So, yes, another one-shot from me! I know, it's long...part of it is because I have a long author's note, though, so... But really I don't even know how it got this long minus the AN, so. The point of view is Alvin's, by the way...and this world I've got in this story is very ordinary, yet a little bit on the unordinary side, so...(and you'll get what I mean when you read the actual story itself)... Carry on.
Oh, and because I refuse to use that giant page breaker (you know, the line thingy that cuts off the author's note from the story), I am using periods! Yaaaay... ;P So, yeah, it's just one period I'm using for the page breaks in this story...little FYI...(and you'll see what I mean as you read, as well...).
Disclaimer: I don't own Alvin and the Chipmunks.
As I walked through the sliding doors that slid too easily in its railing, seeming as if it were gliding on ice, a stale stench burst through my nose from the inside of this building. I thought for a moment that this building wouldn't make the chest pains I've been having recently go away, that instead it'd make things worse—in fact, maybe even kill me off! I thought about turning around, but my feet stayed as if I were stuck in a game where there was only stepping forward, and no turning around aloud.
Breathing deeply through my nose, I pressed forward, deeper into the building. As soon as I heard the familiar sound of the sliding doors shut behind me, an urge to look behind me and see what had just swallowed me by freewill tugged at my head, but I pushed against it and kept my head locked in a straight position.
When I found myself coming up to the receptionist desk, I stopped as the sixth person in line. Rubbing my hands together, I gritted my teeth as the prickling of my pounding heart began to constrict my chest. A light pain began to beat its way throughout my left side of my chest.
Lately my chest has been hurting. Ever since last week, I've been feeling this pain. It's not the kind of pain that meant any health issues…at least that's what I thought. Never in my twenty-three years of life have I ever had this kind of pain. No one in my family had seemed to have had this problem either. I thought that this pain would go away. I thought that it was just like having a headache, or catching a cold—you know, only temporary conditions that last for only a few days, and if not that, than an hour or less; so because I thought this, I post-ponded my trip to seeing a doctor. I didn't want to listen to my conscience whispering in my ear like the chills that creep up your back, telling me You need to see a doctor.
I didn't listen because I didn't want to believe that I needed anything more than my own care. I thought I was just fine. But as the days passed on, my chest pains began coming and going like it was bipolar, except each time it would come back, it'd bring a worse pain to me. Finally I got to the point where I couldn't even sleep properly at night. My eyes were seeming dead to me whenever I looked in the mirror; people were asking me if I was feeling alright; I got looks from others questioning me in a silent horror if I was on drugs. It got to the point where people would start walking across the street just to walk on the other sidewalk away from me. I only knew they were walking across on purpose because every time I would either catch their staring eyes filling with fear, or I knew them too well throughout my daily routine to know that they needed to be on my side of the street to get to their destination.
There was a pattern I kept to for certain days. It was practically a daily ritual I went through. And when I began to notice certain things start to disappear out of the picture, I knew. I knew that something was wrong: and it was me that was out of place.
Finally one day, while I was sitting on a park bench staring at the ground like I was an abandoned puppet with no one to help me move or bring me to life, a man came and sat by me. He was well off, and had a cigarette in his hand. It was only until I noticed the ashes falling to the ground as he tapped his cigarette out in the open when I came to. I remember blinking and slowly dawning my gaze on him.
He was staring off in the distance, and he seemed as if he came right out of a 1960's film. His matching blue hat to his three piece suit gave him a retro look. He seemed as if he would be the type to play poker every Friday night, and own a very nice house and car. He'd be a bachelor, and always have young women to bring home to his impressive, lonely mansion. He seemed to be the type that somehow made it to the top with loads of cash, and everyone would wonder how it even happened.
After a few minutes of me just staring at him, he finally turned to me and chuckled. It wasn't long until he had pointed out the obvious: I needed to go get help. He said he understood what I was going through and he gave an address to me. He told me this place would fix all of my pains and that I'd be as good as new. Whatever the heck that meant…
At first, as soon as he had left, I thought about throwing away the ripped off piece of paper he had scribbled down an address on. But as soon as another wave of pain exploded from where my heart seemed to be in response, I soon began having second thoughts. I had thought Why not? and went along with it.
As I pulled out a crinkled up piece of paper out of my leather jacket's pocket, I could only stare down at the crooked letters and numbers written in ink on the paper. When I arrived here at this hospital, I was taken by surprise. Despite the distance and isolation this hospital seemed to be in its secluded area of nothing but trees surrounding it, hiding it from the city, there were so many cars in the parking lot. In all my years I had never known this hospital even existed, and I've lived here in New York City all my life. You'd think word would spread throughout the many magazines and newspapers about this building, but I guess it was only normal that such a building with such a purpose existed. But what exactly was its purpose? However, despite this absence of presence I've heard about this building, I remember having heard rumors of this hospital throughout all my high school years. It was only whispers in the halls, and straggling voices from solicited groups that only wanted to have the perfect life, from who I ever heard of this hospital.
Stepping forward, I leaned a little to the side to see how many more people there were until it was me up next. There was only three men to go. I sighed and composed my poise, hiding my hands in my pockets. While staring down at my old, scuffed up Nike tennis shoes my jeans lengthened down to meet, I eventually lifted my gaze and actually took an evaluation at the insides of this building.
The white hospital floors that had black scratch marks, from what I could only assume were from stretchers, appeared like finger marks as a body from a horror movie gets dragged down into the depths of blackness, their fears pulling them away as their striving hands digs its fingernails into the floor to stall time for someone to come save them. The end result from the trailing, dragging fingers would be oblivion for the human, I could only conclude in my dark fantasies.
Bringing my gaze up to the yellowing white paint that suffocated the walls that held this building up brought the lingering stench back into my lungs. Staring long and hard as I held my will to move and run outside to the fresh air, I slowly moved my scanning gaze to an area where a bunch of people were sitting patiently. I grew confused at how they could hold such a composed face at the toxic smell that floated throughout this building, begging to take our living breath away with it as it played gleefully along the currents of the wind, in secret planning to never return with our living breath of air. They really needed to lend out gasmasks at this hospital.
