Hi there, everyone!
College finals beat me to the ground this past week, but I'm finally finished.
With that, here's the next installment!
ignition
They've known for a long time now.
It's not hard to see it. Seeing the stares they'd give me when I'd walk into a room. The apprehension in their eyes as my gaze locked with each of theirs. The need to say something - ask how I'm doing, ask how they can help - rising in their chests, but they knew better. They knew better than to ask, because I wouldn't give them the time of day. Feeling their wonder, their confusion, their desire to help, and not doing a goddamn thing about it.
I hate that I've done this to them.
I hate that I took off in the middle of a civil conversation. I hate that I drove Darry's truck so I was easy to track. I hate that I led them there.
I hate that I stood before them, watching them cry and beg and plead, and they had to watch me fall.
While my life is something I know they cherish more than ever, I can't say the same.
But for what it's worth, I'm barely alive, and perhaps this time, I'll be successful in dying in front of them.
I was waiting for them to say he died.
It sounds terrible as his brother. I hate that it was the first idea to pop in my head when Darry launched me off of his lap and onto the floor. I feel dirty waiting for them to announce his death, because while I'm not at all happy about it, it's what makes sense.
All I could do was stare at my older brother the whole time the nurse blabbed away. I watched as anxiety, then relief, then panic, and finally exhaustion collided together in a seamless, chaotic fashion. I watched his shoulders sag, his body tense and relax, his jaw lock and unlock, and I hoped that when this was all over, none of that would remain.
With the nurse gone, I slowly sink into a chair. Darry leans heabily against the wall opposite of me, his gaze completely unreadable. For a split second I'm tempted to try and make him laugh, bring that achingly happy smile onto his face, but something convinces me otherwise. This situation is way too dire, way too personal, to try and make jokes, but I'll be damned if Soda wouldn't try and make a joke during a time like this.
I hate watching the clock. It's like watching paint dry, but at this point, I've nothing better to do.
"He's gonna be fine." I say absentmindedly. The sound of my own voice makes me jump. "It's Soda, for Christ's sake."
Steve and Two-Bit waltz back into the waiting room. I can feel their anxiety, and Two-Bit sends Darry a confused glance as Steve says, "Anything?"
My mind swims, trying to recall what the fuck the nurse said. "She said he's out of some sorta surgery, and he, uh... He's fine... and that's it?"
The fact that I ended on a question mark makes Two-Bit snort. Steve's eyes are furious that I can't provide more, but one look at Darry has him deciding to take my word for it.
"He'll be fine," Steve echoes. He throws, "That right, Dar?" over his shoulder, and I wait with baited breath for how my older brother responds.
Darry blinks but nothing else; a sign that he's heard Steve, but can't find words.