Keith messed nimbly with the sheets. Occasionally, he'd feel the hard, cold plastic of the I.V. tubing, and then he'd move it over, ignoring the pinch that resulted in the bend of his arm. He continued then; messing with the bedding. Sometimes, he traced the outline of the clothe designs, and sometime's he'd find himself absentmindedly tracing Natalie's name. He declined the doctor and his father's requests for him to eat, saying simply that: "hospital food was worse than dad's cooking".
He straightening his back against the slumping pillows; the nurse would be in soon to fix them, so he didn't need to move much. His mind wandered during the times he lay wide awake like this. He thought about Natalie, and worried that she was worried about him. He thought about his truck, and how he was itching to get back to driving around town. When he was in a light-hearted mood, he'd ask his dad to pre-order pizza for his first day back home. Really, he just hoped he'd let slip exactly what day they'd 'order', but he never did. Keith was sure that was only because he didn't know. Or maybe it was so far away that he just didn't want to depress his son anymore.
Whatever it was, Keith just wanted to go home; home to his own bed, own food, own T.V., own perfectly normal life of pretending he didn't have cancer. Above all, he wanted to go to school…he wanted to see Natalie…he wanted to be with his partner.
He sighed and shoved his head into the pillow, frustrated.
He knew she was worried, probably going crazy, and blowing everybody off.
But what she didn't know, is that he missed her too.