Chapter 5: Food for the Soul

 Part 1

Peering at the clock on the wall, the familiar sound of the nurse's footsteps could be heard approaching closer. The clock's hands inched forward, each tick a relentless reminder of the passing time and another day of rehab. ‘Another day, another round of pointless exercises. What's the point?’ I thought, my heart sinking. The struggle ahead felt like an insurmountable mountain, each step a reminder of my limitations.

"Good morning, Ellis. Ready for another day of physical rehab?" Joy's voice was far too cheerful as she pulled back the curtains.

The bright light pierced through, casting harsh shadows that felt like an intrusion, a stark reminder of the world outside. I nodded weakly, allowing Joy to lift me from the bed and settle me into the wheelchair. I clenched my fists, the helplessness tightening its grip on my chest. My legs were useless, and I was trapped in a cycle of dependence, feeling utterly alone despite being surrounded by people.

Every movement was a cruel reminder of my limitations. Each step sent a jolt of pain through my body, a cruel reminder of my limitations. My muscles ached, and my breath came in short, labored gasps. As we descended the ramp, the rehabilitation center came into view—a vast room filled with equipment and machines for children with physical disabilities.

The sterile smell of disinfectant mixed with the distant hum of medical equipment, creating an atmosphere that was both clinical and oppressive. Other patients were scattered around, some on crutches, others with prosthetic limbs or bandages. Each struggle mirrored my own, deepening my sense of entrapment. I longed to vanish into the shadows, escaping the relentless cycle of rehab.

"Hey, I'm Wisteria! What's your name?" Her voice was enthusiastic, almost painfully so, cutting through the sterile air of the hospital.

I tried ignoring her at first, but her relentless questions wore me down. My short temper flared, the frustration bubbling to the surface. My hands clenched into fists, my knuckles turning white as I fought to keep my emotions in check. I snatched her pink wool hat and flung it into the Koi pond, watching as it sailed through the air before a splash marked its descent into the water. Silence followed, heavy and accusing.

"Just shut up and leave me alone!" I snapped, gripping the arms of the wheelchair until my knuckles turned white. Her relentless cheerfulness was too much to bear.

Politeness and friendliness felt like distant memories, luxuries I couldn't afford in my current state. I just wanted solitude. My frustration erupted, and I lashed out without a second thought. My outburst caused an uproar, the shocked gasps and murmurs of the onlookers echoing in my ears. The girl whose pink wool hat I had thrown was a middle schooler battling cancer, her hair lost to chemotherapy.

‘Why should I apologize? It's not like it changes anything,’ I thought, bitterness seeping into my thoughts. But deep down, I knew my actions were cruel, and the guilt settled in.

Standing outside Hogtown Children’s Hospital, I stared at the building that had been a second home to me for almost a year. The memories of that time were a mix of pain and growth, anger and acceptance. I took a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs and the faint scent of autumn leaves grounding me in the moment. The journey wasn't over, but I had come a long way. The sense of progress, however slow, was a beacon of hope.

Part 2

I found myself in front of Wisteria’s room. Through the slightly ajar door, I could hear her practicing Misty Tears’ latest song, the staff at the hospital cheering her on. The sound was bittersweet—a reminder of resilience in the face of adversity. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the aroma of the cafeteria's lunch—a strange blend of sterility and comfort. The scene, filled with laughter and music, clashed with the turmoil churning inside me. I decided to walk away, not wanting to intrude on her moment.

"Ellis, what are you doing here? It's a school day," she said, gently tugging my ear. Her tone was firm but not unkind, a mix of authority and concern.

As I turned, I ran into Joy. Her displeased expression was unmistakable. She was a stout woman with a no-nonsense attitude, her eyes sharp but kind. Her uniform was crisp, the white fabric almost glowing under the dim, sterile hospital lights. I refused to answer, my silence speaking volumes. Joy's eyes softened, seeing through my facade.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" she asked, her tone softening. The concern in her eyes was evident, a stark contrast to my own guarded expression.

"Nothing's wrong," I muttered, but my body betrayed me, a wave of nausea hitting hard.

I tried to resist as she led me to the washroom, but the sickness was overwhelming. My stomach churned violently, and I clung to the edge of the sink, my knuckles white with the effort to stay upright. My knees hit the cold tiles, leaving me trembling and exposed. Joy left for a bit and returned with some medication to help with the nausea.

"You know, Ellis, I'm disappointed. You're still that boy with that sourpuss facial expression from a year ago," she said, handing me the pills with a forced smile, her eyes softening as they met mine.

