So this is the end.
Seriously?
This is how I go out? St. Arden's freaking Medical Center, fluorescent lights flickering like they're mourning me in real-time, and the ECG screaming bloody murder in the background like a damn banshee in a hospital drama. Three nurses, bless them or whatever, are flailing around like headless chickens, trying to pretend like any of this is salvageable. One's poking at my arm with a face like she's trying not to cry—girl, same—and the other two are trying to soothe the two wrecks otherwise known as Jonas and Mira Vale.
Yes. My parents.
God, their faces. Mom's already collapsed into Dad's arms like some kind of tragic opera wife, her sobs echoing louder than the machines. She keeps doing this thing where she screams without fully opening her mouth. It's very dramatic. I can't even hate her for it.
