the boy in room 5 ; style

7: Stanly Marsh

•  I pull my beanie from my ebony hair, chewing the inside of my mouth as my feet press against the ground. My key clicks into the door and I push my hand forward to swing it open. A gust of cool air blows against my clammy skin. The air conditioning is on. There's the echo of conversation coming from the kitchen and the vacuum cleaner laid against the wall. Moms been cleaning. I inhale slowly and let it out quick, the door slamming shut behind me, louder than I had intended. 

"Stan?" Moms voice is louder than it had been before, and the other voice in the kitchen dropped to silence. Cautiously, I walk into the kitchen, and my eye catches onto a larger woman, her hair bright red, a kind look on her face.

"Oh!" She exclaims, "You must be Stan?" Her tone sounds as if its a mix of a question and a statement, and I can't tell if she's asking if I am Stan, or if she figured it out already. 

"Yeah..." I respond, my voice quiet and touched with concern. She whispers something to Mom, and there's a smile on my moms face as she turns to me. 

"Stanley, this is Sheila! She's your friend from the hospitals mom." My eyebrows raise and I turn to the red-headed woman. I see a resemblance, the same luminescent green eyes. Only Kyle's were prettier, and sadder.  "He asked for you today, so she's going to be bringing you to see him." Mom placed her hands on my shoulders, a smile bright on her lips. "She says she's very glad he's got someone like you to have hope for. And I myself am lad you've made a new friend." She ruffled my hair and walked back to the sink where she had been doing the dishes. Sheila held her hand to me but pulled it away instantly, as if it wasn't really an offer but a signal to follow her. I nod and continue to chew on the inside of my cheek. Why is mom trusting this woman so easily, what if she's lying?

I step into her car and click in my seatbelt, my foot tapping against the car floor. It feels as if im upside down with all the blood rushing to my head causing a migraine. "How did you know where I live?" I ask, voice shaking.

"I got it from the hospital." Her response is filled with kindness. I grip my phone in my pocket, wary of this strange woman still. 

There's silence right up until the car engine whirls and stops, she says something I don't quite hear, Ans there's more silence up until the doors. Sheila talks to the woman at the desk, smiles on their faces, and Sheila gestures me to follow her. I do so, a hesitant look painted on my face but no sign of hesitance in my actions.

"I'm sure Kyle's excited to see you, he's not doing so good today." Sheila says, I bite my bottom lip. There's a sting of hope I'll bite through the skin and taste blood, a hope I'm not sure why it's there, but I push it back and remove my lip from my bite.

"I'm excited to see him too." I smile, awkward, fake, one she can't even see as she's looking forward. Then, exactly like last time I said this word, there's yet again more silence. At least, between the two of us, the hospital is bustling with noise, talking, yelling, walking, trays, beeping. Life, movement. I hate life sometimes, not my life specifically, just life in general. How important yet so fragile it is.

"Bubby, your little friends here to see you." She holds her hand in the door, peaking through the crack she made. I stand behind her. If my feet dig into the floor anymore the marble might crack and eat me. According to my nerves I want that.

"Stan?" His voice is quiet, tired, groggy, like he's just been punched in the gut, like he's just woken up early morning, like he's dying.

"Yeah, hey man." I say, my tone slicked with sympathy. He sits up, eye lids low, red in his eyes. He must've cried himself to sleep. Clearly it wasn't a good sleep at all.

"Hi." He says, still quiet.

"Hi." I copy his tone. Sheila says something I don't process and I hear the door click shut. He sits up fully, no longer leaning on his arms and pats the bed next to him, shuffling over a tad. I follow his silent order. Before we begin greetings- asking how our days were, starting conversation- we just sit in silence, looking and melting into each others tired gaze and letting the warmth of a friendly comfort engulf us.

"How was school?" He breaks the comfortable silence with his comforting voice.
I nod. "Yeah, yeah, really good. We played basketball, not a fan." I say, chuckle laced behind my voice.

"You don't like basketball?" The look on his face displayed shock, shock that made me giggle. "Man, I love basketball," he begins, "when I would feel better I'd always go play basketball the second I was allowed." His smile warms me.

"I hate it, it sucks it's just throwing a ball in a hoop what's fun about that?"

"Oh, I bet you play football."

"Yeah, actually, I do." I smirk, theirs a hint of teasing in both our tones.

"I played once too, basketballs better."

I scoff. "Not at all."

"Yuh huh"

"Nuh uh"

"Yuh huh"

"Nuh uh"

This goes on for what could be 10 seconds to an hour, god knows. I gently punch him in the shoulder and he snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes as I make fun of him for his snort, snort I actually found sort of cute.

Tick, tick, tick. Occasionally I hear the clock on the wall, it's always ticking, always making a noise, but I don't acknowledge it. That wasn't working yesterday.

"When did they put the clock in?" I ask.

"Its always been there it just didn't work. They came and changed the batteries when I was trying to sleep." Kyle rolled his eyes. "Bastards." I see a smile glistening on his pretty red lips, and it grows when he hears my laugh.

"Oh my god, couldn't they have done it while you were eating it something?" He shrugs in response.

Tick, tick, tick. The clocks bothering me now. I want to comment on it but Kyle's talking about his book and I don't want to interrupt him.

"I think this is the best I've felt in the past 10 years." He says. My smile drops. "I don't feel sick." He nods. "Thanks, dude."

"Course dude, I mean I'm just being your friend, that's not finding the cure." He chuckles and nods, a quiet 'yeah' brushes his lips.

His smile is gorgeous, it's nice to see it. His face is a canvas of freckles, green eyes, red lips and pale skin. A canvas I got to paint the most beautiful smile upon. A canvas I hope to paint in forevermore.

I might have a crush on him.

It's stupid. We clicked instantly, but getting a crush on someone the second day you know them is so dumb. It'll go away I know it will, in its own time. If it doesn't I might just kill myself, or tell him I love him one or the other.

He drops down, his head on my chest, my heartbeat picking up. He can definitely hear it. I haven't had a crush since I was little and fell for Wendy, it's weird. I put my hand in his red curls, asking quietly if he's okay. He nods, replying in a mutter. I make out a mention of tiredness and feeling week and pull him closer, letting his get comfortable with his face burried in my shoulder. My arms are around his body, holding him up. This feels weirdly intimate for someone I met two days ago.

I didn't even notice we fell asleep until  a nurse enters telling me visiting time is ending and I should say my goodbyes. Kyle doesn't wake up, he just snores softly. It's not the annoying, loud, rough kind if snore that I hear from my parents room at midnight, it's a soft, heavy-breath more of snore that isn't really a snore.

I nod, a quiet 'okay' can be heard as I lay Kyle's head down on his pillow and get up, leaving the room every so quietly, not wanting to wake him. The nurse smiles at me, it's a closer mouth smile, and her nose scrunches up. I smile back, the realest fake smile my lips could morph. I turn and look at the door, the '5' labelled on the side, chewing on the inside of my mouth.

He'll be fine, I'll come back tomorrow.

(1494 words)