When the door swings open, Brad has to squint as he steps into the light and laboriously drags himself down the long, bright hallway, passing by large shining windows. If it weren't for the anxiety twisting in his stomach, he would feel lightweight and dreamy, like he's walking through a fantasy. But he dreads making it to the other side of the door. Whoever is behind it, the sixteen-year-old doesn't want to see.
The nurse pushes open the door and Brad hears someone laugh. There are tables set up in a room with soft lights, carpeted floors, and normalcy ― the opposite of life on the other half of the medical center. Brad wonders if he's even in the same building, but a nurse is still alongside him, following him around everywhere and monitoring him, and the thought quickly dies out. He suddenly wishes he were walking through the white hallway of one minute relaxation again, except he'd rather it not be in this place.
In the corner of his eye, he catches someone waving, and then his heart drops at the sight of who his visitor is. Brad doesn't know why he believed he wouldn't come. He already knew it wasn't going to be his parents: his mum told him that they weren't going to be visiting since she worried they'd interrupt Brad's "recovery". But Brad believes sitting across from his mum or dad for an hour would be better than sitting across from Drew. They have nothing to talk about. And even if Drew has something to say to him, Brad already knows he's not going to want to listen.
He hesitantly leads his nurse towards Drew, and sits across from him. Surprisingly, the nurse walks away, and stands at the side of the room where she can see them, but can't hear them. For once, Brad wishes she would've stayed beside him. Maybe she would've made it so awkward for Drew, he'd feel too uncomfortable to talk to Brad normally.
"Hey," the blond greets, smiling at him, like the two didn't stop talking to each other four months ago. Brad wonders if Drew actually doesn't think anything has changed or if he's just trying to ignore the fact everything has.
The first thing Brad notices about him is the absence of a camera around his neck. Brad can't remember a time Drew didn't have a camera with him, and he doesn't understand why it makes everything feel so strange ― stranger than things did before.
Drew catches onto where Brad's attention is and lets out a laugh. "This lady at the front desk confiscated my camera," he explains. Brad looks away, feeling a little embarrassed. "Don't worry. I haven't changed at all."
Instead of replying, Brad directs his eyes down towards the wooden table, since in here, it's all he can really look at. Unsurprisingly, Drew continues speaking. "It's really nice here. Everyone is nice, too. Like, the nurses and stuff. I was worried it'd be shitty here, but it's actually quite okay. I mean, you like it here, don't you?"
Brad doesn't answer him.
"People are really worried about you," he says, jumping into another subject. "Like, at school, and my family and stuff. They really want you to be okay. I want you to be okay, too."
I was okay until I came here, Brad angrily thinks.
"You look better already," Drew tells him, "even though you've only been here for five days you're making a lot of progress. I think you'll be fine."
Brad heavily exhales and tugs his sleeves over his hands out of boredom.
"I have something for you." The curly-haired boy blankly watches him take off the book bag he didn't even notice he had on, and hurriedly search through it. He quickly catches hold of what he's looking for and pulls two things out. It's a small frame and a photo, of course. The photo isn't inside of the frame, though. Drew pulls out both items separately, and places them in front of Brad. "You can put this in your room, if you want."
He looks down at the photo. It's of Brad and Drew from last year, and it was lunchtime when it was taken. The two were sitting outside of the school building on plastic tables, laughing about something Brad can't even remember anymore, but he remembers one of Drew's yearbook friends thought it'd be a good idea to capture the moment.
If Brad had a match, he'd burn it.
"Do you remember this picture?" Drew asks him. "It was before... this." Brad just looks at him. "You looked happy. Really happy. And when I looked at it, it made me kind of sad since I forgot how you were like when you're happy. Or what you're like at all. Which is why I wanted you to have it. Just because I know if I've forgotten, you've forgotten, and I wanted to remind you."
Brad picks up the picture and stares at it, studying his own face, Drew's face, and the green background. He shakes his head because Drew doesn't understand how Brad finds his happiness now. It's when he sees he's losing weight, or when he's working out, and his body burns all over afterwards in the best way possible.
"Are you going to put it in your room?" Brad looks up, staring right into Drew's blue eyes, and without pulling his gaze away, he slowly rips the photo in half, letting it fall from his hands onto the table. A flash of hurt and pain flashes across the other boy's face, and Brad would be lying if he said it didn't hurt him a little bit, too. But only a little bit.
"What the hell?" Drew snaps. "What did I ever do to you? Can you at least tell me why you hate me so much?"
Brad narrows his eyes at him.
"Or you could continue to not saying anything. It's not a big deal, though. I'm used to it." He stands up from his seat and pulls the strap of his bag on his shoulders, even though they haven't talked anywhere near an hour. "Well, I'm just going to go then. I'll be back next Wednesday."
Maybe I should've been a little nicer, Brad thinks as Drew quickly walks away. He's the only person left who wants something to do with me.
But he shakes his head and stands up from his chair. He doesn't want people to want anything to do with him, anyway. No one understands him, and it's exhausting when people try to. Brad likes to think he was made to be left alone. Things just work out better that way.
