I'm so sorry for this. My headphones broke and I was mad and I wanted to write angst. Enjoy... or don't, whatever, I'm sorry if you cry.
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Jefferson's p.o.v
When the world all turns to shit, at least you know raccoons will always be there for you. Nothing but their big fluffy faces and round beady eyes staring up at you.
I'm Thomas Jefferson, if you don't know me. You probably don't. I'm just your average college student who eats way too much mac and cheese and wears far too much magenta. I have a best friend, James Madison, who, coincidentally, is also my boyfriend. Great, huh? He's great, he really is. He isn't here, though. I haven't told him; I didn't want him to worry.
Where am I, I hear you ask? Oh, I'm at the hospital.
I just found out I have cancer.
Cancer. It's a horrible word, isn't it? Who would've thought one six-letter word was enough to strike fear right to the very pit of your soul and bring your life crashing down before your very eyes? Certaintly not me. Of course, I know all about cancer. Doesn't everyone? I just never thought it would affect me.
The type of cancer I have is called Non Hodgkin Lymphoma. It's a cancer of the white blood cells, or so the doctor says. He tried to be reassuring, but hell, a quick Google search revealed it to be on a list for Top Ten Most Deadly Cancers. So basically, I'm fucked.
The doctor. He was nice. He gave me a few leaflets, told me to come back tomorrow and discuss treatment plans. He said to bring someone. Well, he'd said to bring someone today and I hadn't. I don't do what people tell me. You'll only ever get thrown in the dirt that way.
The symptoms, at first, didn't seem too serious. A cough, bit of a fever, abdominal pain. I assumed it was just a cold and spent a couple of days in bed before going back to classes. But I was just tired... all the time... I kept falling asleep in class, no matter how much sleep I got the night before. Then came the chest pain. That was a bitch. When I started losing weight even though I was actually eating more- it was finals month and I stress eat- I knew something was up. I told James I was going to the store and went to the nearest free clinic. It couldn't be too bad, right? I was probably just being paranoid.
The doctor I saw at the clinic isn't the doctor I have now. The doctor I had at the clinic listened to my symptoms, gave me a quick look over and called for backup. That's when I started to get scared.
The backup doctor is the doctor I have now. "Don't worry," he told me when he came in. "Yes, I am an oncologist, but it's just a precaution." Some fucking precaution.
The other doctor whispered something to the oncologist, who nodded and snapped a pair of gloves on. Then he asked me to take my t-shirt off and hold my arm up. I did so, joking that I was taken. He didn't laugh.
Apparently there was a swelling under my arm. I hadn't noticed it. They took a biopsy, and told me they'd call me when they had the results. Which was today.
The doctor, Washington, I think his name is, called me this morning. He sounded worried.
"Son, I need you to come in," he told me. I stiffened in my position in our dorm bathroom. James didn't need to know.
"Why?" I asked nervously.
"I'll tell you when you get here," he said after a pause. "I'd bring someone with you."
I hung up.
Walking back into the dorm, I grabbed a bag with some spare clothes and my school books in. You never know.
"I'm just heading out," I called to James. He was bundled up in bed with a cold.
"See you later," he called feebly. "Get some cough drops. The-"
"Blackcurrant ones, I know," I cut in. I was already out of the door.
It only took ten minutes to get to the hospital. When I got there, Washington was waiting for me in the lobby. Uh oh. That couldn't be good.
"Special escort?" I asked at a feeble attempt at humour. Nothing. No chuckle, no mouth twitch. Nada, zilch, zero.
He lead me to his office, and asked me to take a seat. It was fairly comfortable, more of an armchair than anything. He sat across from me, his hands folded on the desk. He looked grave.
"How come you're alone?" he asked, eying me carefully. "Your girlfriend busy?"
"Boyfriend," I corrected. He smiled warmly at me. "Um, he's sick." Washington's face fell. "Cold."
"You may want to brace yourself," he said gently. "Mr Jefferson, I'm afraid you have cancer."
Bam. No warning or anything. Well, technically there was, but not a proper warning! I just sat there, staring at him like a gormless fish.
"I'm sorry, what?" I stammered after a few moments. If I'm completely honest, I didn't believe him. I thought he'd jump up and laugh, and Alexander Hamiltrash would jump out of the closet yelling psyche!
"The type of cancer you have is called Non Hodgkin Lymphoma," Washington continued, his voice soft and comforting. "It's a-"
"I don't want to hear it," I cut in, my bottom lip trembling as my eyes filled with unwanted tears. "Do I have to do chemo?"
He nodded sadly.
"And radiotherapy," he added.
"Will I lose my hair?"
