34- Pressures

World Change: World I

September 15, 2016.

"Wow, you woke up just in time," I hear a female voice. It takes me a few minutes to realize it's Dakota. "I was about to change your IV. We're at your house and Liry will come tomorrow before noon. Is everything okay?"

My head is pounding a bit. I have to blink a few times to readjust to the light and process the situation. How many days has it been this time? Three? Two? Ugh.

I'm relieved to find myself in my room instead of that horrible hospital room. My bed is much more comfortable compared to that stupid hospital bed. I feel like I could take a long nap again.

"I hardly see you, Eron. Is this really common for you? I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," she admits. I manage to see her shrug.

"Oh, it's fun not seeing people's faces. When you get used to it, it doesn't bother you as much."

I take a deep breath and sit down carefully, because, once again, there's a needle in my wrist that has been delivering the IV for these past few days.

"Has it always been necessary to give you so much IV? Your veins must be begging for help," she mentions, and I see her move to my side. "You can tell me while I remove this."

"Ah, there's the nosy Dakota," I mutter. She pretends to remove the surgical tape in one attempt, but I look at her with pleading eyes. "Have mercy."

"I'll have mercy if you tell me."

"I don't understand why you want to know that. I already told you. Insurance, discounts, hospitals, and all that. I used to faint often, but I don't think it ever lasted more than a day. They used IVs as a precaution, but never like in the past few months. I think I've gained weight and everything."

"Well, we can't say it's your fault. I promise to go exercise one of these days if you're feeling weak," she promises. I realize she's trying to talk to distract me.

I take a deep breath before blurting out the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I don't want to go to North Dakota," I finally admit.

"Do you want to be honest with the class? We're listening."

"I…," I hiss as I feel that thing detaching from my skin abruptly. "Ah, shit, Dakota!"

"Ooh, yes, growl at me," she winks at me. I feel my face heat up.

"You're… incredible," I close my eyes because I don't want to see when she removes the needle.

Then, when I feel the cotton cover my wrist, I open my eyelids and focus my eyes on the ceiling.

"It's normal to be afraid, Eron," I feel the cotton glide on my skin. "It's also normal to be afraid of counteracting what affects you. I want to remind you that you're not better or worse than others because you have fears. But as a friend someone who cared a lot about you, I would like you to let go of that bitterness from grief and be able to… cry your soul out until you can move forward."

Now I can barely make out the ceiling. I've been a crybaby these past few months, and now my tear ducts fill up with tears. What does she mean by crying with all my soul? I'm tired of crying.

"I feel peaceful because I was able to say goodbye to him, Eron. But I felt like you," I feel the weight of her gaze on my face. "I would like you to tell him what you couldn't, so that the feeling of guilt leaves you and you can sleep in peace."

"What time is it?" I sound broken. Well.

"It's eleven at night."

"Doesn't your mind go crazy at this hour, Dakota?" I inquire, and now I finally turn to look at her. She avoids my gaze and focuses on putting away the care supplies.

"At any time of the night, Eron. Do you think I'm on my phone for free?" she says, without sounding arrogant. "Now it has just diminished and I've been able to find peace. Haven't you rested more since we met?"

"You don't have magical powers, Dakota," I blink to chase away the tears.

"Of course not. You have those," she sits next to me, and with her thumb, she wipes away my tears. "Wasn't that the first time you shouted to the world what really happened to Faven? I'm talking about that day on the bus. Didn't you tell me straight to my face?"

I press my lips into a line. I can't admit that out loud.

"That's why you cry more often in front of people. You need to say goodbye in order to move on to a different stage, Eron."

I slide enough to sit up. In doing so, unintentionally, I remove Dakota's hand from mine. I lean my back against the headboard of the bed and look at my companion again.

"I don't want to accept that he's gone. You know that," I murmur.

"I know," she smiles compassionately. "You've been saying that since I've known you. To feel different and live differently, we have to make different decisions, Eron."

I lick my lips as I take a deep breath. I allow myself to observe Dakota's face in detail; her almond-shaped eyes, the slightly smudged blue eyeliner due to the hours, her mascara-coated eyelashes, and the soft color of her cheeks. I am a little stunned.

"Thank you, Dakota," I murmur, and then I find myself leaning closer to her. "But I don't want pressures…"

My forehead ends up against hers, and I force myself to close my eyes. I'm afraid to open them and understand what I'll be facing when I do. I've seen this face many times before, and it has often irritated me, but it's also the only image of protection I've had in the past few weeks. And I'm a damn weakling.

"Do you feel like I've pressured you?" she murmurs, and I feel her breath brush against my lips.

"Sometimes."

"Are you sure you don't want pressures?"

I swallow hard. I feel like an idiot for thinking incoherent thoughts like this when the main subject is supposed to be Faven.

"I… I don't know."

She laughs. I'm anticipating the moment of that pressure between our lips, but Dakota suddenly pulls away.

"I think you should sort out your thoughts, Eron," she advises. I open my eyes suddenly, allowing me to see her smile. "I'll go remove my makeup. I had an overnight shift and couldn't sleep during the day."

Still in my astonishment, I speak to her:

"Why didn't you do it?"

"It's not pleasant to sleep with a nearly dead person, Eron," she jokes. Then she moves towards the door.

"I mean your house. Where you live," I emphasize.

Her hand grips the door handle almost dramatically.

"I don't want pressures either."

And she leaves. The door barely makes a sound.

I don't understand women.

But I don't understand myself either.