and have fluid in your lungs. I'd like to monitor your heart rate, continue to push the warm fluids and keep you on oxygen for the time being," he paused, briefly, sharing a cautious look with my Dad. "We're also pushing pain meds."

I stiffened.

"No. I don't want-" want to take three steps back. The heart rate machine started beeping rapidly and I tried to shake my head at him, until pain erupted behind my temples and I found myself wincing at the movement.