Written in the Scars
Chapter Three || Green with Envy.
You're frustrated. You constantly aim for perfection, but still are you never satisfied with the results. Every compliment to come your way is nothing but appraisal and although the words seem genuine, do you still continue to believe that more can be done. You're your biggest critic, and sometimes that's the issue. You proceed to second guess yourself rather than following your first instinct, and it does nothing but get in the way. Each day of your life is a new chapter and a seemingly new beginning, and you opt to share every single one of your experiences through music. The lyrics appear to flow out of you effortlessly, but despite being amazing do you still toss out every song you're convinced is "average".
Stardom. Your name in lights. You fantasize everyday about opening your voice to the world with nothing by your side except your guitar and your supporters. Your vocals are beloved, and you're at your happiest whenever the words truly flow out of your heart. Tears occasionally slide down your cheeks the minute you sense your song has touched someone, and you're impatient to do it all over again. Nevertheless, you have so many other responsibilities on your plate. From school to the hospital, your eye never appears to twitch, and a hair is never out of place. Optimism is your companion, and it's the most admirable trait about you. You're adored because of how sweet and approachable you are, and believe it or not, new admiration is starting to grow from it in the process.
Golden blonde hair and captivating azure eyes—you're like a modern-day Cinderella. You don't go searching for the problems, but still they always find you. It starts to become troublesome, but your attitude doesn't falter as it usually would for most. Albeit, you simply remember the good that's sure to come from it. Things happen for a reason, and they wouldn't happen if they weren't important.
.::.
I need absolute peace and quiet, and to avoid any other distractions that may be going on around me. I push myself every day, and it usually leaves me exhausted. Regardless, I try not to show it. I believe in never allowing someone to see you at your weakest because then they start to underestimate you.
Hard work and dedication motivates me from one day to the next, and I usually find myself alone half of the time because I'm so passionate with what I do. Respect has to be earned, and I want it the old fashion way. People usually mistreat or take me for granted considering I seem soft and vulnerable. I leave myself wide open for contempt, and I have nobody else to blame. Needless to say, my life hasn't exactly been the same since a year or so ago, and I'm still undecided on whether or not I enjoy the sudden turn of events. I used to be an only child, but that aspect of my previous life has gladly been overpowered; note my sarcasm.
It's not necessarily the worst chain of events, although, it's all of what I expected and then some. Younger siblings are usually annoying because they follow and try to copy everything you do, but apparently only for the reason that they look up to you. Then there's the older sibling. They treat their younger half as though they're entirely beneath them, and feel as if they can do no wrong because they're older and "more experienced". However, I don't have either. No, I was "fortunately" blessed with the advantage of being with someone the exact same age as me, and if they weren't so obnoxious, then maybe I would start to consider the bright side to this puzzling situation. Then again, I couldn't care less. Besides, I have more important things to worry ab—
"Ouch!" I shout, and cradling the back of my head. I then look up at my doorway to see him standing in it.
"I should've done that sooner," he says, casually standing against the doorframe of my bedroom with his hands in his pockets.
The smirk plastered across his lips is wicked and sly, and I can slowly feel my anger starting to rise as I'm unable to finish my thoughts due to his antics, and the incident doing nothing else but reminding me of why I despise these circumstances to begin with.
I then stare beside me at the now still football laying along my bed that he carelessly used to hit me in the head, and it's taking every fiber of my being not to throw it back in his face. I glare at Grayson in distaste as he continues to smile—a smile that I hate more than anything, by the way, and watches as he travels further inside of my room, purposely leaving the door open behind him. I start to cringe just from his presence, but he doesn't seem to notice, or at least pretends not to.
Grayson bounces down onto the mattress, causing both our bodies to shake, and I narrow my eyes at him irritably. He folds his arms behind his head as he lays down beside me, and locks of his bangs cover halfway over his green eyes. His hair is brown with a wispy look and texture to it; he can easily run his fingers across his scalp. Meanwhile, his stare is full of mystery and curiosity.
I notice Grayson's eyes move from my face down to the guitar sitting across my lap, and I awkwardly shift and readjust myself from the position of sitting crisscross.
