Chapter 5
1169 Words
The breeze on the rooftop was the only thing keeping me sane during my break. I sat on the ledge, staring out over the town below. Quiet moments like these were rare, and I wasn’t about to let anyone ruin it.
“Coleman.”
And just like that, peace was ruined.
I groaned audibly. “What do you want? I’m on break.”
“Get down from there,” Bee said, her voice carrying a nervous edge.
I rolled my eyes, refusing to turn around. “What for? You afraid I’m gonna jump?”
“Please,” she said, the plea in her voice catching me off guard.
I turned, and my annoyance faltered. She was crying.
“Wait... hold on,” I said, sliding off the ledge quickly. “I was just sitting here, okay? Relax. I wasn’t doing anything.”
Bee took a shaky breath but didn’t look at me. Instead, she wiped her tears and turned to leave.
“Hey,” I called after her, following her down the rooftop stairs. “What was that about?”
She stopped abruptly and spun around, glaring at me. “What’s wrong with you? Do you know how dangerous that was?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t in any danger—”
“That doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “A dementia patient came up there once. He got scared, lost his balance, and fell. I found him... and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
Her voice wavered, and she hugged her arms tightly, looking anywhere but at me.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said softly, the words feeling foreign in my mouth.
“Yeah, well,” she muttered, wiping her face again. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
She turned to leave again, but I wasn’t done yet. “How do you act so tough and cry so easily?” I asked, trying to deflect the heaviness with a bit of sarcasm.
She stopped, narrowed her eyes at me, and elbowed me in the ribs as she walked past.
---
The rest of the day, Bee hovered around me like some sort of annoying shadow, constantly finding excuses to drag me into conversations.
“I have an idea,” she said suddenly as we walked past the pediatric ward.
“No,” I said immediately.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“It doesn’t matter,” I grumbled. “If it involves you, it’s probably trouble.”
She grinned, unfazed. “We’re doing wheelchair races.”
I stopped walking. “You’re insane.”
“Not clinically,” she shot back, already dragging a wheelchair out of the corner. “C’mon, Coleman, don’t be boring.”
I groaned, grabbing another chair reluctantly. “If we get caught—”
“We won’t,” she said with absolute confidence.
---
We got caught.
“Bee,” the nurse said, hands on her hips as she stared us down.
“Hello, Nurse Taylor,” Bee said sweetly.
“What are you doing?”
“Building morale,” she said, flashing her best innocent smile.
The nurse sighed, shaking her head. “Just... don’t break anything, okay?”
“Will do!” Bee saluted dramatically, wheeling herself out of sight.
---
The race was on. I could already feel the laughter bubbling up inside of me as we careened down the hallways, dodging nurses, patients, and the occasional housekeeping cart.
Bee, as always, was way too enthusiastic. “Catch me if you can!” she yelled, speeding ahead and forcing me to push harder to catch up.
I gritted my teeth, pushing my chair faster, even though I could already hear the unmistakable sound of Bee’s breathing getting heavy. It wasn’t just from the race; I knew she was pushing herself too hard.
“Slow down, Bee,” I called out, but she wasn’t listening.
I caught a glimpse of her struggle—her chest rising and falling too fast—and I frowned, trying to close the distance between us.
“Bee!” I called again, more forcefully this time, my voice filled with concern.
She didn’t respond, too focused on speeding ahead. It wasn’t until I caught up and reached out to tap her chair that she stopped abruptly, panting.
“Bee, you’re gonna wear yourself out,” I said, concern creeping into my voice, despite myself.
She waved me off, clearly too stubborn to admit she was struggling. “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice sounded strained.
Before I could say anything else, a nurse walked by, giving us an exasperated look. “Can you two not do this in the halls?” she snapped. “We’re trying to get through here without all the noise.”
“Sorry,” Bee said, trying to smile through her exhaustion.
The nurse just shook her head, muttering under her breath as she hurried off.
We quickly spun our chairs toward the nearest exit, trying to escape without getting into any more trouble. But as we made our way out of the building, Bee stopped, clutching her chest as she took a shallow breath.
I stopped, immediately on edge. “Bee?”
“I’m fine,” she said again, but this time her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Are you sure?” I asked, unwilling to just let it go.
She nodded. “I’m just tired. I don’t always... I don’t always breathe as well as I should.”
My stomach twisted at her words, and I knew she wasn’t just talking about the race. “What do you mean?”
She hesitated before answering, glancing around like she was searching for the right words. “I have cystic fibrosis,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “It’s a disease that affects my lungs. I’m already struggling a bit with my breathing... so sometimes, it gets worse. But I’ll be okay. I’m used to it.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” I finally muttered.
Bee shook her head, dismissing my apology with a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. I’m not dying yet,” she said with a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s just part of the deal. I’ve been living with it for years.”
I stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with this new information. It wasn’t pity that I felt. It was something else, something I couldn’t quite name.
I finally managed to crack a grin. “Well, as long as you don’t try to race me again. You’re not getting off that easy.”
Bee snorted, shaking her head. “You’re such a sore loser.”
I grinned back. “You wish. You didn’t win, I was just letting you think you did.”
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