What the hell was any of this for?
53
Jared
Ihate hospitals.
My fists clench and unclench where I’m balancing them over my knees. The sharp, bitter scent of bleach fills my nose.
Across from me, a group of nursing staff gather around a computer screen. There’s a banner, and decorations, and cooing over a colleague.
But behind me is silence.
So I wait.
If there was a certification for waiting in hospital corridors, I would have qualified ten times over by now. Lightly banging my head against the wall, I stare down the hall, waiting for someone. Anyone, to tell me what’s happening.
“Excuse me.” I get to my feet and cross to the station. They all turn to look at me, amusement wiping from their faces. Replaced by a professional mask. “Is there any update?”
I don’t need to give her name. They’ve already heard it a dozen times.
And I’ve seen these sympathetic looks a dozen times too. An older nurse smiles. “Not yet. They’ll come through as soon as they can and let you know what’s going on. You can use the waiting room.”
I can’t. I can’t sit with another group of people waiting for news. The white-knuckled hands. The jittering knees.
So I go back to the wall. Then the station. The wall again.
My own little routine.
My arm rubs against my khaki jacket, and I pause at the noise, sliding my hand into my pocket and pulling out the white envelope.
Unopened. Exactly the same as the day he wrote it, aside from the curled corners.
Ben was the last person to touch this.
I do really do with speaking to my brother right now.
The soft tear of the seal sounds loud, and I glance around before pulling out the lined sheet. Spiked, narrow writing fills the page.
Hey, little brother.
I take a breath.
And then I start reading.
54
Ben
Jared,
It’s the middle of the night, and I’m too wired to sleep. I keep thinking about the conversations we had before I left. All the things we didn’t say. And there are some things that I need to say.
I want to tell you that I’m sorry for leaving. But I think it would be a lie. Because I’m not sorry, Jar. I don’t want you to watch these last few weeks and months. This thing inside my brain was going to consume you too.
I’m sorry for leaving like that. But I had to go.
I can accept my own death. I’m almost ready for it now. I’m so tired. Every day becomes that little bit harder. I’m losing control of my own mind, and I hate it.