As I tried to push away the unpleasant smell that now seemed to try and drown me in its toxicity, I looked over the peoples' expressions once more with a new set of eyes. And as I watched, I discovered something: every single one of these people had one thing in common. Everyone here in this hospital, other than the workers, shared the same grief, the same despair. That's why we were all here…wasn't it…? Turning my gaze to glance at the person behind me, I found that same sentiment lingering in his gaze.
That's when I had to frantically look around, holding my feet in place, to find my reflection. And as soon as I did with the silver mirror up in the far corner to the receptionist's office area, an overwhelming horror shadowed over me. I was just like every one of these people.
We were all broken.
My lips parted, and I couldn't seem to tear away my gaze from my form in that round mirror up in the far corner. I knew something was wrong with me…but I never noticed it was because I was broken. I thought…I didn't know what I thought anymore…
"Name, sir?" the thin lady, whose skin stuck on to her bones like it were painted right on, questioned in a high voice.
Immediately this caught my attention, and I realized I was now third in line. Only two more to go, then it would finally be my turn. Why was there only one receptionist? This line would go by so much faster…
"Shawn Hayden," the short man up at front answered.
"Alright," the blonde receptionist typed something in and clicked on something into her computer, "is this your first visit?"
"Aw, Sharissa, I thought you'd remember me by now—this is my fourth time coming in," Shawn said with a heavy weight of pride in his voice.
This brought confusion to mask my face. I could feel my eyebrows furrow, and my jaw tighten.
The receptionist rolled her eyes and pointed him off to the side. "Wait there. Your doctor will meet up with you soon. Next…"
The fairly big man in front of me, who looked as if he would be the type to start a fight over a fly landing on his arm, stepped forward with an even heightened pride compared to the man who was just in front of him. I saw him snicker to the short thug, and flick his jacket as some sort of threat. Leaning up against the counter, he spoke in a smooth voice, "Hey gorgeous, you remember me, don't ya?"
The receptionist rolled her topaz eyes, but reluctantly sighed, "Yes, Johnny, I do."
This Johnny-boy stole a glance to the short man aside, causing him to grimace and fold his arms, trying to size up to him. I rolled my eyes. If shorty over there didn't want to end up with more broken pieces to carry around in his body, he would be smart enough to back down.
"What number is it?" the receptionist heaved out a sigh.
"This is my twenty-third," Johnny smugly grinned.
I frowned instantly at his words and dropped my gaze down to the floor. This was his twenty-third? What was that supposed to mean? As I felt my face contort itself, my mind began running through all of my memories and picking out words I never seemed pay attention to whenever I walked down the school hallways in my youth. The words came to me like smudged ink, but eventually through the thousands and thousands of past voices that echoed in my head like a distant, haunting memory, I was able to decipher the words. And as soon as the words became clear, they began to place themselves in my mind, and the answer assembled itself in my head.
This was a hospital for broken hearts.
These men were talking about how many times their hearts have broken. As that raw fact poisoned my mind, I became more than simply being just disgusted. I just didn't understand it. Why were these men treating this like it was some amazing competition to see who could make the Guinness World Record books? This wasn't something you would want to make a record for…this shouldn't have been something anyone would want to make a public record for... It was sick. It had to be the sickest fantasy a guy could ever want. I knew men who dreamed of bad things…but when compared to this, those dark dreams seemed to be only a mere shadow that couldn't affect anyone in anyway. I wanted to beat both of these brutes up for having such a sick fantasy. They were like kids! I know I'm not exactly what you would call a "nice guy," but I knew my place. I knew where to set the line. I just didn't get it…
This was a hospital for broken hearts…it was a hospital… People don't just break their leg on purpose to come to the hospital and set a record. If anything, that idea was screaming insanity. But sometimes pain was an enjoyment to some, I had to remind myself; whereas to others, pain was a dead song that seemed to linger in their minds like a lost melody from their childhood.
Why did they think having the most broken hearts was cool, though? And what exactly did this hospital do to fix it? What did this hospital know that no one else knew? What did they have? Why was everyone with a broken heart coming here? Why did these people here want someone else to fix their heart for them?
"Sir…? Hello, sir…?"
I blinked and looked up at the empty space between me and the receptionist's desk.
"Hi, how can I help you? What's your name?"
Furrowing my eyebrows, I stepped up to the plate, glancing to the side without moving my head. The two men were standing not too far away, a smug smile stitched across their faces as they stared at me. It took all that I had to not make any interaction with them. I didn't want to waste my time with two worthless souls that knew nothing, though. They only knew the world, and that wasn't worth it. That made them unworthy. If they knew something more than the world, than they wouldn't be fighting over and holding such pride that they held in their blown up heads that it was "cool" to have the most broken hearts… I still didn't get it.
"Sir…?"
I focused my gaze back to the receptionist like a blurred TV screen finding better reception and opened my mouth to speak. But no words came out as I noticed her glinting nametag in the bright, white lights. Bringing my gaze back up to her confused face, I blinked and finally spoke, "Uh, right, uh…Alvin Seville…" I could hear the two thugs beside me snicker. My fists clenched tightly and I smiled. "Sorry…about that…"
My gaze dropped back down to her nametag with gold lines outlining it horizontally. In black, written between the two gold lines were letters in capped, reading the name SHARISSA. So her name really was that… I thought that first guy was just calling her some random name.
"Alright, Alvin…" She slowly worded out. I watched her pampered long fingernails hit the keyboard with a soft clack. "And Seville, correct?" I nodded my head and continued watching her fingers typing away my name into the computer.
"Alright, Alvin, what number is this for you?" She hit enter before looking up to me.
"Uh, this is my first…actually…" I cleared my throat, once again hearing the two men beside me scoff in a smug manner. I grimly smiled at them, clenching my fists tighter.
"Oh? Okay, um, here just a sec…" She quickly typed something into the computer with pursed pale lips. Her lips were so dry…didn't it annoy her? Wouldn't she want to do something about her white crusting lips? As I squinted my eyes at her, she suddenly glanced up at me and smiled. "Alright, Mr. Seville, if you could just wait over there by those two men, you'll be helped in just a second."
Blinking, I looked over to where the waiting people sat in their chairs, and looked back to the receptionist. "Don't I need to wait?"