I swallow. I had left the hospital early to rehearse my music, and the very last thing I need is an interruption by someone clearly not worth the time.
Grayson and I have a stare down. "Can I help you?" I ask, rhetorically.
Grayson shrugs. "Depends. Is the almighty Maya Hart genuinely offering her services for once?"
"My "services" are available to all I deem worthy," I say, opting to partake in his petty taunting.
He snorts. "Well, lucky for you I don't want anything… this time," he says, "I just thought I'd stop by."
"I don't have time for this, Grayson." I argue, and he laughs.
In contrast to me, Grayson does nothing with his days except pretend to care, and get on my last nerve. He's the worst adoptive brother I could ever think to ask for, but I guess we can't all be perfect. In all fairness, however, Grayson's tolerable.
He then starts to sit up on the bed, and moves until we're sitting directly next to one another—leaning back on his hand as his arm extends behind me. He closely stares at my guitar as he speaks. "Okay honestly, I came in here because I got curious," he soundly admits, and I look at him questionably. "You've been playing the same chord repeatedly for the pass fifteen minutes now, and it's kind of getting annoying."
I roll my eyes, but can't help but feed into his attention seeking and mellow dramatics. I groan. "What's your point?"
"Are you planning to present this or something? I mean, I'm no expert when it comes to this stuff, but I'm pretty sure your song needs to have words, too." Grayson taunts, and although I want to argue with him, I can't.
Instead, I groan some more and scratch my scalp out of frustration. "Why do you even care?" I reply, spitefully. "I already know the song needs work. I don't need you telling me this."
"I think you do," he says, sarcastically, "Why are you even writing a song? What is it for?" Grayson asks, genuinely seeming curious. I eventually avert my eyes away.
I start to contemplate the reasons of why I do any of this, and immediately think of the possibilities. I want to make a life for myself as a self-writing and proclaimed recording artist, and finally with an upcoming event to showcase just what I can do. Ergo, I need to be prepared for it.
I can later sense Grayson staring at me. "Okay, better question—who are you hoping to impress by doing this?" he inquires, and momentarily, I'm silent.
The truth? Well, everyone. I want to impress everyone that hears my music, especially my mom, Shawn, and Evan. Although, there's someone else on my mind, too. While I'm desperately attempting to make my dreams come true, there's people in the hospital that can barely do things for themselves. Half have already lost their hope, and the others have unfortunately met their fate. I sing not only for myself, but to open people's hearts. I would love to put on the concert of a lifetime for the patients at the hospital I volunteer at, and bring smiles to their dull and solemn faces, especially to the someone in particular.
I smile to myself just at the thought of him, and Grayson cocks an eyebrow. "Why are you blushing?" he asks, and my eyes widen.
I'm bashful and hesitant, but still I can't help continuing to smile. "I didn't realize I was…"
"Well, you are, and it's creepy." Grayson replies, and I shove him. He laughs. "Whatever. I don't know what this is about, but I really do hope you don't crash and burn."
"Really?" I say, skeptically.
Grayson shrugs, snickering. "Yeah, but I mean, I'll still be ready to capture your epic fail on video, and post it the minute you screw up, so all can laugh along with me at how horrible you look," he says, laughing loud and obnoxiously. I frown.
I extend my arm, pointing to the door. "Get out." I demand, fed up with the jokes. This meant way too much to me.
Grayson raises his arms in surrender. "I'm just saying," he defends.
I clench my jaw, and then look behind me. I reach for my pillow prior to bashing it as hard as I can against Grayson's head. He crouches his back and chuckles, running for the door. He then peeks around the doorframe, half of his body out of the room, and smiles at me. "I love you, too," he says, casually with a smirk.
My cheeks then instantly begin to flush, and I don't respond. Grayson is soon out of sight, and I'm suddenly feeling stiff. It's not necessarily in his nature to express his feelings, at least not to me, and I truthfully thought I wouldn't live to see the day, despite having lived with Grayson for over a year now. I guess as siblings, he'd inevitably have a change of heart sooner or later, although I'm still not sure I can say the same just yet.
