I Am Plague

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

I sat in the next class by myself. There were over a hundred students that were also in the room, but the only one that mattered to me was Cain, and he wasn't here.

I felt my heart pound as I thought of the many reasons why he didn't come.

Because he's lazy.

Because he'd rather stay in the dorm and create false medicines than get an actual education.

Because he'd rather consume himself with poison, than stabilize his future.

Because he's angry at me for treating him like a creep, just like everyone else does.

God, that last one bothered me the most. It shouldn't but it does.

I kept tapping my pencil lightly against the top of my desk, as if the quicker I did it the sooner this class would be over.

I didn't work.

I ended up with two sets of identical notes so Cain could have what he needs to pass the upcoming exams. I stared at the second pages of notes and laughed at myself. Why was I still helping him? He doesn't even try to treat me nicely anymore, and yet I can't help but only think of him.

I suddenly felt my cell-phone buzz in my pocket. Assuming it were my idiot stepbrother telling me that my stepdad did something he wasn't supposed to, I whipped out my phone, and secretly opened up the text. I silently said a prayer that the professor wouldn't notice.

The text wasn't from my stepbrother, it was from Cain. I read it anyway, preparing myself for what he had to say.

On a scale of one to ten, how pissed off are you?

What did you do?

I replied, my fingers glided over the screen quicker than ever before.

Broke two fingers. possibly three, and pretty sure I fractured my wrist. Can't drive to hospital :)

Goddamn it Cain

Also cracked my phone, kind of pissed at that.

What a generation where people are more concerned for their phones than their actual health.

I excused myself from the class, claiming it were a medical emergency, which it is, and ran out to my car, where Cain was already leaning against. Two of his fingers were bent in an extremely awkward way, and one was just dangling as if it had broken completely off his skeleton.

"Holy Hell, Cain." I couldn't hinder myself from shouting, "What did you do?"

"Fell. . . kind of. Well, I was pushed, kind of." He shrugged as if it were just a scratch, "Doesn't matter, let's go before they have to amputate."

We both got into the car, and rode in silence for as long as I could stand it. I noticed how he was breathing quite heavy, despite his 'no pain' attitude.

He's in a lot of pain, but refuses to show it.

Why do I love this boy again?

"Why do you do this to yourself?" I finally broke the silence and asked.

"I don't break my bones for the fun of it, if that's what you're asking." He spoke with irritation, I assumed his useless anger was the only way he could cope with the pain.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant."

"Then answer me."

Silence. He held his hand up and observed the broken fingers. The look on his face could only describe disgust. I wondered why.

"Cain?"

"I didn't fall." He finally said, "I attempted to pick up a stack of chemistry books." He leaned back, "Can you believe that? It wasn't because I fell, it was because I attempted to actually study for once," He held up his hand, "and this is the result."

I had a hard time trying to think of a reply. I wanted to comfort him but at the same time I wanted to scold him as this was his fault in the first place. If he'd just stop with the poison. If he'd just use his fucking brain.

We made it to the hospital, and I took Cain to the emergency room where they rushed him into one of the rooms and immediately began putting a cast on his hand.

"I don't understand." Said the doctor, who looked so shocked and confused, "How are you not passing out from the pain? Your bones are in a condition I've never seen before, all of them, your whole being." They had taken an x-ray because of his hand, but the doctor was so intrigued with Cain's whole skeletal figure, he urged them to take full body x-rays. "It's strangely remarkable-and obscene. A normal person would choose suicide over the amount of pain you should be in."

Cain shrugged, "Pain killers are my god, he's very kind to me."

"That's another thing, how do you not overdose?" The doctor was taking notes as if Cain was a medical phenomenon and not a patient.

"I'm American. The proper use of drugs are my specialty. I know how to balance what with what."

"That's impossible."

"I'm a chemist."

"That doesn't explain it." He paused, "What I want to know is what are you consuming to get your body into this state?"

Cain opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off before he could, "Is there a way to improve the state of his body?"

The doctor looked at me a if he were at a loss, "Honestly," he admitted, "I'm dumbfounded. I could prescribe him antibiotics and a medication called Bisphosphonate, it helps those with Osteogenesis Imperfecta, it's a brittle bone disease." He looked as if he wanted to say more, but wasn't sure how.

"But?"

"But with what he is already putting in his body, and the fact that I've no idea what it is that's going into his body, I don't think it'd be wise to give him more medications. He honestly should already have overdosed, no need for more."

Me and Cain glanced at each other, before he broke the silence with a tone that was demanding, "Give it to me anyway."