Dear Stranger,
Well, I've gotten to the bottom of the roller coaster hill with the chemotherapy. I feel so…ugh…horrible. Darien came into my room today all happy, cheery, and prancing around spitting glitter and rainbows. He probably wasn't actually like that, but compared to how I felt…yeah, that's what he was like.
Sadly, I've also come to the conclusion that Darien is not an alien. Which is both a good and bad thing. Good, because I can stop bothering my mother to file a law suit against the hospital for allowing an alien to conduct its tests on innocent human beings, and bad because now I can't explain him. He's just a weirdly interesting guy. He's gorgeous but he tries to avoid women as much as possible. He firmly denied being gay when I asked him if he was. He likes photography and going for a run at ungodly hours in the morning. His parents died a long time ago in a really bad car crash and he'd been living in foster homes until he was eighteen. He likes to have grape soda and pizza while watching a movie on a Friday night, but he hasn't been able to relax like that in a while because of work. I felt bad for him because I could tell he was really tired and stressed, so I told him that maybe we could do that together tomorrow night.
He smiled at me then, and I have to admit that I was a little dazed by it. But I quickly smiled back at him so that I wouldn't become one of the girls he tried to avoid too.
I found all this out about him today because he ate lunch with me. He ate lunch with me because he was avoiding the women in the hospital's cafeteria (there was a new group of interns, apparently made up of mostly women).
Trying not to think of tomorrow night as a date and hoping he brings popcorn,
Serena