. . .
Brad hates walking around the grounds with all the other patients in the medical center, but he prefers it over group therapy on Fridays and Tuesdays. Group therapy isn't the worst thing in this place, and he's only had two sessions so far, but most of it consists of everyone talking, and talking, and a trio of girls randomly squealing over something stupid.
"Brad!" He turns his head, spotting Connor running across the grass towards him. The sixteen-year-old steps back when the boy nears him, remembering Connor, from yesterday, admitting to James and him he's not allowed to run since it can cause him to randomly start throwing up. It was during snack time, and Brad remembers looking down at his Ensure in disgust at the mention of vomit. The sight and sound of it never fails to make him panic.
"You walk way too fast," Connor heavily breathes when he catches up to him.
"Not really," he says. James isn't with him, which is a little strange. During the last three days of walking the grounds, James and Connor walked with Brad. He realised on the third day of being here, he didn't mind getting along with James and Connor, even though Brad doesn't know how him and James became on good terms again. Directly after Brad's first group therapy, James was back to talking to him normally, like Brad didn't yell at him over something extremely simple thirty minutes before. But Brad doesn't call Connor and James his friends. That'd be going too far. He's going to drop them as soon as he gets out of here, anyway.
"James is suspended from walking the grounds for a bit," Connor says, like he was reading Brad's mind.
"Why?" he asks.
"He hid high-fiber bars in his hair dryer," he explains, shaking his head. "He hid them where the batteries are supposed to go, and a nurse caught him."
"Things are so weird here."
"How?"
"You don't eat, they punish you," he says. "You hide food in your hair dryer, they punish you."
Connor shakes his head. "No, it's not like that."
"What do you mean?"
"Ever heard of laxative abuse?" Brad just looks at him blankly. "Okay, I take that as you haven't."
They both quicken their steps, realising they're breaking off from the group. Brad looks back at him when they catch up. "Are you going to tell me what laxative abuse is?"
"I don't want to," he quietly replies. "I don't want to talk about it, I mean. I'm kind of worried about James."
"Why?"
Connor furrows his eyebrows at him, like Brad should already know the answer to this. "Because he's my friend."
"Oh."
"He'll be okay, though." He's looking at Brad, but he doesn't seem like he's talking to him.
"Yeah," Brad says awkwardly, and randomly he starts thinking about Drew again. Brad ended up taking the ripped photograph and the small frame with him after he left the room for some reason. He didn't put the photo inside the frame. He just lied it on the desk in his temporary room, like maybe if he decides one day he doesn't want to scream at the sight of that picture, he'll put it in the frame and proudly stand it up so he can see it whenever he walks in and goes to sleep at night. But that'd obviously never happen. The picture fuels the anger inside of him. There's nothing wrong with it, except the fact Drew's in it, and Brad was happy with him in it. Happy with someone he hates. And the fact Drew personally gave it to him makes him even angrier.
Who does he even think he is?
"Guys, catch up!" the nurse instructs. Brad has been here for nearly a week, and the nurse that supervises the patients as they tour the grounds still hasn't taken time to learn his name.
Brad begins to jog over, but stops when Connor doesn't tag along. He turns around. "You coming?"
Connor gives him a slight nod before sucking in a breath, and jogging after the group with him, but Brad stops once again when he realises he isn't beside him anymore. When he turns around, Connor's bending over, panting, with his hands on his knees.
"Um, are you okay?" Brad asks.
"Yeah," he says through deep breaths, "I just... don't feel... well."
Brad's eyes widen. "You're not going to throw up, are you?"
He shakes his head. "No."
"Okay, good," Brad says, sighing of relief as he jogs back over to Connor. He glances over his shoulder towards the group, realising they're walking further ahead of them already. "Do you want me to go get the nurse for you?"
He shakes his head again. "No, I'm fine."
"Okay, I'll just help you ―" A scary, choking sound cuts him off, and Brad doesn't have time to turn away before liquid sprays from Connor's mouth like a water hose and splashes the grass. Brad watches in disgust as the younger boy heaves again, and again until he starts choking.
Brad doesn't have to call for the nurse. Somehow she's already aware, heading towards them, and automatically tending to Connor.
Breathe, Brad tells himself. It's just vomit. No need to freak out.
He inhales deeply as two other nurses join them to help Connor out. Brad doesn't think they need three nurses to help out one sick person, but he's too disturbed to say anything. Connor disgustingly pukes again before Brad feels a hand placed on his shoulder.
He gradually pulls himself out of his shock, and slowly turns towards the person touching him. Another nurse, of course. This time male. "You should join the rest of the group," he says. He tells him like it's a suggestion, but Brad already knows he has no other choice.
"Okay," Brad replies quietly. He glances back at Connor ― who's sitting on the grass, trying to recover from his continuous puking ― and wonders if he's supposed to say something to him before he leaves. Brad isn't used to witnessing people basically vomiting their entrails so he isn't exactly sure how he's supposed to peace out. Connor lets out a gagging noise, making Brad's decision for him, and the boy starts stumbling in the direction of the other patients.
