The light was dim- definitely evening. The room was dark, except for the remaining light that struggled to float in from the outside. The view was actually quite lovely. Freddie was sure it was warm outside. He felt dazed and the stench of disinfectant made him sick. He turned his head with a moan. There were two familiar figures and a doctor who was rubbing his cheek. The two persons turned around and stormed off. They were obviously furious- and they were Freddie's parents.
Only a few moments later, the doctor who had been hit by Mrs. Baxter, disappeared in the corridor, only to return, followed by a short, bearded man. Henry Best.
Freddie rolled his eyes. Suddenly, the two of them looked at the boy. Henry with his ever sad eyes, and the doctor with…what was that? Embarrassment? Fear? He looked like a doctor from some cheesy hospital series- they have this one expression- it's always the same- when they don't know what's wrong with a patient, who is probably going to die.
Freddie knew what was wrong. He wasn't stupid. It had started with a series of headaches- really bad ones. Then there had been nosebleeds, apathy, he was constantly tired and sensitive to light, he couldn't keep down any food- but still felt like he took on weight and he had these pains- right above his crotch. It was alright. Freddie had had the thought when he had his first nose bleed. It was ok. He'd lived his life to the full. There was a tumour, somewhere in his body. It was perfectly fine- all the amazing people died young, didn't they? Jim Morrison, James Dean, Kurt Cobain,…
Now, Freddie drew the conclusion, that his life had been pathetic anyway- well, his family was. To be honest, this wasn't the first time, Freddie considered death a welcome option.
Most people knew Freddie Baxter as a cocky, intelligent, narcissist and jaunty. Yes, they were probably right with some of them- but not the latter. It was all masquerade. He had learned, however, not to show it. It was vital. Only emotional distance kept him alive. At the same time, swallowing all the emotions that did not fit into the identity he had made for himself, was slowly killing him.
"Hello, Freddie…" Henry's voice ripped him from his thoughts. The boy looked up, to find Best awkwardly stood by the window-side of his bed.
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Dunno… Why am I here?"
"You fainted in…er..in the living room."
"Ah. What's wrong with me?"
"I…umm…I don't know yet. They hav-"
"Don't think I'm stupid, Henry! I know what it is!"
Henry said nothing for a good while, his eye wide and fixed on Freddie. His cheeks were pink with what seemed embarrassment.
"Y-you do?"
Freddie nodded. "Don't say you're sorry now." He said with a frown. "You can go and tell this cock of a doctor out there, that I don't want any treatment. It's ok. I'm going to die. So?"
Best's reaction almost shocked the boy: he stayed calm. Only bit his lips and nodded slowly.
"You don't know it, then…" he muttered more to himself than to Freddie.
"What?!"
Henry quickly looked at the medical man who was still stood outside. They both nodded. Then, Henry cleared his throat.
"You're not going to die, and it's not a tumor."
"WHAT?" Freddie exploded. "Oh god….! Is it-"
"You're pregnant, Freddie."