Dedicated to Caoimhe for being my syrup.
Also dedicated to the hilarious Seamus, from whom I got the Spanish kid reference. Whenever I remember him saying that, I laugh out loud at how he says it. Also, Seamus is quite brilliant. One of the few people left who are themselves in this day and age. And he also tells people lies about me. He will tell you I'm a stripper, bang the school faculty often, make Ciara cry in Home Economics and that I have a three year old boyfriend. He will also tell you I like old people. None of that is true. :P
Chapter Twenty-Five - I Don’t Care If They Have A Fricking Life Sized Dylan Moran Stuffed Toy
The moment I saw that white building looming over me, I turned to glare at Rhys accusingly. Okay, hold it here. There I was, thinking I was finally getting a tattoo, and he brings me to the hospital? Something’s wrong in that equation.
Rhys squirmed uncomfortably under my stare, and bit his lip, “Annie, just go in for an hour, behave and then you can go see Benji?” He offered, trying to make his sentence sound like a statement, but it ended up sounding like a question.
“I don’t want to go to a crappy therapy session, be told I’m fucked, and then go do something I was actually looking forward to.” I whined, adding an unnecessary edge to my voice and scowling at Rhys who had resumed his usual passive demeanour.
“Stop being a brat and just go in. The worst that can happen is that you won’t come out alive.” Rhys attempted to joke, and I winced in reply. Joking about my approaching death wasn’t exactly an intriguing conversation topic.
“Were you dropped when you were a baby?” I laughed, not amused.
“Yes, into a pool of sexy.” Rhys deadpanned.
With a sullen sigh, I pushed myself out of Miranda’s car and launched myself into the chilly autumn weather. Rhys scrambled up after me, adjusting his jacket and pulling his jeans up hastily. That boy needed some pants that actually fit him. Rhys caught up to me in seconds, his long legs at an advantage over mine.
He whistled as we walked, I stayed silent. Rhys propped open the hospital door for me, raising an eyebrow as if challenging me to step inside the building. When I did enter the porch Rhys nearly sagged with relief, and a small smile stretched across his lips. He is such a sick bastard sometimes.
I watched as he practically skipped down the hallways, and wandered after him, a few feet behind. At one point he turned around and his grin grew before Rhys grabbed my hand and started to drag me after him. “C’mon, Annie! At least look a little happy, could be worse.” Rhys chimed, pecking the top of my head and then continuing on his casual prance around the hospital hallways. As you do.
He reminded me of the Spanish kid who was in our school last year. He would skip around happily, singing “la la la la!” And then another one of the lads would tell him to shut up. And Rhys was the Spanish kid in this instance.
Rhys towed me to the same office we went in last time, and hauled me inside forcefully. And then he practically threw me on the floor.
“You prick, play nice!” I hissed up at him, a smug grin was shot down at me and Rhys gracefully butt-planted onto the floor next to me. He even managed to make a butt-plant look beautiful. How did a diseased child like me end up with him? Why did he hang around every day, trying just to make me have a good day? Why did he like me even? Why did I love him so much? When did I realize he actually wasn’t a violent asshole?
Woah. Hold it. Let’s backtrack a bit.
Why do I love him so much?
Do I love him?
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.
Leukaemia is a vicious disease, I suppose. It can tear people you thought would always be together apart, and wreck their lives. It can kill people, people who have families, children and husbands, cats and hobos to feed.
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“So, I was thinking either this one, or that one.” Rhys articulated, showing Benji two separate sheets of paper and clucking his tongue. “I prefer this one though, but the use of colour on the other one is pretty good even if I say so myself.”
I sat on Benji’s sofa, swinging my legs and flicking through a book on how to pierce a tragus. I had been banished from anywhere near the menfolk for the simple reason of this was a surprise. So, they were basically putting something on my body and I wouldn’t know what it would look like at all. I trusted Rhys’s judgement, and Benji. If I didn’t like it, it wouldn’t matter in a few months. I wouldn’t even be alive then.
“Wait, lads, where will it be?” I quipped, glancing up at them from my book and making eye contact with them.
“Somewhere the majority of people won’t ever see in their life. Only Benji, myself and Miranda will see it, understand? Not Tyson and I’m confident he won’t see it.” Rhys hinted, and I snorted before returning to my book. I was going to find out in a few hours anyways.