"Excuse me?" she asked, completely clueless.
I directed a finger over to the waiting people. "What about them?"
"Oh," she laughed lightly, "they're waiting to get measured—you don't need to get measured."
"'Measured'?" I had to question. What? Well, if they were waiting to get measured, how come there were still so many waiting? I had to glance over to the waiting people. There were still the same blank faces, staring deadly at the floor or at the wall, from since I had taken my time to give this place a quick evaluation. How long did it take to get measured? What did it even mean to get measured?
"Uh, yes, so they can get their right heart size—now if you'll please go stand over there so I can help the next person waiting in line—next…"
Blinking some more, I grudgingly stepped aside at will and went to go stand next to the two idiotic men. But to my own contentment, I only had to stand by them for about a minute before they both were called away from me. I sighed in relief, placing my hands in my pockets, beginning to rock back and forth on my heels. Biting my bottom lip, I looked down the hallway in front of me, placed next to the edge of where the receptionist's desk ended. There were a few nurses walking down the hallway, and every one of them wore white scrubs. That was strange. As I saw more people emerge out of entrances and unseen hallways, every single one of them wore white.
Eventually an elderly man with glasses and a clipboard came out of the right side down the hallway; he began walking towards my direction. Around his neck was a light gray stethoscope, or whatever they were called…the things they use to check your heartbeat. As I fell into a trance with his white outfit, I had to slowly shake my head. I just didn't get it. From all the times I've ever dragged myself to a hospital, each of the nurses and doctors normally wore colored scrubs.
The elderly man stopped by the receptionist's desk, and after they exchanged a few words, he came heading my way. Smiling broadly, he put his hand out. "Mr. Seville?" I hesitantly pulled my hand out and placed it in his hand as he shook it firmly. "Hi, I'm Dr. Richardson, if you'll please come with me…" He directed me with his hand, and I followed.
While we walked down the hall, he grinned to me. "So, what's the problem? I hear this is your first time here at this hospital, is that correct?"
I put on the best smile I could and nodded my head. "Yup, so it seems. This is my, um, first time…"
"Hm, so what's the problem, son?"
Gritting my teeth, I sighed, "I'm having chest pains…like, really excruciating chest pains… I was told this place could help me…?" I didn't exactly sound too thrilled, but I didn't sound like such a pessimist either.
"Ah, the chest pains—and yes, this place can absolutely help fix you," Dr. Richardson replied with a commercial smile. "Alvin, was it?" I nodded my head. "Come right this way with me," he guided me to an upcoming door on our right. As he opened the door and invited me to sit down on the white, covered hospital bed, he directed me to lie down and I did just as I was told.
What is he going to do to me? my mind questioned. I wanted to ask him, but I kept my mouth shut and listened to each word he had to say. Maybe he was going to eventually say it…
"Alright, Mr. Seville, I am going to do an ultrasound on you."
"Wait, what?!" I blurted out, partly confused. "Don't I have to go through some preparation procedure or something?" He was already ready to take an ultrasound on me? That didn't sound right. That sounded so soon…too soon…. Why did I need an ultrasound anyway?
Dr. Richardson laughed, taking his glasses off and wiping them with a cloth pulled from a container on the desk behind him. "Oh no, Mr. Seville, this is a special kind of ultrasound. Only hospitals like this have this special device."
"Wait, so I don't have to go change, or do any kind of procedure?" I asked in disbelief. This was a complete joke. What kind of a hospital was this? What kind of a hospital would even do this? A hospital for broken hearts, you idiot, a voice echoed inside my head to shut my mind up.
"Nope, however I will require you to take that jacket of yours off, and also your shirt, if you will. It makes the images clearer."
Sucking on my left cheek, I sat up and began to slowly slide my jacket off. Glancing to Dr. Richardson, I continued on with my shirt hesitantly. Gripping onto my clothing as the cool air inside the building attacked my bare skin, I lightly tossed my hands up and gave the doctor a look. "Happy?" I pessimistically smiled, before lying back on my back.
"Yes, if it pleases you that I'm happy," he spoke.
What in the world did that mean? Who says that?
I watched as Dr. Richardson pulled a fairly big white machine from the corner and dragged it in front of me on my right side. This machine had some sort of computer attached to the top of it as if an old-fashioned laptop were screwed right on top of it. There were a few hanging white cords beneath it, one of them connecting to some sort of hand-piece. After Dr. Richardson had put on some white rubber gloves, he grabbed this hand-piece and began working the machine. As soon as he got the screen to go pitch black, yet seeming like it was on, he smiled to me saying, "Let's see how serious the problem is, Alvin."
I swallowed the building spit in my mouth and anxiously watched as his slow hand drifted the hand-piece over my chest. Lingering in midair for just a few seconds, he then stretched the hand-piece further to my left side, and gently pressed it down. As I watched his hand guide the hand-piece around generally in that area, he soon came to a stop. It was directly above to where I had presumed my heart to be.
"Hmm…would you like to take a look at your heart, Alvin?"
My eyebrow twitched at that, and for a split-second I began to wonder if I really wanted to look—but no…I wanted to see this—I needed to see this. I needed to see why I was having these annoying chest pains.
Slowly I pulled my gaze over to the screen, and there a black and white image of what seemed to be a heart beating was sketched on the screen as if it were actually drawn by pencil. Huh, my heart looked fine to me—but that's when I noticed the biggest flaw about that heart I claimed to be mine. I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing my own heart, but I knew how I felt about seeing my own heart torn in two. Etched on the screen, as if a large eraser had cut straight down the middle of my heart, separated my beating heart. I wondered how this was even possible, but I didn't bother to press. All I cared about was my heart. It was broken in two pieces. How exactly was I expected to react to that? How do others react to this? Were there any cameras in this room recording everything that goes on just for the laughs?
My face must've really looked pretty pathetic because Dr. Richardson laughed a hearty laugh. Why was he laughing? This was my freaking heart, ripped in two. He sounded as if this was some sort of joke!
"Don't worry—I'll have this fixed in no time. Come with me right now, and we can fix your heart, brand as new," he spoke, flashing me his white smile.