"I'm afraid so," he said hesitantly. I don't know why, but that was the thing that set me off sobbing. I love my hair. James loves my hair as well. He says my hair is the third reason he loves me, after my charming personality and, I quote, "my cute-ass little face". Would he still love me as much when I was sick all the time, and tired, with no hair and unable to do anything for myself?
I curled as best I could into a ball on the chair, ugly-crying into my knees. Hey, I know crying's not supposed to be manly or all that shit, but I just found out that I have cancer. Cut me some slack.
"Son, I'm so sorry," Washington told me gently. He was out of his chair now, standing next to the chair with a hand on my shoulder. I clambered up and hugged him, craving the human contact. I felt him tense for a moment before he returned the gesture.
"Sorry, I'm being stupid," I muttered, untangling myself and pacing the room.
"You're not being stupid," he replied, stopping me and pressing a few leaflets into my hand. "Hey, survival rates are soaring up. You've got a great chance of beating this thing."
"How do I tell my family?" I blurted. "School? My friends? My boyfriend?"
"It's all in leaflets," he said simply. "Go home tonight. I'd tell your partner: he'll be your rock through this. Come back tomorrow, we'll discuss treatment."
I nodded, heading towards the door.
"And Thomas?" he called. I looked momentarily back. "Bring him tomorrow."
I gave a small nod and walked out.
That's how I ended up here, sitting on a very damp bench outside of the hospital, very cold and watching a raccoon ransack the bins. It's just starting to get dark. James must be worried. I haven't gained the courage to go home and talk to him yet. He's been texting me non-stop.
3:43 p.m.
Mads: Tom? Xx
4:56 p.m.
Mads: Tommy you've been out for hours r u okay? Xx
6:28 p.m.
Mads: Tom please answer me, I'm getting scared xx
I sigh, glancing upwards. The cold night air is sharp on my cheeks, and I tug on my precious mop of hair before hauling myself up. I spot Washington coming out of the front door: he is clearly off for the day. I try to hide myself, but he spots me and hurries over, concerned.
"Are you okay, son?" he asks, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "You'll catch your death of cold sitting out here."
"I-I just wasn't sure how to face James," I mumble, wiping my running nose on my purple hoodie. James got it for me for my birthday last year. I love it. Washington gives me a sad smile and puts an arm around my shoulder again. The gesture is comforting. I like it.
"I'll take you home," he says and I nod. He leads me to his car and I get in the front. It's a nice car, a red Sedan. I never noticed things like that before. Washington gets in the opposite side, starts the car and pulls out. "So where do I drop you?"
"Oh, um," I stumble over my words. "King's College, please. Just drop me at the gates." Then I swear and slap my hand to my forehead.
"What?" he asks, concerned.
"Can we stop at a pharmacy?" I say nervously. "It's just, James asked me-"
"Sure," he replys. "So, what are you doing at college?"
Conversation. Huh. Weird thing for a guy who told me I have cancer a few hours ago to engage in.
"Politics," I answer in a small voice. "So's James."
"What's James like? You talk about him a lot."
I do? Now I come to think of it, I do, don't I?
"Oh, he's awesome," I say. My voice sounds oddly dreamy. "He's really small, only comes up to my chest. And he has really short curly hair, and rich chocolate skin, and he's just got such a deep voice-" I catch sight of my goofy smile in the mirror and immediately start apologising. "Sorry, I must sound mental, I-"
"It's fine," he cuts me off, laughing. "You clearly love him. I was like that when I met Martha."
"Who's Martha?"
"My wife," he replies. God, now he has a damn dreamy smile as we pull up outside the pharmacy. I see the soft glow from the streetlight outside bounce off the glinting gold of his wedding ring. It looks pretty. Romantic.
I jump out, strolling into the shop and grabbing a bumper pack of cough sweets, blackcurrant flavour.
"James sick again?" a familiar voice says when I hand it to the cashier, eyes trained on the ground. My head snaps up, and a grin claws its way onto my face when I see Peggy "And Peggy!" Schuyler.
"Yeah," I reply sheepishly. At that moment, I start coughing violently into the crook of my elbow.
Damn cancer.
"Think you might need these as well," Peggy remarks as I try to hand over the money. She pushes it back at me. "No charge. It's on the house."
She gives me a light punch on the arm, and I shoot her a shaky smile before jogging back to Washington's car, slamming the door and beginning to cough again. I am ever-so tired again, even though I've done next to nothing today. We pull out.
Suddenly, I remember something and sit bolt upright from my slumped position. Grabbing my phone, I texted James back.
7:09 p.m.
TJeffs: Sorry Mads, on my way back now xx
His reply is almost instant.
Mads: Where were u? Xx
I take a deep breath before I text back.
TJeffs: I was at the hospital. There's something I need to tell you when I get back xx
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Hey, I'm kicking myself for leaving it here. Suspense, my children, suspense... hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it (which was, surprisingly, a lot).