The pills were small and bitter, their acrid taste lingering on my tongue long after I swallowed them. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room, mingling with the distant hum of medical equipment. After a few minutes, warmth slowly returned to my cheeks, the pallor fading.

Joy sighed and said, "I have more urgent patients to take care of. Once you clean yourself up, you should leave."

Her words were practical, but the flicker of concern in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. The contrast between her professional demeanor and personal worry was striking, a delicate balance she maintained effortlessly.

As she began to walk away, I mumbled, "Why?"

She turned back, her expression puzzled. "Speak up, Ellis."

"Why didn’t you give up on me?" I asked, louder this time. My voice cracked, and my hands trembled, clutching the edge of the bed. "When we returned day after day to physiotherapy, why didn’t you give up?"

The question hung in the air, laden with vulnerability and curiosity, stretching the moment into an eternity. Finally Joy's stern expression softened into a gentle smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You were stubborn, Ellis. And now that you're not my patient anymore, I can be honest—you were a real pain in the ass," she said, giving my ear a playful tug. "But I wanted to prove you wrong. I wanted you to believe that anything was possible. Even walking again."

Her words resonated with unwavering belief, her eyes shining with determination. On the days I lashed out in anger, her calm demeanor never wavered. Her steady gaze grounded me, a silent anchor in the storm of my emotions. I wanted her to be angry, but she simply waited, her expression patient and understanding, acknowledging my grief without a word.

She nudged me gently, her voice soft. "Now, go see Wisteria. She could use a friend right now."

I paused, rummaging through my bag with trembling hands. Before leaving, I pulled out a piece of pound cake and handed it to Joy.

"Thanks, Joy," I murmured, the words barely audible but filled with sincerity. The gesture was small, but the weight of gratitude was palpable, a silent thank you for her unwavering support that words couldn't fully express.

She smiled, her eyes radiating reassurance. "You'll be fine, Ellis." The warmth in her gaze was a promise of hope, a beacon in the darkness.

Part 3

I took a deep breath and knocked on Wisteria’s hospital room door. The faint sound of Misty Tears' music drifted through, mingling with the soft hum of hospital machinery. Slowly, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The familiar mix of antiseptic and vanilla air freshener filled my nostrils, grounding me in the moment.

Wisteria was lying on her bed, her frail frame propped up by pillows. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue over the room. The soft glow contrasted with the harsh reality of the hospital machinery. The sight of her, so small and fragile, made my chest tighten, a mix of sorrow and determination welling up inside me.

"Hey stranger, long time no see," she teased, her voice light, but the fatigue lingered in her eyes. "So, what have you been up to? Got a crush? Is it a boy?" she added, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she held her smartphone.

She was engrossed in a mobile game by GameGirl Studios, a popular interactive Dating Sim focused on 'BL'—Boys Love. Despite the weakness from her chemo treatments, her face brightened with a smile when she saw me, a spark of life returning to her eyes. I rolled my eyes and grabbed a pillow, tossing it playfully at her. The pillow landed with a soft thud.

"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you who," I replied, trying to mask my uncertainty with a playful tone.

She caught the pillow and laughed, a sound that was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. Her laughter, sweet and fleeting like a melody, filled the room with a moment of pure joy. It was a brief moment of light in the midst of her struggle, her eyes sparkling with mischief as the soft strains of Misty Tears played in the background from the game.

"Just checking," she said, still smiling. "So, what brings you here?" Her eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity, a rare flicker of normalcy that felt like a lifeline amidst the chaos.

I hesitated, my mind racing to find the right words. "I, uh, brought you something," I said, pulling out the pound cake from my bag. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mingling with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft rustle of curtains.

Wisteria's eyes sparkled with excitement, a rare spark of life breaking through her fatigue. "Is that a cake! Did Charlotte make this? You have to thank her for me."

A warm flush crept up my cheeks, a stark contrast to the cold sterility of the room. "Actually, I baked this. It’s called a pound cake," I admitted, looking away as the warmth of embarrassment spread across my face.

Her eyes widened, a genuine look of surprise lighting up her face. "You baked this? Ellis, that's amazing!"

I shrugged, my shoulders hunching as self-consciousness washed over me. "It's no big deal. If you don't like it, I can take it back."

Wisteria shook her head, her expression softening. "No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just... didn't expect it. Let me try it."

I handed her the pound cake, watching as she took a bite. She chewed slowly, her eyes closing as she savored each bite, a small smile playing on her lips.

"It's different from Charlotte's, but in a good way. There's a gentleness to it, like you put a lot of care into making it." Her words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and I felt a small, hesitant smile tug at my lips.