"You can fix my heart?" I asked doubtfully. How did he exactly plan on fixing my heart?
"Yup—we'll give you a heart transplant, and your heart will be as good as new."
My heart will be as good as new…? Heart transplant…? I wanted to fix my heart, believe me, I did. I just didn't know how I felt about getting a surgery to replace my broken heart…
"Do people often get this?" I choked out, feeling my heartbeat speed up. Along with it speeding up, the creeping pain began skulking out of my chest. It was starting to get painful. It felt like a thousand pins were poking at my chest.
Dr. Richardson nodded his head. "Yup, all the time. You know, I know this one guy who's on his fiftieth heart or something—oh, and then there's this woman who I believe is on her sixty-seventh heart, but I'm not sure…"
My eyes nearly bulged. "Sixty-seventh heart?" I exclaimed.
"Yup. It's an easy process, don't worry. So what do you say? Do you want to fix your heart?"
I inhaled deeply and glanced to the monitor screen. As the aching pains in my chest became worse, I clenched my fists and grinded my teeth. Closing my eyes, I reopened them and looked to Dr. Richardson's welcoming smile. If I got a new heart, would that mean I'd lose everything my old heart went through? I wasn't too obligated for this idea, but I wanted it. I wanted to fix my broken heart. I wasn't sure how much more of this pain I could handle. Too many sleepless nights would be the death of my fate. But there was one question lingering in my mind that I needed answered before I made up my own answer.
"How do people's hearts break?" I questioned. Well, in my case it was tear, but…in a sense, it seemed broken. As soon as I asked, I felt an immense wave of stupidity drown me in its idiocy. That had to probably be by far the dumbest question. It was easy to guess how people's hearts broke…it was so easy. The answer was so obvious.
"Well," my doctor looked up to the ceiling; I was surprised he didn't laugh. "I'm sure you can already answer that question yourself—I think what you're trying to ask is how your heart broke, correct, Mr. Seville?"
I sucked on my teeth and nodded my head. Psychic man, huh? my mind joked.
"Has anything tragic happened to you recently?"
I shook my head.
"Any bad relationships?" he went on casually.
Again, I shook my head.
"Hm…how about, has anyone you known died over these past years?"
I began to shake my head but stopped. There was one person.
"Someone close to you passed on?"
Pursing my lips, I nodded my head solemnly. "A past girlfriend from high school…" I murmured. "She died from leukemia…" I averted my gaze down to my clothing in my grip, but quickly pulled it back up to face my doctor. "But this was a good five or four years ago. My chest pains began last week on Monday," I grimaced. It was a Thursday today.
"Hm," the doctor nodded his head. "Tell me, Alvin, when did she pass away?"
Biting my bottom lip, I finally answered, "June 30th."
Furrowing his graying eyebrows, Dr. Richardson put away the hand-piece and stood up, walking over to the far desk. Lifting some papers, he tapped his finger down and looked to me with a look of interest. "Alvin, last Monday was June 30th."
I gritted my teeth. It was? Dropping my gaze, realization hit me like an incoming baseball. It was June 30th last Monday… What was I doing that day? Was I even at her grave? My chest pains began to overwhelm me as this thought engulfed my mind in darkness. I didn't even visit her grave…
"Now this is an interesting case. I've never actually had a patient where their heart breaks a few years after, but it is possible. Mr. Seville, I think that on the day she died, you tried to protect your heart as best as you could. I think you barricaded it, and finally this year, you could no longer hold your heart together. I think over these past few years, each June 30th that passed by, your heart ripped a little bit. And now, finally this year, it completely tore in half."
Each year my heart was ripping in half? I didn't even know… I could've saved my heart though, couldn't I…? Why didn't I even know this? I remember that day she passed away clearly, and I always wondered why I never cried. I always thought that I was just trying to live by the laws of what it took to be a man. I remember my family always telling me that it was okay for me to cry…but I never let it out. I held it all in. And not until this past Monday, did I ever actually tear up. It was the first time since forever that I actually cried. I didn't understand why it literally had to hurt so much. My mind was already mentally hurting, why did my body have to start feeling pains? I thought it was just a health pain. Nothing that big. But it was so much bigger than that…. My heart had actually torn in two as a result.
"Do you understand, Alvin?"
I swallowed and didn't speak a word; but I nodded my head oddly feeling like a child.
"Alright, so what do you say to this heart transplant? Are you still up for it?"
"Aren't there any pain meds? Isn't there any other way to fix my heart?" There had to be another way. There always was, wasn't there?
Dr. Richardson sighed, and shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We used to have pain meds, though. But that was back in 1984—if only you were alive then, at this age—I'd be happy to provide a prescription. But it got to the point that people would no longer take the pain medication route; instead they went with getting a brand new heart. That way seemed to satisfy their pains and help them move on."
As I chewed up his words and swallowed, I felt like I nearly was about to choke. There was no other way. I wanted to fix my heart…but I couldn't believe that getting a heart transplant was the only way. But it seemed like the only option. "I'll get the heart transplant," my voice dryly spoke. I really wanted to fix my heart. I didn't want to live with this kind of pain forever…but I also didn't want to give up my heart that I had now…
"Great," Dr. Richardson grinned. As he pulled his gloves off, he moved the machine back to its place and motioned for me to follow.
Sighing, I looked down at my clothing. Shrugging my shoulder, I began pulling my shirt on, followed right after was my leather jacket.
.
When I stepped out into the bright hallway, I found Dr. Richardson heading down the hall, deeper into this building. He glanced behind him and motioned for me to follow. I glanced the other direction, finding the sliding doors glide open as a girl with black makeup smudging down her cheeks walked in. Each step she took looked as if she were the walking dead. Her feet looked heavy, almost like they were dragging a heavy ball chained to her feet. Pursing my lips, I began walking down towards the other direction from the sliding doors. When I caught up with my doctor, he led me further down the hall and to the very end, where an elevator door opened. He indicated for me to step in, and I did so, catching one last glimpse at the slow walking girl. I had a feeling her face would eventually come back to my mind like a picture and haunt me…
We were going to the third floor. Our ride up to the third floor was one of silence, but it wasn't what I would say awkward. No one interrupted our trip up, and we were the only ones in the elevator. By the time the door made a sound of a light ding, the doors opened and as we stepped out, there was a complete new sight for me than what there was displayed on the first floor.
