❦ WINNER OF THE RIVETING WRITING CONTEST ❦
OLIVER IS DYING
With only months left to live at just seventeen, Oliver spends his remaining days of endless tests and debilitating drugs in the St. Andrews paediatrics ward planning his impending funeral...
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I flip my sketchbook to a new page, blank and glowing in the morning sun.
It's always a pretty neat perk to be staying in a hospital as rich, expertly developed and managed as St. Andrews. The gardens make Central Park look like a backwater corner park.
The grass is immaculately well kept, emerald green like it's colored straight from my palette. The trees and flower bushes are planted like a border around the area, offering shade and a splash of color with the green of the grass.
The gardens are usually moderately crowded with teenagers and children doing yoga or exercise and dance classes, playing chess on the chessboards under the far veranda, reading groups, support groups and schooling classes.
Today, the gardens are empty. They're usually like that on a Friday morning.
But my favorite place has always been the artificial rock pool and fountain secluded in a little grove. Koi and goldfish swim in the clear waters around the smooth stones and pebbles, more water spluttering from the koi statue.
Nick's sitting across from me, splitting the water as he eases his hand through it, the fishes darting around his fingers.
"So, there's this fair in Santa Monica happening for the next three days." I sketch out his facial structure and outline of his chiseled jawline. "I've never been to one before."
I look up. "Do you want to go?"
My hope takes a swan dive when I see clear hesitation force his shoulders to tense, his hand to retreating from the pool.
I frown and shake my head, fixing my gaze back on my sketchpad. "It's fine, don't worry about it."
"No, I want to go," Nick says.
He angles himself to sit facing me fully. "It's just..." He purses his lips and then bites his lower, slightly fuller one. "Going with me...you know what that means, right?"
No PDA.
No holding hands.
No show of affection at all.
We're just friends, nothing more.
Going with Nick means hiding what we've been to each other for almost a month now.
I'm not going to lie, I hate it.
I hate that I can't show the world how happy Nick makes me in the way that he really does—not as friends. How he's changed my perspective and outlook on life. My time has gone from planning my funeral to kissing him in the rain.
But I know how hard it is to be afraid to tell the world your deep dark secret in fear of being seen and treated differently. I know because I've been there. That's why agreed to do things on his terms until he's ready to do what he needs to. It's the right thing to do.