I found it hard to believe her words after everything that had happened today. "You're just saying that," I muttered, my voice tinged with skepticism, a thin veil over the turmoil roiling inside me.

Wisteria set the cake down and tried to sit up, wincing slightly. "No, no. Ellis, I mean it. The chemo makes everything taste weird, but this is really good." Her sincerity pierced through my doubts, a beacon of truth in the fog of my confusion.

Hearing her sincerity meant a lot, but then guilt over what I did to Iris and Claire flooded back. Nausea churned in my stomach, the room spinning as a cold sweat beaded on my forehead. The weight of my actions pressed down on me like an iron shroud, each breath a struggle as my chest tightened with the relentless reminder of my failures.

"Hey Ellis, since you're here, let's go up there for old times' sake," Wisteria said softly. Her gentle request was a lifeline, pulling me back to the present. I felt the chaos recede, grounding me in the moment.

Her words jolted me back to reality, and I blinked in surprise. "No, Wisteria, you should stay in bed. You're too weak to be out."

She shook her head, her jaw set stubbornly. "Please, Ellis. I need some fresh air. Just for a little while." Her eyes were unwavering, a testament to her resilience.

I sighed, knowing I couldn't refuse her. "Alright, but you have to promise to take it easy," I said, my voice tinged with worry despite my attempt at a stern tone. My attempt to assert control felt like a fragile shield against the storm of my own fears.

She nodded, her eyes shining with determination. "I promise, Mom."

Her playful response brought a fleeting smile to my lips, a rare moment of levity that lightened the heavy atmosphere. Carefully, I helped her out of bed. Her skin was cool to the touch, and she moved slowly, each step a careful effort. The fragility of her movements was a stark reminder of her vulnerability.

Wisteria put on something warm and held onto the rails as I scanned the area. The hallway was quiet, the usual bustle of the hospital muted at this moment. The faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with the distant hum of medical equipment. She looked thin and weak, as if a strong breeze could sweep her away. Her frailty was stark against the backdrop of the hospital's clinical efficiency, a poignant reminder of her battle.

Part 4

Sneaking through the empty hallway, we tried our best to avoid being noticed by Joy. With each step, Wisteria’s breath grew labored, and I kept glancing back to check on her condition.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, my voice trembling with worry. The concern gnawed at me, a constant undercurrent that made my stomach churn.

She nodded, her face pale and lips pressed into a thin line. "I’m fine, Mom. Just keep going," she urged, her voice steady despite the strain. Her grip on my arm tightened, a silent testament to her resolve.

We reached the stairwell, and I quickly pressed the buttons on the digital door lock, hoping the code was still the same. With a soft beep, the door clicked open, and we stepped out onto the hospital roof, the cold air hitting us like a wave. A cold breeze washed over us, making Wisteria shiver and pull her jacket tighter around her. The rooftop garden, usually vibrant in the spring, was now a somber sight, with withered plants and fallen leaves crunching underfoot. The crisp scent of the cold air mingled with the faint smell of antiseptic from the hospital below.

"Why did you want to come up here?" I asked, curiosity and concern mingling in my voice. The question hung in the air, a delicate balance between worry and intrigue.

Wisteria took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the garden. "It's been a while since we were up here," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the rustling of the dry leaves.

The weight of her words lingered, a testament to the memories tied to this place. We walked slowly around the garden, our footsteps echoing in the quiet. Soon we stopped in front of the flowerbed we had planted together in the spring, now wilted and lifeless, their once vibrant colors faded to dull browns and grays.

"Why does everything have to die?" I wondered aloud, the weight of the question pressing down on me. The sadness in my voice was a reflection of the loss I felt.

Wisteria hugged me, her arms weak but comforting. "It's alright, Ellis," she whispered, her voice a fragile comfort in the cold air.

The warmth of her hug contrasted sharply with the chill, offering a brief respite from the sorrow. Her words were enough to break something inside me. Tears welled up, and I couldn't hold them back. The emotions I'd been bottling up exploded, and I began to cry, my shoulders shaking with sobs. We found a bench nearby and sat down. The stone design was cold and hard, a stark contrast to the warmth of Wisteria's presence.

"Tell me what's been going on," she said gently, her voice like a soothing balm, gently coaxing me to open up.

I tried to calm myself, taking deep breaths. Wisteria waited patiently, her hand warm and steady on mine, grounding me. I hesitated on where to begin first, but then the words started to spill out. Each word felt like a weight lifted off my chest, though the ache in my heart lingered. I told her everything, from the guilt gnawing at me to the fear of what might come next.