As I took in a deep breath, the smell seemed more sanitized up here—but it was still a smell you'd smell in some sort of outhouse in the middle of nowhere. There were more people on this level. This floor was much like the first one, except the one large hallway in the middle of each room on each side was much wider, and at the very end of the hallway was just a large glass window that showed the vast view of the world outside; at the very end of this hallway, there also seemed to be a waiting area reminding me much of an airport's waiting zone.
"Follow me," Dr. Richardson beckoned, walking to the far left side of the hallway.
I quickly followed after him, a few people dressed in white scrubs briskly walking past us and into the elevator. After glimpsing behind us as the elevator doors heavily closed and sucked its doors tight together, I soon realized how different of a world it was up here, than it was down here. When I brought my hard gaze back to the front of me, across the hall on the right side there was a girl, crying for someone to help her, but no one seemed to notice her quite yet…
"No, no, no, no, no… Somebody please! Help me!" she cried out. She was on her knees, holding shards of glittering glass in her hands. There was glass everywhere all around her. "Please, I—I dropped my heart! Help!" she cried out, tears streaming down her face. Fear and panic echoed in her voice, and when she looked up at me, I had to look away. Her eyes looked so broken…
I quickened my pace to walk parallel beside Dr. Richardson and asked, "Why isn't anyone helping her?"
Dr. Richardson grimaced. "Because there's no way we can help her, and the rest of us are too busy at the moment. It's always running fast here, there's always someone to help out after another has been fixed. What that girl needs is to go back down to the first floor and get measured."
"Measured?" I echoed back to him. That's the word the receptionist had said when I asked about the people waiting….
"Oh, that's right. You've got an internal heart. You wouldn't know what it would mean to get measured, huh?" he chuckled. I gave him a weird look. "Well, you see those with glass hearts—the only way for us to fix them is to make them a brand new glass heart. But the only way for us to actually fix their broken heart is to get them the perfect size that's meant for them. We have to measure practically every part of their body, along with knowing their health levels and everything else. From the results, only then, will we know how to create their new heart to the right perfection. We can't just make a random-sized glass heart and give it to them. Each glass heart is born with that person when they are born, and it grows with them throughout their life. It's very fragile, but it's also very beautiful. And just like type O blood, people having glass hearts are very rare. Which is probably why you don't see or know about them that much. You see, Mr. Seville, blood types and heart types are really similar in the most fascinating ways. In medical school, you get to learn a lot about this sort of learning."
Slowly I nodded my head as I took in each word he said; I knew exactly what he was talking about. In a few classes from high school, one of the required ones was of course health, and I remembered learning about the three different types of heart. There was the glass hearts, the printed hearts, and then there was what I had: the internal hearts. I looked back to him, but instead caught a new sight past him. We were walking past a room where a man had blood dripping down his arm. His shirt was off, and there was a nurse beside him sewing his arm back up.
"What's she doing in there," I curiously asked.
Dr. Richardson glanced quickly, and halted in his steps. He smiled to me and stated, "She's stitching his heart back up."
"Stitching? Can't I just get my heart stitched back up too?"
He laughed and shook his head. "No, Mr. Seville, you know very well that the only process to fix your internal heart is to get a heart transplant—the stitching process is only for those who have printed hearts. You know, the hearts that appear on your arm like it's some sort of birth mark. The process for healing those who have printed hearts, we simply sew their torn heart back up—which as you can tell is quite bloody, for their skin practically tears when their hearts get broken because of course their hearts are on their skin almost like a tattoo—but I prefer to compare them to birth marks, because they're closer looking to those than they are to tattoos."
"Wouldn't that leave scars, though?" I had to question. This hospital wouldn't be considered any more special than when compared to the ordinary way to fix a broken printed heart if all they did was stitch them up—that is, of course, if they had special stitching thread or whatever that would eventually dissolve and leave no scars.
The majority of my friends had printed hearts, I remembered. And I remembered whenever their hearts would break (one time one of them came over to my house, actually—it was such a bloody mess—I had to stitch it back up for them, even though I had no experience whatsoever—but I had to stop the blood somehow…the towel and bandage I had used to try and stop the bleeding were getting soaked…), they would disappear for a whole school day then return with stitches in their arms, and from that, they still felt the pain every now and then (but that pain would eventually die), and a scar was left afterwards. They liked to call it their battle scars, but I knew they didn't carry much pride with that saying. They would've preferred it if their heart didn't look so screwed up.
"Well, yes, but we offer plastic surgery to replace their heart—which as a result, kills off the pains, and it gets rid of any scarring," he answered in a pleasant hum. "Shall we carry on?" he asked.
Slowly nodding my head, we began on our way down the hallway. We were barely a little over halfway down the hallway now, and for some odd reason I was beginning to feel somewhat a bit self-conscious. I swear that was only a girl thing…but it's not. Because as I was walking down this hallway, I wondered who stared at me and felt the pity I didn't need from them—I didn't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I was broken, sure, but that didn't mean the end.
"So, Dr. Richardson, getting a new heart means you'll never feel what you felt with your old heart, am I right?" I questioned, watching the people we passed by.
As he opened his mouth, frantic shouting cut him off. When we turned around, the elevator doors were wide open and there were three people (two females, one male) pushing a stretcher down the hallway, our way.
"MOVE! MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!" one of the females pushing the stretcher screamed.
"OUT OF THE WAY, PEOPLE!" the male's voice boomed loudly throughout the hall. I could've sworn the force from his voice would've broken the windows. At least I was sure I would've gone deaf, if that didn't happen…
By the time the three people and one stretcher rushed past us in a bursting breeze, I caught sight of an unconscious female with a mask over her face on the stretcher. Instantly I turned to the doctor beside me and questioned, "What's going on?" There didn't seem to be any blood, so I couldn't tell how serious this really was…plus, considering this wasn't your ordinary hospital…I knew it had something to do with her heart.
Dr. Richardson sighed, and shook his head. "Not another one," he seemed to have mumbled. When I locked gazes with his shielded gray eyes, he heaved out a sad sigh. "That woman there has a shattered heart."
