Young Writers Society

Drake pulled his lab coat to the side and bent down to make eye contact with her. He pulled his glasses off and began to clean them.

"There’s nothing wrong with you." he said. "Do you want to tell me what’s really wrong? What’s really bothering you? What that pain really smells like? Hmm?"

She looked to the corners of the room, not making an effort to hide her tears.

"I can’t breath." she said. "That’s a real problem now isn’t it?"

Drake was not going to have anymore of this. "This constant craving is dangerous. Do you understand me? I won’t have you faking it. You're not scaring me. To be honest I don’t really care. I’m not here to ask you about your mother or if you were abused as a child. I’m not here for your stories"

She made strong eye contact and spoke with conviction, "My behavior has frequently been described as being intoxicated. That’s what they say say say.."

Drake was unimpressed. “I’m gonna give you something for that lisp. Have a nice day."

"You gotta help me. Cars seem like horses taking a piss. People, they all look the same. I’m just trying to save some time. I feel like I am encouraging this disease. It’s making me bleed and I'm falling in love with it. I’m just angry. I know there’s no miracle coming."

The white tiles started to turn green with moss. There were lot patients that came through, but no one had the audacity to speak up to Drake like she did.

"You’re not ill. Physically or mentally. Are we clear? I want you to go back home or I’m going to call your mum what you have been up to. Are we clear?"

"I just wait for the sun to dissolve" she said. “I’m here, sick, for you. Disembowel me. Do anything I don’t care."

"Maybe. In another place. In another time. You’re too young." Drake had to find a way to make this work. He had to make her go away. Keep her away and keep her quiet." Look, I appreciate our friendship and I appreciate you keep my secret. But your young and I can get into serious trouble if I encourage your infatuation. I know you’re not ill. Just go home"

" But I feel like it all the time. I just want you to fix me up. Just so I can look back in the future and laugh at my struggles with nothing. I’m empty."

"And unhappy. It’s just that stage in your life. You don’t know what the future holds. Many of the most successful people in the world are inert like you. It’s alright to not feel anything, you know. It’s such an advantage."

"But I didn’t want this" she said.

Drake was not going to listen to this again. “Oh for fucks sake. I’m sorry alright? I’m sorry. I am. I really am. I didn’t mean for you to take it. I didn’t know. But I’m not going to fucking feel bad about it. I give people what they want. And if they are naive enough to think they want to be emotionally numb for the rest of their lives, it’s not my bloody fault now is it?"

She began to spit blood. Drake wanted to run away from this. She was far too young. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe everyone who took the pill was dying like her.

"You see." she said. "I feel like I shouldn’t exist. But I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to know what’s wrong."

Drake just couldn’t tell her she was dying. "You will be fine. Just go home. There is nothing wrong with you. All you want is a little attention. Now go home."

She collapsed into herself every time her mind wandered.

“I can’t afford to not be a mystery, you know. You’re always looking for answers but you never think you would find it. The truth is disappointing when it’s simple. It’s a disaster when it’s simple. The journey is usually sufficiently long to not be meaningless. The disappointment is your very being."

Drake didn’t want to hear this. He had to let this go. "You need to go" he said. " You've eaten my insides enough, just go."

"The name of the disease is disappointment enough. It doesn’t bring any comfort. You don’t want a cure. Your tumor is your arm. You are the scab. Hope is gay. Sleep is in. That’s all I do. It’s boring when I’m not bored. I’m that red gravel road you want to get past. I’m that broken fence."

There was fire in her eyes. She wanted to scream and she did.

"Look at what you have done to me, you bastard! Look. I’m not just a number now; I’m your every nightmare!"

Drake dragged her by her arm and flung her outside. What was he going to do? How was he going to let it be?

As he peered through the key hole he watched his daughter pick herself up and walk away. "It’s not your fault." He said to himself. He knew it was his fault she kept coming back. She came back because he hadn’t forgiven himself. He was not a doctor anymore. He wasn't a father anymore. Only in his mind, maybe, had his dead daughter not forgiven him. Maybe only in his mind did his daughter keep his dirty secret.

Drake turned around to fling his daughter's things into the river, from over the bridge. As he cried aloud and screamed at the passing traffic, he remembered he had to take his medication.

"It will all be ok soon." he said to himself. “I won’t feel a thing. Soon. I won’t feel a thing."