Instead, smile as I continue to think of Josh. Joshua Matthews. He may be unconscious, but still can I sense that he loves it anytime I sing to him. He's going to be the first one to hear this currently unfinished song, and I can only hope it has a tremendous impact on him.
If he's finally lifted out of his coma because of something I did, I may scream until my lungs burst.
Don't tell the patient in room C417, but Josh is my favorite.
.::.
Her palms are folded as she nervously fiddles with her thumbs. She slowly rocks back and forth in the chair of the hospital room, while time seems to be tormenting her as the ticking is imaginably louder with each passing second.
Jasmine exhales a breath, plainly sensing as her heart rapidly palpitates against her chest. It's felt like hours, despite only being a few minutes, and she can barely think straight. Whenever they're apart, she can never control the sudden heartache issuing inside of her; desperate to know the underlying truth.
His smiling face, teeth on full display when attempting to be canny, and the hardy sound of his contagious laughter—her face is rosy just from the mere thought of him. Although, the feeling doesn't last long.
Josh's mindlessly rash decisions doing nothing but push her away. Jasmine frowns. She remembers their noteworthy moments together, leading all the way to the separation. Smoke in her eyes every minute, and delirious attitudes more often than not. Albeit, Josh's intoxicating states shifting from a few times a month to nearly every night, and soon with an inability to even hold a proper conversation with him. Jasmine bows her head in frustration, her dark brunette hair falling over her face.
Josh never listens to reason, leading to his actions to ultimately backfire in his face. She would care if something were to happen him, and hopelessly praying the chance to confess to him face to face will come soon enough. Needless to say, blaming herself for his predicament. If only she hadn't left him alone. Jasmine can feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but blinking several times to avoid allowing even a single one to drop. The brief sound of the door opening then quickly distracts her, and she looks over her shoulder to witness the commotion.
He stares at Jasmine sympathetically. "You okay?" he asks, delicately.
She sighs. "I won't know the answer until I see him."
"I heard they're bringing him back in now. Don't sweat it," Andrew says, moving to sit in the chair beside her. He offers her a candy bar. "The vending machine didn't have Reese's. Is a Snickers, okay?"
Jasmine rolls her eyes. She only sent Andrew to the snack machine for an opportunity to be alone and think. Josh had still been coma induced, fearing this would continue for several more weeks, and frankly, she wouldn't be able to handle that.
She narrows her eyes at the candy in Andrew's hand. Jasmine then groans before snatching it. "How can we even think about eating when Josh is like this?" Jasmine exclaims, rising up from her chair. However, Andrew doesn't respond. Instead, stares at her in astonishment. "I mean, am I the only one, who even cares?"
"Of course, not—"
Jasmine waves her arms haphazardly, irritated as she proceeds to shout. "His parents didn't even care when I told them what happened! What the hell kind of adults act like that? I mean, really!"
"I guess you have to think about it from their point of view," Andrew says, and Jasmine quirks a brow. "It's not like they didn't warn him of the consequences."
"That's still no reason to abandon your son!"
"But didn't he abandon them first?" Andrew challenges, silencing Jasmine entirely.
She parts her lips to protest, but promptly closes her mouth back indefinitely. Josh had neglected his parent's forewarning from the very get go, opting to waste his days at crack homes and parties instead of genuinely making something of himself. Now he's practically lying dead, and Jasmine can't stand to watch it continue any longer.
They've been friends for years. Why would she?
Andrew then slowly stands up from his chair, filling the awkward quietude. "Just trust that he's going to be all right."
Jasmine shakes her absentmindedly, doubtful. "Guess I don't have much of a choice..." she murmurs with a shrug, and Andrew softly cradles her shoulder in support.
A presence then emerges in the doorway, and the two simultaneously turn their heads to see three figures accompanying the space. One of whom Jasmine recognizes all too well. "I see you're still here,"
Jasmine's expression tenses. "I wouldn't dare go anywhere else." Not before knowing about Josh.
"Of course. Well, you'll be happy to know that we're finally starting to get an arousal out of him as the procedures are working tremendously well. It shouldn't be long now."