When I gave him a confused look, he breathed in slowly with pursed lips, continuing our walk.
"Alvin, that woman has an internal heart, just like you. You've got a broken heart and your chest pains are excruciatingly painful—now take that ripped heart of yours and continued tearing it until you could no longer rip it: you would have what is called a shattered heart, from that result. You know, despite glass hearts being fragile, internal hearts are the ones you should be most careful with because they're inside of your body. They harm inside of you not just only mentally, but physically as well." As I barely took in what he was saying into my mind, he continued on, "And about your earlier question… Yes, receiving a new heart means throwing out the door everything you've felt with that old heart of yours."
I dropped my gaze down to the scuffed up floors, nodding my head.
I was about to lose everything I ever felt in my heart within a few minutes or so… It was as simple as that. Getting this transplant wouldn't be such a bad thing, huh? Yeah, right, a voice snickered in my head. I needed to think about this. Why was I tossing my heart into a black hole? I could break someone's nose, and not feel bad about that. I could pull a prank on the cops and not get caught. I could pour instant cement or a ton of juice powders into someone's swimming pool, or the public pool and not have a care in the world—it was only me fooling around, after all—a simple joke. Yet here I was, and I was caring about giving away my heart? It was supposed to be for the better, getting a new heart, so why was I having such a hard time with giving my heart up? It would be better for me to get a new heart.
You don't want to lose everything you've felt with that heart of yours, my mind reminded to me in a whisper.
What was the point in living if you threw away everything you ever felt each time something broke in you? It was pointless if that's all you ever did, right? It was like throwing away everything you've learned. You'd never reach that high level of understanding if all you did was keep throwing away the stones that could help build you up and allow you to see an even greater view. These stones may have harmed you in a way, but that doesn't mean you have to keep throwing them out, allowing for someone to come strutting by and pick it up and throw it back at you. You'll always have to go through that pain each time like it was a new electric shock running through your veins, burning you on the inside and the outside.
Instantly in that second, after I had listened to my complete thoughts, I halted in my steps. As I brought my gaze up to Dr. Richardson, he eventually stopped and turned to face me, having noticed my absence beside him. He motioned for me to follow, but I held my ground. I wasn't going to follow him around like he was my master or something. No…I was done with satisfying what people wanted me to do when it only filled me with misery and regret. And maybe this was something that didn't satisfy him—but if he didn't want me to get this heart transplant, he would be telling me in some sort of doctor-intelligent-fashioned way. He wanted me to get this heart transplant. Or maybe he was just doing his job…but stil.
"Aren't you coming?" he called to me.
"No," I shook my head. "I've changed my mind. Can't do it," and I turned my back on him, promising myself I'd never return to this building. It was as simple as that.
.
On my way out, after I had reached my black sports car, I had to take one last glace at the hospital for broken hearts. The building looked rundown on the outside. The old, breaking red bricks didn't exactly scream "Welcome!" and neither did the windows. The windows looked so dark from this view below. The building didn't even have some sort of name in bold block letters or anything. How were people supposed to know what this place was? How was this place even discovered? Who thought to create such a place?
Inhaling deeply, my lungs seemed to sigh in relief. Now I didn't have to smell that crap air anymore. I guess my fate didn't lie in that building now did it?
When I got settled into my car and had started the engine, I had to steal a glance at my eyes in the rearview mirror. I had to dare myself, though, to do it. I had to make it seem like a challenge for me. For some odd reason I've been feeling this fear pulling me back from ever glancing at my reflection. Even before I got into my car, I didn't look at my reflection in the black mirror to my passenger window. Normally I would've—it was a habit. When I finally forced my gaze in the mirror, my fear deepened. They still were broken. Dropping my gaze, I sighed. I was going to have to get used to this broken look… Either that or I'd have to start turning off the lights each time I walked into a room with a mirror in it until I accepted this look… If I would ever accept this look…
Shaking my head, I began my drive back home.
.
By the time I began to see the familiar towering skyscrapers and buildings that belonged to the city I called home, I became relieved. Rolling down the windows, the soaring breeze filling my car like water, I took one hand off of the steering wheel and pulled out the crinkled piece of paper in my left pocket. Taking one last, long stare at the address written down, I placed my hand out the window and allowed the wind to take all of my memories of that hospital away. That was my (hopefully) final goodbye.
As I drove down the familiar busy roads of New York City, I pulled off the side of the road, miraculously finding an empty space on the edge of Central Park. Normally walking helped clear my mind. As much as I wanted that hospital to be gone and out of my mind, the memories and everything I had learned there stuck to me like glue. No matter how loud I had turned my stereo up, to possibly try and drown out the memories with the sounds of pop hit songs, I just couldn't clear my cloudy mind. So much for that final goodbye…
Heaving out a sigh, I got out of my car and began my walk. I wasn't sure how long I had been walking, but eventually I soon found myself walking down a wide pathway with fleshed green trees towering over, creating a tunnel. As I listened to the rustles of the leaves, the bright sun streaking lights through the treetops, I soon noticed a person—a girl, to be exact, sitting on one of the benches to my right not too far ahead. I would've walked right on by this girl, not having a care in this world, but if it wasn't for the sudden glistening flash I caught reflecting light from the sun, I wouldn't have stopped. At first I kept walking on, further away from her, but that's when I felt something pull me back to her facial expression my mind had seemed to videotape as I passed on by…and not only did her facial expression pull me back, but I had recognized what that glint came from.
Abruptly I halted in my steps, and the image of that zombie-like girl, who had makeup smearing around her eyes to look like raccoon eyes, from that hospital came flashing into my mind. And with my hands tucked safely away in the pockets of my jacket, I turned around and marched towards that girl. Maybe it was my fear that this girl sitting on the benches may turn out to look like a nightmare—much like that zombie-girl—that made me come over to her. I'm not too sure… As I approached her, though, I could finally see her hands and the glistening object in them. It appeared as a full glass heart. At first I was confused, because I could've sworn she looked unsettled…or maybe I had just interpreted this situation completely wrong…after all, after that incident at that hospital, I wouldn't be surprised if it had completely disfigured my point of view. But as soon as her hands spread themselves away from each other, each still holding one side of her glass heart, I realized her heart was broken…just like mine. We were practically the same.
