So, What Pick-Up Line Actually Works On You?

Ch 25- I Don't Care If They Have A Life-Sized Dylan Moran Teddy

I turned to look at Rhys who was playing with a thread hanging off the sleeve of his jacket. His dark hair still flopped over one of his hazel eyes like it had done the morning I had met him. But his eyes didn’t have the piercing and confused look they had then, now they turned soft whenever he glanced at me. His lean frame was hunched over slightly, and his long legs were crossed like he was in a crap yoga DVD. His bushy eyebrows were pulled tight in a frown and his slightly too full lips were parted in concentration.

“Stop staring at me like that. I know I’m sexy and all, but please.” Rhys exclaimed, nudging me with his foot.

“Shut up. I just had an epiphany.” I snapped, my deep thoughts were shattered.

Rhys studied me carefully, raking his eyes over my body slowly, “You look pale and you’re shaking a bit.” He offered, reaching out a hand to clasp mine.

Holy shit. I did love him.

Did that make me a slut? I had known him for how long, a few weeks?

Granted, they had been some of the best weeks of my life, and I was so happy.

But it was still a few weeks, and I still felt like a slut. And then add last night onto it all?

Maybe sluttiness is a viral infection or something that will eventually exit my system?

“Earth to Annie, earth to Annie!” Stacy called, and I have to admit I almost didn’t recognize her. She looked gaunt, and her skin appeared to be a pasty gruel colour. She was sicker than she was the last time she was here, that was a definite. A sad smile formed on her face, “Yes, I know I look like shit.”

“No, you just look tired.” I interjected, beaming at her and trying to hide my horror. Was I going to look like that in a few weeks?

Dotty walked into the small room next, clutching a box to her large chest. I took note that Danny wasn’t here this time. “Hello everyone.” Dotty greeted, dumping the box unceremoniously on a rickety table next to a pile of those stupid biscuits, “Today I decided to tell you about a treatment centre in London that might just interest you all.”

Stacy perked up, and sat down carefully beside me. She seemed translucent, almost like she would break if I touched her. Rhys elbowed me not so discreetly, “Annie, that doctor said something about a centre in London that time.” I just looked at him, and then folded my arms across my torso, dropping his hand from mine. So he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He’s impossible.

“Marsfield Research and Treatment Centre is located in the heart of London, and specializes in the treatment of young people with leukaemia. It has some of the most advanced ways of treatment available, and has a large team that deals with the individual’s needs until they are fully recovered. Of course, this comes with a cost, but it is well worth it.” Dotty mumbled, sounding like she said this to a group of three teenager’s every day. She started to hand out leaflets to us, and Rhys eagerly opened his, poring over it. Stacy opened hers, frowning. I just left mine go limp in my hands.

Then Dotty practically threw a few biscuits at us, snivelled a bit and then dashed out of the room in floods of tears. That wasn’t strange at all. Not.

 “Annie, they have a pool table!” Rhys ventured, shoving the leaflet in my face enthusiastically.

“I don’t care if they have a fricking life sized Dylan Moran stuffed toy. I’m not going.” I scowled at Rhys, and his grin drooped slightly.

“I’m going,” Stacy murmured, “Danny left me until I agreed to get some form of treatment. All he showed me was that he can’t handle me at my worst. He just backed out after four years, because I didn’t want to get treatment.” Her eyes welled up with tears as she spoke, and my heart ached for her.