Chapter Sixteen

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"Today is a new day." I muttered, as I sat up in my bed feeling bleary-eyed with the hangover. But to be honest, the positivity that I'd been feeling last night had ebbed away, and what I was left with was a cold, empty crappy sensation that had consumed my entire body.

Aren't fresh starts supposed to feel a bit more...positive?

"It's okay, just...get going." I whispered, hoping that I could at least do that much. Maybe once I got started on organising my life, and sorting out where I was going to go next, everything else would simply fall into place. Or maybe I was being naive all over again...

I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, hoping that a cup of coffee would give me the boost I so desperately needed, but as the kettle boiled my eyes unwittingly rested on my calendar, giving me the worst news possible. Normally, I would look at the dates and only see my work shifts, but now I could see something that I'd been trying to forget, that had sunk into the depths of my mind with all that had been going on.

It was the date of my biannual check up at the hospital.

The hospital was so significant in my life, and I hated it with a fiery passion. Every time I stepped through those doors, I felt like my life was hanging in the balance all over again. The city hospital was better than the one from my hometown—it felt a little less personal at least, which I liked—but no appointment made me feel good. They always reverted me right back to the person I was, to the girl who had no future, but who had a fun-filled life. I always felt inadequate compared to her, and despite all of my progressive steps forward, today felt no different.

And this time, I'd been so distracted that I hadn't even given myself a suitable time to prepare for it.

As I poured the coffee into my mug I could see my hand trembling with fear. I was already a mess, how the hell was I going to be when I actually walked into the doctor's office? At least the guy I saw here didn't know me well enough to judge me. He was very clear and concise when he discussed what was happening with me, which I welcomed, but I'd still rather avoid it at all costs if I could.

Should I just...not go?

The temptation was there—just a little bit—but I wasn't idiotic enough to follow through with it. I would just have to suck it up and get on with it...

The empty numbness that had infected my life entirely until recently, consumed me slowly as the morning passed. I kept working myself up into tight, manic knots, before unwinding and feeling absolutely nothing once more. It was a vicious cycle that I had no idea how to break. My appointment wasn't until 1.30pm, and I certainly didn't feel the need to arrive early, which left me with a long unfilled time with nothing to do. I tried to find something useful to do to make the hours pass quicker, but my brain was too distracted with what was about to come. I simply couldn't focus on anything properly.

It wasn't that I was particularly concerned about finding out that I was ill again—although that revelation would have been difficult to take, just when I'd made the decision to have a go at life—I just hated the white, clinical coldness of the hospital environment. It spelt nothing but bad news to me, and that was all I could think about. I kept seeing myself receiving more and more bad news, over and over again, like a horror film playing in my mind. My one stipulation about my death had been that it wasn't to happen within a hospital building. I knew it had been selfish of me to ask to do it at home, where my younger half brothers lived, but it was all that I desired. Hell, I would have taken anywhere other than a hospital building! I just couldn't bear the thought of spending my last living moments in a place that I truly detested.

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