As I now stood next to her, she didn't even look up. But I didn't even bother to catch her attention. I was too caught up in staring at what she was staring at her hands doing. It was like I was caught in some sort of gypsy trick or some magician's hypnotism. She kept placing her broken heart together, creating the illusion that it was one whole piece and not broken in two. But then soon after, she would show the reality by pulling her hands away. She kept up with this process like her hands were a movie in action and the director kept yelling cut, asking to rewind what they had so far.
It was then when I felt like I had been standing for about a whole hour, when I finally spoke up. "Hey," I began. I could've done a better introduction… That was ridiculously the stupidest thing I could say to start a conversation, despite how normal it was to start conversations like this. But I had nothing better to say, for my mind was still all over the place since my visit to that hospital…
This girl froze, as if she had hit pause on her hands, and gradually looked to me, her ice blue eyes widening. "Oh, hi!" she grinned. But her smile didn't mean a thing to me, because it was fake. I knew it was all a lie because her eyes were a reflection of what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I saw myself through her eyes.
"You don't have to put up the happy act," I bluntly stated. I'd rather not have to deal with false emotions.
At first her face read confusion, but as soon as she looked down to her hands, she nodded her head. "Right…" She began to chew her bottom lip.
At first I was lost at words. It was such a shame to see a pretty face like hers all broken. But who knows…maybe she deserved it. But I doubted it… If someone can cry, or at least have some sort of discomfort with something, then they have compassion. And if someone has compassion, they have love. And if someone has love, they have a heart. And as long as someone had a heart, they were good. And good people shouldn't have to go through terrible things. But they always do get put through the worst of the worst, don't they?
As I stood next to her, I took an evaluation of this girl. This girl—she seemed to be what you would call a diva—drama queen—fashion freak. She looked like she could be one of those mannequins you see in places such as or Banana Republic—dressed in fancy clothing that would attract a customer's eyes. You'd think she'd have such high spirits, yet here she was, dead as a ghost. She seemed to have fallen from being on top of the world. She was now realizing everything she had never seen down here at the bottom, wasn't she?
"What happened?" I finally brought myself to speak up. I wanted to help this girl, but I wasn't sure exactly how. I didn't want her to stay like this forever. If I could prove that I could fix her without that hospital having to replace everything she had in her heart, then I could live with myself. I didn't want people to lose their true hearts…yet they seemed to give it freely away down to the oblivion.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Someone close to me passed away…" She suddenly paused and looked up to me, her cracking eyes ice cold. "Why am I telling you this? You most definitely probably don't care at all. You wouldn't understand… Why don't you just leave?" she grumbled, crossing her arms in a stubborn manner.
So she had an attitude as well? Should've guessed. Rolling my eyes, I took a seat beside her, to which she peered over to me with broken eyes. Her hands still gripped onto her broken heart.
"Have you ever heard of a hospital for broken hearts?" I was just curious, but after I had spoken it, I immediately regretted it. I couldn't take her there… What was I thinking? I didn't want her to gain a new heart…well, I didn't want her to lose what her current heart held now. But who was I kidding? This was her heart. Not mine… She was the one who would choose what happened to her heart. Why did I care so much anyway?
She heaved out an annoyed sigh, but she reluctantly spoke up, "Yes, I have been there…" Her folded arms began to unravel themselves and she looked down at her heart. "And I'm never returning…"
Her words caught me by surprise. I looked to her with even more curiosity, and when she noticed me staring at her, she confirmed again, "What? I'm not going there. I think it's stupid…" As she slowly dropped her broken gaze down to her broken heart, my chest pains began to hit against my chest—the pins were starting to poke through again…
Holding my breath, I pursed my lips. For some odd reason I wanted to help this girl. And whether or not it was because I didn't want anyone to have to go to that forbidden hospital, I don't know. But she seemed similar to me… I don't know why I felt like I could relate to her.
"Can I hold your heart?" I suddenly asked.
This girl seemed to get defensive, but just as soon as she had put up her shields, she had set them down. "If you want—it's already broken," she bitterly muttered.
I stared at the girl's face as she handed me her broken heart. She seemed torn with the idea that she was allowing some random punk stranger, such as myself, who probably knew nothing in this world and had blood on his hands, to hold her fragile heart. She was breaking more inside… I needed to do something fast before her heart began to break some more. Slowly as I averted my gaze, I looked down at the two pieces of glass. Placing them together like I had seen this girl do earlier, I caught my reflection glint on the glass. As I found my broken gaze staring down at her broken heart, I slowly pulled the pieces of glass away from each other, having a small tug of fear scare my gaze away from my reflection. By the time I had distanced the two pieces away from each other, I slowly brought them back together, and as soon as I saw the lines match up with one another, an idea came to my mind. I knew what to do…
Immediately I looked to the broken girl. "If I said I could fix your heart, would you come with me and allow me to fix your heart?"
As her broken gaze flashed to me, I caught a spark of hope flicker across her cracking ice blue eyes. And that was all I needed as an answer. Standing up because I somehow knew she'd follow, I led the way.
.
When we had arrived at the destination I had in mind, I told her to wait outside that is, of course, if she really wanted to follow me.
"Here?" she snorted in disbelief. "Are you serious? Here?"
"Yes, here," I had shot at her.
Until she had found out I was serious, her face softened and she had resentfully sighed, "Fine. But I'm coming with you."
"Fine," I said, and we walked in the local store in front of us.
I led the way, the whole time oddly feeling like some sort of search dog. But in a sense I was. I was looking for a way to fix her heart, and I would have to use my senses to lead the way to a trail of safety… It was all on me. And if I got her lost…well, then I would take the blame for that too.
Finally by the time I had found the product I had been looking for, I grabbed it off the hook it was on and showed it to her for approval. At first she seemed a little uneasy, but when she took one look at her broken heart in her hands (I had returned it to her on our walk here in fear that I may somehow accidentally drop it), she nodded her head solemnly. I had to give her a half-smile. In her eyes she still had that fire flaming in her eyes. She wanted to believe I could fix it, and I wanted to believe I could help her. I only hoped we were both right.
