Chapter 2
1047 Words
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I hated hospitals. The smell of antiseptic was overwhelming, mixed with the faint, metallic scent of machines beeping and whirring in the background. It felt like everything about this place was designed to remind you of how fragile life was—how easily things could go wrong. I'd only been in a hospital once before, when I caught the flu. That was after the accident. But even back then, all I could think about was how I didn't belong here. I wasn't hurt the way the others were, so why was I here? Why was I the one in a room full of people who had been in real accidents? In real pain?
I could hear the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, but I kept my gaze on the floor. I didn't need to look up. I knew what people thought when they saw me. Some kid in a hoodie and jeans, a little too tall, a little too scruffy, standing in a place like this. It wasn't my kind of scene
The volunteer coordinator, Kara, had barely looked at me when I walked in. She barely acknowledged the fact that I was here under protest, forced to spend my summer in a place I didn't want to be.
She motioned toward a row of empty seats in the waiting area. "Wait here," she said, brushing me off with one of those fake, cheery smiles that I'd learned to ignore. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Right," I muttered, shoving my hands deep into my pockets as I sat down. The room felt colder than it needed to be, and the lights above buzzed faintly, a soft, almost unnerving hum that only made the quiet feel more intense.
I wasn't used to this kind of silence. Not in a place like this.
I sat there for what felt like hours, watching people come and go, all of them with their own problems, their own reasons for being here. Some were in wheelchairs, others leaned on crutches, some barely made eye contact as they passed. I didn't fit in. I wasn't sick enough to be here for treatment, but I wasn't normal either. I was just the kid stuck here because his dad thought it was the only way to teach him a lesson.
I zoned out, trying not to think about it. The words my dad had said echoed in my head: You mess up, you face the consequences. No more excuses. And now I was here, wearing this damn volunteer vest that felt like a straightjacket.
After what seemed like forever, the receptionist—a woman with graying hair and oversized glasses—finally called my name. "Louis Coleman?"
I looked up and nodded, slinging my backpack over one shoulder.
"Room 204, left side," she said without any emotion, pointing toward a hallway that stretched out in front of me.
"Thanks," I mumbled, but she was already looking down at her computer again. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and started walking, trying to look like I knew where I was going. I wasn't in any rush.
The hall was quiet except for the sound of my footsteps. The walls were painted an off-white, the kind of color that made you feel like you weren't really supposed to be noticed. The doors on either side of me had little numbers next to them, each one a different color, some of them locked, some of them open.
I walked past a few rooms, the sound of muffled voices drifting through the door. I tried not to listen, but there was something about the way people talked in hospitals—like they knew something you didn't.
Then, as I passed one of the rooms, I saw a group of kids sitting around a table. At first, I thought they were younger, but when I looked closer, I realized they were about my age—maybe a year or two younger, all of them laughing and talking like they didn't have a care in the world.
In the middle of them was a girl. She stood out for no reason other than the fact that she was so... normal. Well, normal except for the oxygen cannula that looped over her ears and went down to the small machine next to her. It seemed strange to see someone like her, my age, hooked up to something like that. But the weird part was how she didn't seem bothered by it.
She was talking, gesturing with her hands, her face animated as if she was telling some joke. The others were laughing, but she didn't seem sick. Not at all. She was smiling, her hair cropped short and neatly around her head, like she was one of them. There was a sense of confidence in the way she spoke, something that made it hard to look away.
She didn't notice me standing there in the hall, and I made sure to look away quickly, not wanting to make it awkward. I didn't care about some girl in the hospital. I didn't care about any of this.
I kept walking, trying not to think about her, but there was something about the way she seemed so at ease, so unaffected by the tubes in her nose, that stuck with me. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand—get to room 204, help out for the day, and get the hell out of here.
Just as I reached the door to Kara's office, I caught a glimpse of the girl again. She was sitting back down at the table, her attention focused on something in front of her. I didn't want to stare, but for a second, I thought about what it would be like to live like that—tethered to a machine, unable to breathe without help.
But I shoved the thought aside. I wasn't here for any of that. I didn't know her, and I didn't care to.
"Louis!" Kara called from inside the office, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I took one last look down the hall, then walked inside, shaking off the weird feeling that had come over me. I had my own s**t to deal with.
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- Writer