. . .
A yawn escapes his mouth as he sleepily heads to his room alongside his nurse. Brad feels like the day has been going on for three years. Every hour passed way too slowly for his liking. Surprisingly, slower than his first day, especially individual therapy.
It was his second time in the bland room, trying his best to tune out Miss Lillian as she explained all the strange things Brad's body is doing to survive. Like, sprouting lanugo on his arms and stomach. She was trying her best to scare Brad again with her statistics and facts. But he's sure sooner or later she'll grasp the concept that Brad couldn't careless. The lanugo issue isn't even really serious to him, anyway. It's barely noticeable, and it looks pretty normal to him. He noticed it the first time when he was taking a shower at home without even giving it a second glance.
He had discovered during his snack time and dinner time that drinking his Ensure was more challenging without Connor and James there distracting him like he's become dependent on. He assumes Connor's still recovering from emptying out his stomach, and James is probably under supervision due to his rebel attempt, which left Brad alone with Tristan. He still wouldn't say much of anything, and still was trying to avoid his Ensure. Though, Brad did notice Tristan try to drink it during dinner, but he instantly spit it back out into his bottle, like it burned his mouth. Usually Brad would've been disgusted, but after him witnessing Connor's scene, he was almost insensible to it.
When they enter Brad's hall, he spots someone lying down with their legs pulled to their chest and their hands hiding their face. In front of his door.
Brad's nurse lets out a sigh and mutters something under her breath ― it kind of sounds like she said, I swear ― and quickens her steps a bit. As they near his door, Brad realises the person's a boy, and then he knows exactly who's in a fetal position in front of his room. It's pretty obvious, since there's only three other boys besides himself in the medical center.
His nurse doesn't ask him if he's okay, or anything, she immediately jumps into interrogating him. "Where's your nurse?"
Tristan's face is stained with tears behind his hands and his short quiff is messy. He wipes his cheeks with the sleeves of his jumper and looks up at Brad's nurse, sniffing. "I don't know."
She lets out a sigh and calls another nurse over to watch Brad and Tristan so she can search for his nurse. Brad looks down at the teary-eyed boy once she jogs away, realising they're (sort of) left alone with each other again.
"Tristan," Brad says softly.
He fixes his eyes on the curly-haired boy, sniffing again. In this position, he kind of looks like a little kid. "Yes?"
Brad buries his hands in the pocket of his jacket. "You're blocking the way to my room."
"What? No pity?" he jokes, still wiping away his tears. Once again, Brad wonders what is up with him.
Tristan scoots over and Brad rests his back against the door, slowly sliding down until he plops down on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh.
"Wow, that was loud," Tristan comments.
Brad peels his eyes open and looks over at him, a little annoyed. "I thought you were more talkative on good days."
Tristan lets out a small laugh. He doesn't say anything else, like Brad's used to, and starts playing with the bottom of his sleeves. Brad closes his eyes again, only focusing on the silence in the dim-lit hallway, and how much he'd love to be in his bed right now.
"I've had a bad day," Brad quietly admits. Tristan doesn't ask him to go into detail, but an explanation mindlessly slips out of his mouth, anyway. "Someone I hate thought it'd be a good idea to visit me and it's been bothering me all day."
There's a long pause before he replies. "That sucks."
"Yeah."
They sit in silence once more besides Tristan's sniffing and shaky breaths. Brad sighs again ― he makes sure its quiet this time ― and opens his eyes back up to the hallway. "Please stop crying," he pleads.
"Why?"
"Because," Brad says, running a hand through his curls, "it's annoying."
Tristan laughs.
"I don't know what your problem is," he tells him, "but running away and crying isn't making anything better. So don't be stupid."
"Okay."
"And don't cry in front of people's doors when it's way past their bed times," Brad adds. He's pretty sure it's the exhaustion talking right now. "That's times stupid."
Tristan pulls his lips into a small smile. "Okay."
Brad's nurse returns with Tristan's. Assuming by her expression, Brad knows Tristan's two seconds away from getting into a shit load of trouble. Tristan pulls himself up onto his feet and automatically joins her, and walks away without saying a goodbye or goodnight or even looking back at him. They walk down the hallway, Tristan's head hanging low as his nurse murmurs something to him.
"Let's get you to bed," Brad's nurse says, like he's a little baby, before unlocking his door and pushing it open to his room. Brad happily sighs, relieved to finally be in a place with a bed, and instantly crawls under the blankets after he pulls himself up from the floor.
Somehow his eyes land on the little, empty frame on the desk as he lies down and he stares at it, emotionless. The picture is placed right beside it, but Brad can't see it from where he's lying. He's too tired to be angry at the thought of it, so he just looks past it, outside of his window, and breathes in and out before closing his eyes.
. . .
yaaay a sort of original character named drewwww. i imagined him as drew dirksen from the tide, but you can imagine him however you want.