After I had made my purchase, I guided us out the store and found a nearby café with a few white round tables and white matching chairs just outside. As soon as we both had seated ourselves, I grabbed the product out of my pocket (I had asked to not have a bag), and began opening it out of its clear plastic concealment. I could feel her eyes watching every move I was doing. I could only assume she was beginning to wonder why she was even trusting me, or if she should even trust a guy like me. I had to admit, I wasn't all high class, but I wasn't at the bottom of the food chain. I was just…average. At least I thought I was average. Whether or not I was higher or lower was all on me. My persona since my youth had greatly seemed to change over the years. As soon as I graduation from high school, I don't know… Things began to change.
My hands fumbled with trying to get the small plastic bottle out, but I managed. Pursing my lips, I slowly looked up to the girl. She was looking at her broken heart, but eventually handed it to me, gently setting it on the table. Unscrewing the light blue cap to the bottle, I gently grabbed her left broken piece and began to squeeze the substance out of the bottle.
My idea was to glue her heart back together.
Well, I was using super glue, since that seemed to be the stronger out of ordinary glue. Her heart needed special glue, though.
My steady hands began to apply the clear sticky substance, and by the time I was done applying it to the broken edges of glass, I set down the bottle and picked up her other fitting piece to the one I held in my left hand. As I connected the two frail glass pieces together, I held them together for a few minutes. In the silence we waited in, the busy sounds of cars and people's shoes hitting the ground had filled our silence, speaking for us. There were many people who passed us by wearing shades to cover their eyes. It made me start to wonder if they only wore them to hide their broken look…their broken heart. How many people in this world actually had a breaking or broken heart?
The crowds of people that passed us by with a high look of superiority didn't seem to pay attention to what I was doing, but I wasn't for sure. After all, how did I know they weren't glancing with their eyes at us? They didn't have to look with their heads to see what I was doing. Only those who want to stay hidden will make the ordinary deceptive.
Breathing out deeply through my nose after I felt that I had held her heart pieces together long enough, I looked over my work. Her heart was now pieced back together. But that didn't mean it was necessarily fixed… How was I supposed to know whether or not what I had done helped at all? I began to grit my teeth, and pursing my lips, I slowly handed her heart back to her hands. As I watched her gently hands hold her glass heart, she passed it back to me to my surprise. What? Did she not like what I did? Did she think I needed to add more glue?
When I looked up to her for a response as I took her heart, feeling somewhat discerned at my own work and attempt at fixing her heart, I could feel my chest pains come pounding back, slowly, like a beating drum barely picking up its tempo. It hurt, and I had to grind my teeth to hold my ground. It was really starting to hurt like heck this time.
When the girl finally looked up to me, I could only stare at her eyes as she began to speak.
"Thank you…but I think you should have it. I want you to have it. If you'll have it, though…" She dropped her gaze down to her hands, biting her bottom lip. "You see, I think you'll take better care of it," she began to run her hand down her hair that was pulled in a side ponytail. "I'll come by to maybe see it here or then, but…I don't know…you seem like you'd take better care of it than I ever will..." She pursed her lips seeming genuine with her words.
I slowly nodded my head, feeling a small smile coming on, but I still couldn't remove my gaze from her eyes.
She bit back a smile and dropped her gaze. But then she suddenly looked up to me, almost alarmed. "Oh, we haven't really introduced ourselves. I'm Brittany Miller."
"Alvin—Alvin Seville," I smiled, and she returned it. And this time, I paid attention to her smile…
It was no longer broken. I had to glance back up to her eyes. It was so astonishing to me that her eyes no longer seemed broken… Her eyes appeared renewed, and whole, like her heart. She was fixed. And granted it wasn't my place to push myself to fix her…but it wasn't really me. She allowed me to help fix her, and if she had never allowed me to do so, would she still be sitting on that park bench, alone, until sundown? How long would she allow herself to be broken for before she could no longer handle it anymore?
After I had fully taken in her smile, my chest pains slowly began to simmer down, but I still felt some pain. "So," I casually began, "could I take you out to dinner?" I looked up at the sky, noticing the time of day was running out.
Brittany gave me an alarmed look, but eventually smiled. "Yes…I'd like that very much, actually."
I smirked, watching her facial expression closely. And with her whole heart still in my hand, and after we had both stood, we walked down to a nearby diner, side by side, talking.
.
Her heart never broke again after that. I would never allow it to break. It was safe with me...
And the more I saw her smile, the more my chest pains slowly began to gradually disappear like a deep color cooling off into the whites. I never had any problems with my chest pains after they had completely disappeared.
Alrighty! This was a long shot, but... :P So, forgive me if the ending was like...rushed? I'm not even sure, but anyhow... Interesting world, yes? That ending is for you to decide what happens/happened. Feel free to ask any questions.
The inspiration for this came to me when I was listening to this one song at the dental office (I have this summer job there, and because I've still got darling, precious school, it can't be an all year-round type of job...stupid school... ;D), and while I was listening to the lyrics, this idea came to my head! And then when I go home to look up the lyrics...the words that I thought the artist was singing, weren't even the words I thought she was singing! (Anyone ever have this happen to them? It happens to me much too often...) So, I guess it's somewhat safe to say this idea came to me on its own? ;P And I actually have two versions of this story. I wanted to write this for AATC, but I also wanted to have this story as my own, original-whateverness. There's not much difference between the two, other than the fact that I actually have read through this and tried to edit it, and that the other story has this one small extra scene where the character is up at the receptionist desk.
Haha, and I wanted so badly to update this story when I was ready to update it! I wanted to so badly! But I wanted to be the little-stupid girl I am and post it on the date it was in the story, so... Yeah. Hurray for July 10th...? Seriously though, I practically forced myself to wait two whole weeks! The amazing thing about this story is that I wrote 8,000 words of it in one whole day! That's a record for me! I never write that much! It takes me about three days to barely get one chapter finished (and I'm referring to that chapter story I've been working on for how long? Oh, that's right, a millennium! Yaaay... ;P)!
Thanks so, so, so much for reading! And please leave a review if you will.