Wisteria listened quietly, her eyes never leaving mine. When I finished, she pulled my ear, not too hard, but enough to get my attention.

"You're such an idiot, Ellis," she said, her voice firm yet soft, grounding me amidst my turmoil. "But you're also a good person, and you don't need to dirty your hands with blood. Especially that meanie."

She continued to barrage me with her words, calling me an idiot over and over until her breath came in ragged gasps. Then she pulled me into a tight hug, her arms trembling as she held on.

"I’m glad you’re safe," she whispered, her voice trembling. Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to hold onto something solid in a world full of uncertainty.

I wasn't religious, but I wondered if there was a higher power that controlled everything. Was God just a cruel and twisted being that enjoyed watching people suffer? The thought gnawed at me, a relentless ache that settled deep in my chest.

"People say there's a bigger plan, but it's hard to believe when you see so much suffering. War, hunger, disease... it's everywhere, and we can't do anything about it." Wisteria's voice carried a wisdom beyond her years, tinged with a bitterness born from too much pain. She had experienced too much suffering and injustice in her life.

Wisteria had been diagnosed with a malignant tumor almost two years ago. To stop it from spreading, the doctors had to give her intensive chemotherapy, which also made her hair fall out. Despite the agony and misery she endured, her smile never wavered, a beacon of resilience. Her strength was both inspiring and heartbreaking.

I didn't know what to say. Her words left me feeling powerless, like a small boat in a storm, tossed around by forces beyond my control. The weight of her experience pressed down on me, making my own struggles feel insignificant in comparison.

"You know, when I was told I had cancer, my parents would say 'I'm sorry' over and over, as if it was their fault." Her story wasn't uncommon here. This place was meant to be a children's hospital, but sometimes it felt more like a sanctuary for forgotten souls.

This hospital was designed to help children with all kinds of medical complications. There were programs and facilities, but some kids were abandoned by parents who couldn't cope. It made sense, in a tragic way—why invest in a child who might not live to see the next day? The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, leaving a lingering ache in my heart.

"I didn't understand why I couldn't play with other kids. I would get exhausted and breathless quickly, and I had to skip the activities the other girls in my class would join in. That made my parents sad."

The sadness in her voice reflected her own frustration. She could see the agony in their eyes every time they looked at her. They knew their daughter might not outlive them, and they had no power to change that. The helplessness they felt mirrored my own, a shared burden of sorrow.

"When I came here, I thought it would be the last time I saw my parents. Then one day, I decided to write a letter," Wisteria said, a grin spreading across her face as she remembered that moment. “I thanked them for their delicious meals, for spending time with me, for being the best mommy and daddy ever. When they finished reading it, I told them I loved them."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I have even a fraction of your strength." A wave of repulsion and humiliation surged through me, my fists clenching so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

I wanted to scream, to curse my own existence. Inside, a tempest of anger and despair churned, my chest tightening as if caught in a vice, threatening to engulf me in its fury. But when Wisteria glimpse into her darkness, she was able to overcome it..

Wisteria looked into my eyes, her gaze unwavering. "You don't need my strength," she said, her voice steady and sincere. "You already have a lot of strength yourself." Her words sliced through my turmoil, offering a glimmer of reassurance.

"—really?" I finally managed to say, the effort to voice my doubts monumental. The words felt like lead, a testament to my inner struggle.

"Yes. Because you were the one to save me." Her affirmation was gentle yet powerful, a reminder of the impact I had unknowingly made on her life.

Strange, I noticed water droplets hitting the ground. The sky was clear, but the sun had set. I didn't understand at first, but her eyes were sincere. Then I realized—those were my tears. The realization crashed over me like a wave, releasing the emotions I had held back for so long.

"Maybe you got me mixed up with one of your Dating Sim characters." I tried to hide the feeling in my heart, forcing a weak smile.

The feeling that had been buried for so long. The feeling that I had locked away one year ago. I forced a laugh, but it felt hollow, a fragile shield against my vulnerability.

"Such a cry baby," Wisteria said as she hugged me tightly. "Even a girl doesn't cry as much as you do." Her embrace was warm, a rare moment of comfort amidst the chaos.

"It takes one to know one,” I retorted, trying to mask my own tears.

I didn't want to hear that from her. We were both crying, and we couldn't stop the tears from flowing. The shared release of our emotions was a catharsis, a moment of unfiltered honesty. As we left the roof, she said with enthusiasm, "I would love to meet Tama. You would make a wonderful bride." Her words echoed in the quiet stairwell as we headed back to her room. The playful comment was a fleeting glimpse of normalcy.

