A/N: okay, here's chapter five. Thanx again all who reviewed u made my day!
Btw heather goldbug, why do I do what? Write fan fiction? Or write
confusing things? Help now I'M confused!!!
Chapter Five
COLLINS
She's sleeping when I leave. I don't want to leave the room ever, but I need something to eat, and maybe some coffee, even if it is weak, lukewarm, hospital coffee. So I drag myself into the waiting room and begin the hunt for a working vending machine.
Just my luck that there isn't a single machine on that floor with anything in it except dust. I'm not about to take the elevator up or down just to get some packaged, processed lump of caramel and chocolate, and hospital coffee is little better than brown water, unless you drink it in mass amounts. This has been proven by the lovely Maureen Johnson, who I am sure is even now suffering for last night's caffeine marathon.
Funny, but now I'm out of the room, I can't bring myself to go back in. I can't stand to sit there and look at her, a shadow of her former self. She'd lost so much weight, I can't believe I didn't notice! And she's so pale. I can't stand to sit there and watch, completely helpless, while she lies for hours unmoving, hooked up to beeping, rasping, dripping machines. I just can't do it. Does that make me a bad person?
I sink into one of the hard seats, my head in my hands.
"Collins!"
Head leaves hands and cranes upward, something it isn't used to doing when I'm looking at Mark, as he's about a head shorter than I am. He looks horrible. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his blond hair flops in an unkempt mess over his glasses. He's clutching an old supermarket bag and trying to smile.
"Thought I'd find you here."
"What brings you to this fine establishment?" I query. "At three in the morning, that is."
"I came to see you and Angel, and to give you this." He drops the bag unceremoniously in my lap and sits down next to me.
"Angel's sleeping."
"I figured, but I'm not and you're not and I knew I'd find you here, so I brought this along."
"What is it?"
"Call it a care package."
I open the bag to find five well worn paperbacks, a thermos, a large lump of tin foil that I'm going to assume contains food, and (oddly) a sock puppet.
"Thank you. What's in the thermos?"
"Coffee."
"There is a God!" I sigh, unscrewing the cap and almost slopping the scalding liquid over my arm as I pour it into the cap/mug. It tastes soooo good. Coffee coffee coffee yuuuuuum. Once I've had my fill of the nectar of the Gods, I look more closely at the books, they've brought. "The World According to Garp", which was always Angel's favorite book. A collection of poems, "Huckleberry Finn", "A Clockwork Orange" (my favorite) and a bible that has to be mine, as I'm the only one as far as I know who owns one. The tin foil contains Mimi's rock hard attempts at cookies. The thought is nice even if the food isn't.
"Erm.why the sock puppet?"
"It's a cow." Says Mark, as if this explains it all. I notice for the first time that he is camera free. This event should go down in history.
"I don't follow."
He sighes, "It's * Elsie*. Maureen's protest cow. She made the puppet a couple of months ago out of my sock because she was bored. She thought it might cheer you up."
"Tell her I'm very grateful." And I am. This is Maureen's strange way of offering sympathy, something she's never been very good at. I glance over at Mark. He looks exhausted, but I don't want him to leave just yet.
"Thank you. For coming. It.well."
"It's okay."
And it is. Just for this moment, holding this stupid sock cow, drinking the scalding coffee and gnawing on Mimi's iron cookies, I'm not alone. Here in my hands is the evidence that my friends care, that they'll stick with me through this. Here in my hands, in this strange bundle of books, food, and puppets, is the testimony that no one is alone, and that no matter what, I'll never be forgotten.
A/N: ooooooh! Sappy sappy sappy. Sorry its so.well sappy. Keep reviewing!! (please?)
Chapter Five
COLLINS
She's sleeping when I leave. I don't want to leave the room ever, but I need something to eat, and maybe some coffee, even if it is weak, lukewarm, hospital coffee. So I drag myself into the waiting room and begin the hunt for a working vending machine.
Just my luck that there isn't a single machine on that floor with anything in it except dust. I'm not about to take the elevator up or down just to get some packaged, processed lump of caramel and chocolate, and hospital coffee is little better than brown water, unless you drink it in mass amounts. This has been proven by the lovely Maureen Johnson, who I am sure is even now suffering for last night's caffeine marathon.
Funny, but now I'm out of the room, I can't bring myself to go back in. I can't stand to sit there and look at her, a shadow of her former self. She'd lost so much weight, I can't believe I didn't notice! And she's so pale. I can't stand to sit there and watch, completely helpless, while she lies for hours unmoving, hooked up to beeping, rasping, dripping machines. I just can't do it. Does that make me a bad person?
I sink into one of the hard seats, my head in my hands.
"Collins!"
Head leaves hands and cranes upward, something it isn't used to doing when I'm looking at Mark, as he's about a head shorter than I am. He looks horrible. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his blond hair flops in an unkempt mess over his glasses. He's clutching an old supermarket bag and trying to smile.
"Thought I'd find you here."
"What brings you to this fine establishment?" I query. "At three in the morning, that is."
"I came to see you and Angel, and to give you this." He drops the bag unceremoniously in my lap and sits down next to me.
"Angel's sleeping."
"I figured, but I'm not and you're not and I knew I'd find you here, so I brought this along."
"What is it?"
"Call it a care package."
I open the bag to find five well worn paperbacks, a thermos, a large lump of tin foil that I'm going to assume contains food, and (oddly) a sock puppet.
"Thank you. What's in the thermos?"
"Coffee."
"There is a God!" I sigh, unscrewing the cap and almost slopping the scalding liquid over my arm as I pour it into the cap/mug. It tastes soooo good. Coffee coffee coffee yuuuuuum. Once I've had my fill of the nectar of the Gods, I look more closely at the books, they've brought. "The World According to Garp", which was always Angel's favorite book. A collection of poems, "Huckleberry Finn", "A Clockwork Orange" (my favorite) and a bible that has to be mine, as I'm the only one as far as I know who owns one. The tin foil contains Mimi's rock hard attempts at cookies. The thought is nice even if the food isn't.
"Erm.why the sock puppet?"
"It's a cow." Says Mark, as if this explains it all. I notice for the first time that he is camera free. This event should go down in history.
"I don't follow."
He sighes, "It's * Elsie*. Maureen's protest cow. She made the puppet a couple of months ago out of my sock because she was bored. She thought it might cheer you up."
"Tell her I'm very grateful." And I am. This is Maureen's strange way of offering sympathy, something she's never been very good at. I glance over at Mark. He looks exhausted, but I don't want him to leave just yet.
"Thank you. For coming. It.well."
"It's okay."
And it is. Just for this moment, holding this stupid sock cow, drinking the scalding coffee and gnawing on Mimi's iron cookies, I'm not alone. Here in my hands is the evidence that my friends care, that they'll stick with me through this. Here in my hands, in this strange bundle of books, food, and puppets, is the testimony that no one is alone, and that no matter what, I'll never be forgotten.
A/N: ooooooh! Sappy sappy sappy. Sorry its so.well sappy. Keep reviewing!! (please?)