Hero

"I am sick," the red-headed boy whined, grabbing the white bed sheet and raising it to his chin.1

"Most people who are sick go to the hospital," the girl replied with a small smile. She petted his hair before giving him a small peck on his cheek. In satisfaction of his reddened face, she giggled before questioning: "Does Andrew have a fever?"2

The older male swatted the girl's hand away before she could feel his forehead. He frowned at her, his bluish green eyes simmering with disapproval.3

"Sarah, stop being so cruel to me," Andrew complained, suddenly becoming serious. He sighed lightly, using the back of his left hand to smooth his hair and push away his bangs. "You heard the doctors. They said that they have to run a few more tests to see what is wrong with me."4

Sarah's smile faded and her eyes dimmed. She suddenly felt like a little girl being scolded by her mother - and she acted as such. Nodding numbly, she walked away from her boyfriend's bed and tried to find something remotely interesting in the small space. There was a machine hooked up to her boyfriend that measured his heart rate, a chair in the corner, an old fashioned television set mounted on the wall, and floors and walls of white. It felt as if she was inhaling pure Windex.5

The television flipped on suddenly, startling Sarah slightly. She glanced at her boyfriend's scrunched up face - he probably did not have his contacts in - before settling into the straight-back chair in the corner. It, too, was white. 6

Sarah felt out of place in the white environment and felt as exposed as maybe how a flamenco dancer would feel if thrown in an icy tundra. Externally, she shivered, berating herself for not bringing a jacket. Why was it that she always wore sleeve-less shirts on the worst occasions?7

"Sarah, babe."8

She picked her head up, suddenly hearing the television set, the buzz of calls to nurses right outside, and the sound of what could be a ACP griping at a patient.9

In the most intelligent and sexy voice she could muster, she let out a dazed: "Huh?"10

"I was talking to you," Andrew explained himself. 11

Sarah noted that he had moved his bed sheet away from his chin, which meant that he was in a better mood. Maybe. 12

"Sorry," she apologized blandly. "The sound of Animal Planet was too enthralling."13

Andrew chuckled softly before replying, "The narrator is talking about the mating season of wildebeests."14

She blushed darkly, which made his chuckle more. Suddenly she wished that he could scoop her into his arms just so she could bury her face in the crook of his neck. Sarah realized how deprived and dependent she was of his affection, suddenly causing her to blush harder.15

"I guess, whatever turns you on..." 16

"Andrew, drop the subject." Sarah answered exasperatedly. "What were you trying to say earlier?"17

He soon composed himself, though there was a large smirk implanted on his face. "I was apologizing for being a jerk. You know I do not mean to hurt your feelings or anything, just everything seems to piss me off in a hospital. Maybe its the fact that they worship Pine Sol as if it is a holy relic."18

"Really? I thought that smell was Windex," Sarah mumbled, before stumbling into a quick apology. "I know things are stressful for you, but things will get better. The doctors will find out what is wrong."
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It had been three months since that hospital visit and Sarah Philips found herself walking up to another intimidating cream-colored structure. Today she had put more thought into her clothing, opting for a light jacket and jeans.20

She never could have prepared herself for her boyfriend, lying on the hospital's crisp white sheets like a broken doll. He was paler than the hospital's walls with a sort of gaunt face and tightened skin to match. It scared her to think that he looked like a chemotherapy patient. His eyes were half-open and reddish, as if he had not had a good night's sleep in days. Even his body was thinner, his arms were minuscule, and it looked as if every breath he took was draining the life from him. Ironic, seeing that oxygen gave life.21

How did Andrew so drastically slip away overnight?22

Sarah mentally recalled the symptoms he had been experiencing, as he slept with his eyes wide open. She remembered that he had, had stomach pains (his guy friends had teased that he had Cyclical Non-Uterine Dysmenorrhea) and he had been throwing up a lot. At the time, she assumed that he had a stomach bug or something of the sort. Though, she had never really pressed him for what was bothering him and had, instead, focused on cheering him up and making him feel better.23

She took one of his hands, it was larger and paler than her own. Suddenly she felt guilty for having a tan, which she had gotten from spending an afternoon in the sun while her boyfriend had probably been at home vomiting. Sarah inspected his nails, until something caught her eye.24

Although she was no medical expert, Sarah had seen enough episodes of CSI to be able to solve a couple of Whodunnit medical cases. Her mother was a nurse, after all. She noticed little white lines on his fingernails. Also, the skin of his palms seemed thick. Of course, Sarah knew that she did not know Andrew's hands that well - at least, visually.25

It was probably arsenic poisoning.26

Sarah left her boyfriend in the hospital room, before taking off and running to find a doctor. People probably thought she had lost her mind. She did not care, especially when she leaped over a low cart like hurdle to get to a doctor's office. Never before had she felt so overwhelmed and desperate, while her heart was pounding in her chest and rapping on the office's door with a crazed vigor.27

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She recalled the day that Andrew had been released from the hospital. Since his throat had been bothering him, she had bought them both two scoops of ice cream. He had a really strange pistachio fetish, so she made sure to get his flavor.29

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Two days later, Andrew was back in the same hospital.31

Sarah had been at a friend's house when her mother had called her and told her about her boyfriend. In her tank top and shorts, she had raced over to the hospital - driving like a maniac - before bolting to the elevator and running to his room like a chicken with its head cut off.32

Apparently, the arsenic poisoning was not accidental.33

The doctors would not tell her anything, unfortunately. It seemed as if she could tell the doctor the latest developments, but she could not know of her own boyfriend's wellbeing.34

They had a serious relationship. The doctors could not understand that, she knew for good reasons, though they had been dating for four years now. These people did not know about how well they connected and meshed together. Andrew was a romantic and she read Twilight - it was a match made.35

She had wandered to the break room to overhear if they were talking about Andrew. One man was complaining about ACPs, while another was complaining about how one of her patients refused to eat the hospital's food. Sarah had to wonder if these people actually cared for others, even if their job seemed to need that trait.36

Andrew's mother was with him, though his father was absent - an always distant figure, whom was stationed in Iraq currently. Sarah suddenly wished she could be in that hospital room, with Andrew and his mother, holding his hand and telling him that things would be alright.37

So far she had been wrong. Things were not alright.38

Sarah tried to read the machines hooked up to Andrew. She could not even see his facial expression that well through the doorway. It was the first time she had left him there without saying goodbye.39

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The next day Andrew was dead. He had slipped into a coma and apparently one of his organs had failed. They did not even bother to tell her which one.41

She cried over the phone, something she thought only happened in movies. In reality, she sobbed and hiccuped and scrubbed at her red face as her countenance grew sticky with saline. Sarah had thrown the phone across the room and had curled up onto the ground and wailed as if she was in pain. Then again, she was in pain.42

I never said goodbye, she realized. I could not save him. I failed. I had his love, but I could not be his hero... I could not save him...43

Sarah did not remember falling asleep, but she had woken abruptly, hours later by her house phone ringing. Her eyes were nearly glued shut and her throat was hoarse from screaming. She withdrew herself from her bedroom floor, feeling her limbs creak and sway from disuse like an old willow tree.44

The call was from the police department.45

Andrew's mother had confessed to poisoning her son with arsenic and then cyanide.46

Morbidly, she wondered if she could have stopped his mother from giving him maybe a 'final' or another dose if she had stayed and entered the room the day before. She was obviously a bad hero. Sarah's only mental answer was another bone-crushing sob that sent her to her knees. 47

Why couldn't she save him?