That girl. With a frail body that could easily be blown away by a gust of wind. She always had to have the last word. Without her, I would have never gotten to where I am today. If Wisteria believes in me, then I need to pick myself up. The resolve to honor her faith in me gave me the strength to face the challenges ahead.

Part 5

As the sun began to set, Wisteria and I descended down the stairs. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the rooftop garden. We used the opportunity to sneak through the hallway, stealthily walking back to her room without any staff noticing. The hospital was quieter now, the usual bustle of the day giving way to a more subdued evening atmosphere. The serene setting was a stark contrast to the tension we felt.

Returning back to her room, however, was another story. Wisteria and I looked at each other as we said "Uh-oh."

Waiting by the doorway were Joy and my Dad. Joy's lips pressed into a thin line, while Dad's shoulders sagged with a mix of disappointment and relief. Dad had been contacted at his office by the school, Jon, and Joy, and they told him everything that occurred while I skipped. The gravity of the situation hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

"Let's get some dinner, sweetheart," Joy said, carefully placing Wisteria in a wheelchair as she carted her off. "While we get something to eat, these two are going to have an important discussion."

Her words carried an unspoken understanding, and Dad's quiet apology followed them out the door. The room became awkwardly silent as only Dad and I remained, with only the soft squeak of the wheelchair wheels fading into the distance. Taking the empty chairs in the room, we looked at each other for a while, unsure what to say. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions.

"Jon told me everything that happened to your mom yesterday," Dad said, his voice full of genuine concern. I nodded silently, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a physical burden.

I was told my parents divorced while I was unconscious in the hospital. Mom couldn't accept the death of Poppy, so when Dad kept repeating the truth, she never wanted to see him again. Even so, Dad came back over and over again to make sure she was safe. Mom would scream every time until she decided to lock herself in the room whenever Dad came over. The memory of their turmoil felt like a heavy weight on my chest, a constant reminder of the pain we couldn't escape.

"I thought I was doing what was best for the family after Poppy's passing, but I never considered your feelings, Ellis," Dad's voice began to crack, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His expression was a raw testament to the pain of the past. "After we divorced, you took over looking after your Mom."

Regret weighed down his voice, his shoulders slumping under an invisible burden. I looked down, the weight of his words pressing heavily on my chest.

"I didn't know what else to do," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It felt like everything was falling apart, and I had to hold it together." The admission felt like a release, a crack forming in the facade I had carefully built.

Dad sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I know, son. And I'm sorry. I should have been there for you more. I should have listened."

The sincerity in his voice was like a soothing balm, easing the ache in my heart as the room seemed to grow warmer, the harsh fluorescent lights softening. We sat in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken emotions, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, I took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"Why did you keep coming back, even when Mom didn't want to see you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The question hung in the air, a fragile bridge connecting our shared pain. He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and determination.

"Because I love you both. I couldn't just walk away, even if it meant facing her anger. I wanted to make sure you were both okay."

His voice was steady, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes revealed the depth of his feelings. I nodded slowly, the tight knot of anger and resentment in my chest beginning to unravel.

"I guess I never really understood that. I was just so scared of asking." The admission felt like a release, a small step towards understanding, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Dad reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay to be angry, Ellis. But it's also okay to let go of that anger. We can start over, if you're willing."

The warmth of his touch eased the tension in my shoulders, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this sterile, dimly lit room. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down and nodded.

"I want to try. I want us to be a family again, even if it's different now." The words were hesitant, but they carried a newfound resolve, a tentative hope.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Dad's mouth, his eyes softening with a glimmer of hope. "I'd like that too." The smile was tentative, but it reached his eyes, a glimmer of hope shining through our shared pain.

We spent the next hour talking, really talking, for the first time in what felt like forever. I shared my struggles, fears, and hopes. He listened, offering support and understanding. It wasn't a magical fix, but it was a start. The conversation was a bridge, spanning the chasm that had formed between us over the years. As we wrapped up our conversation, Dad stood up and pulled me into a hug, his arms strong and reassuring.

"I'm proud of you, Ellis. You've been through so much, and you're still standing. We'll get through this together." The hug was strong, a tangible expression of his support.

I hugged him back, feeling a sense of relief and hope that I hadn't felt in a long time. Even though we were finally being honest with each other, there was still one last thing I had to do. It was one last secret that I kept hidden away. The weight of that secret lingered, a shadow on the horizon.