Benji scrutinized the designs closely, squinting and looking like he had swallowed a hedgehog or something, “I think this one. Maybe add a bit of colour and definition, but I’ll get you to help with that.” Rhys nodded, looking intelligent but I knew he was doing a happy dance on the inside because Benji had accepted whatever little scribbles he had done on those pieces of paper. He was such a dork.
And then Benji gave me a twisted grin from his dinner table, “Are you ready, my little blank canvas?” He cackled, looking more than a little creepy to me.
“Ignore Benji; he’s just excited that he gets someone new to draw on with his special needles,” Rhys sighed, looking as if he regretted his decision right now. “Remind me, how did I get myself sucked into this?”
“You were simply caught up in the moment.” I bid, and Rhys glowered at me sulkily.
“Gawd, will you just shut up? We all mistakes.” Benji drawled, folding the piece of paper and slipping it into his jeans pocket before heading down the steep stairs which would bring us to his studio.
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“So, does it hurt?” Rhys asked smugly, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel of Miranda’s car.
“No, not at all. It’s like I was never touched by Benji and his wonderful needles.” I spat, a sarcastic smile affixing itself on me.
“Can I say I told you so?”
“No, because I don’t regret it. Of course it is going to hurt, I thought about it you know.”
We lapsed back into silence, Rhys’s all-knowing grin never shifting as he continued the short spin home. It had grown dark now, Benji had taken his time, claiming he was trying to perfect whatever he had etched onto me while I sat on a chair with no shirt on and had to watch Rhys’s gloating face as he stuffed his face with ice cream happily.
All that equated to a cranky Annie, which was completely understandable.
“And then it’s going to start to itch, and then scab and then at the end of all that, you mightn’t even want it anymore.” Rhys taunted. That was clearly piss taking at its strongest.
“That’s it; you’re so sleeping on the sofa tonight.” I huffed as our house came into view and we rounded up the driveway.
“But it was my bed originally. So you’re sleeping on the sofa.” Rhys countered as he cut the car’s engine.
Miranda burst out the front door, a tartan apron flapping around her hips as she neared her car, “Is she inked?” Miranda spluttered, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.
“Yes, she is and Annie is also sleeping on the sofa tonight.” Rhys answered, eyeing Miranda’s apron cynically.
“I made muffins to celebrate her tattoo, but I told Tyson they were to celebrate the fact that my fungal toe nail infection had finally cleared so he wouldn’t be too suspicious,” Miranda announced, gesturing towards the house happily, “So, when can I see it?”
“Eh, later when Ty isn’t around like a worried father?” I offered, wanting to see it myself. It was stupid I didn’t know what I had myself.
A few minutes later we were inside, and Rhys was on his fourth muffin. All he does is eat food all day. Ice cream at Benji’s, and biscuits at the hospital and then excessive muffin consumption when we get home? How did he stay the size he was? Even if he was the size of a house, I wouldn’t care. He would still be the same asshole that would make me sleep on the couch.
And that brings me back to the fact that I realized I could love him earlier. And when I realized sluttiness could be a virus. I was so messed up in the head.
“Earth to Annie, yet again! All you have done today is zone out and stare idiotically into space like bloody E.T. or something,” Rhys was calling, waving another half-eaten muffin in my face, “It’s time for bed, come along, little one!”
Rhys chucked the rest of the muffin into his mouth, making his cheeks protrude like a hamster’s, before just striding out the room merrily. And it was only half past nine in the evening. I followed him anyways, confused to say the least.
He launched himself at his bed, bits of muffin spewing out of his mouth with the impact. He didn’t even notice. “So, let’s have a look so!” Rhys beamed, showing me his chocolate coated teeth, attractive, I know.
Miranda suddenly sprinted in, kicked the door shut, and dived for the bed. She landed with a quiet moan as she chipped her knee off of Rhys’s elbow and turned to me expectantly.
With a roll of my eyes, I peeled my shirt up and wriggled out of it. I wanted to see it too, and I couldn’t even see it if I didn’t take my shirt off.
“WAIT! I need to go get some water and that tube of bepanthen I have somewhere!” Miranda jumped up and sprinted back out the room.
“Just peel the stupid paper towel off!” Rhys groaned. Benji had put a paper towel over the new tattoo, just to protect it and keep it clean until we got home. I was supposed to wash it with anti-bacterial soap and warm water twice a day, and put some bepanthen on it.
I did as Rhys told me to, I had the feeling that if I didn’t he would have done it for me. What a bully. I peeled if off, wincing when it came off due to Benji sticking it down with selotape.
And then I gasped when I saw what I now had permanently inked onto my ribcage, just below my boob.