Jasmine smiles, exhaling in relief, and Andrew looks at her affectionately. "Good, good. That's awesome."
"Yes. We're going to bring him back into the room now if you please," Dr. Warner states, indicating for the two to step aside.
Josh then soon comes into view, unconscious on his bed as a nurse wheels him back inside. Jasmine closely watches his face, but still listening as one of the nurses begin to talk. "It's safe to say his coma has finally passed, but he's still a little out of it. We're simply going to allow him some sleep now until he awakes naturally." The nurse explains, and Jasmine turns her gaze to focus on them.
Blonde hair pulled up neatly into a bun, and blue eyes shimmering brilliantly as both their stares meet. Jasmine smiles faintly.
"Precisely. You have no more reason now to stress. Joshua Matthews is going to be fine." Warner says.
"That's great." Andrew retorts, but soon looking as the second nurse in the doorway speaks.
"Yeah, although, we're still concerned about his health," he mentions. Jasmine and Andrew look at him, puzzled. "Hi, I'm Evan, a volunteering nurse here at the hospital. I've been occasionally keeping track of Joshua Matthews' records, and have come to the discovery of his apparently growing drug addiction." Jasmine and Andrew momentarily exchange glances.
"There's still time to do something before anything gets worse, although we need to be sure Josh's addiction will subside. Otherwise, the treatment will seem useless." The blonde asserts, and Jasmine subsequently looks at the name tag along her shirt.
Maya.
"We're going to run some experiments when the time is right. In the meantime, half of our work is done. If you'd like, you have a few more minutes before visiting hours are over. With that being said, we'll give you all some time alone with him." Warner announces, and both Jasmine and Andrew start to grin.
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Yeah, thanks."
"My pleasure," he replies prior to refocusing his attention. "Alright team, on to the next patient. Let's go." Warner commands, leaving the doorway as only the three volunteering nurses remain.
The one to bring Josh back into room folds her arms over her chest, en route for the door, and purposely brushes pass Evan. He shakes his head dismissively. "Claire…" He grunts, and then looks over as he smiles at Maya. "Ready?"
She stares at him with her mouth ample. "Uh," she stammers, and her eyes briefly gaze at Josh. Jasmine looks at her suspiciously. "Yeah…"
Maya reluctantly follows Evan out of the room, peering over her shoulder one final time until Josh is completely out of her view. Jasmine stares at the now empty doorway, suspicious of the nurse's seemingly over induced interest in this one patient in particular. Nonetheless, thoughts soon disrupted by the sound of Andrew's voice. She turns her head to look at him. "See? I told you not to sweat," he says, chuckling.
Jasmine sighs. "Yeah, well, I'll be even more impressed when he's actually awake and talking."
Andrew chuckles. "Ditto," he says, "so, you ready to go? If all he needs is sleep, then we better not disturb him."
Jasmine nods hesitantly. "You're right. Uh, just give me a minute. I'll meet you in the lobby," she responds, and Andrew nods.
"You got it," he says just before exiting the room.
Once alone, Jasmine looks at Josh worriedly, and her countenance stern, while stepping closer to his bedside. Momentarily, her stare is calm, and gazing at the peaceable expression of Josh's face. She then slowly reaches her hand to his cheek, caressing it gingerly. Jasmine lightly smiles, her heart warm at the news that he's going to be okay. Regardless, clueless as to what this will all mean. Josh clearly has a problem, despite wishing otherwise, and unfortunately you can't help anyone, who isn't willing to help themselves.
Afterwards, her thoughts start to drift. It had been strange the way the blonde nurse seemed to look at him as if she were a close friend or something, and Jasmine couldn't ignore the jealousy overriding her insides.
She couldn't wait until she heard Josh's voice again. At least then she could finally get some answers.
It was annoying not being able to read his mind, and Jasmine didn't trust the nurse with the blue eyes even for a second.
Nevertheless, briefly glancing over her shoulder at the door to be certain of privacy prior to diverting her eyes back to Josh. She reluctantly holds her hair in place as it sits all to one side of her neck, and gradually leaning herself down to Josh's lips. She softly begins to close her eyes.
It's either now or never.
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