Tragic dragon.pdf

EPOV

There is no worse green than hospital green. Especially this particular - shitty -

hospital. I pulled up the stiff sheet around my neck and wrinkled my nose at it

while forcing back a gag. I fucking hated this place. My room was small, but

luckily, it was private and I didn't have to share with one of the infectious, sick

kids. In fact, this was the longest amount of time I had spent without any kids in

years. The owners of the 'home' I currently lived at had somehow managed to

convince the state they were perfectly capable of caring for ten children.

I snorted at the thought of the monstrous monthly check they received, but it

turned into a coughing fit that forced me nearly upright as my lungs fought to

expel the invading substance of the flu. When I was finally in control of myself

once again, I flopped back down onto the crinkly pillow and reached for the

remote control to the television. I began flipping through channels indifferently. It

was seriously pathetic how I wished for the hustle and bustle of the public school

yard as opposed to this room. I relaxed and tucked my familiar stuffed dragon

underneath my free arm snugly. He was too fucking fluffy and cute for any

respectable thirteen year old to cling to, but I couldn't bear to be parted with the

little fucker.

He was given to me the day I first entered the foster system. My caseworker was

struggling to make me smile as she brought me to my first home, but I was too

broken and hollow to manage one. She tried everything. Fast food, video

arcades, chocolate ice cream, even bloody movies.

When we reached the little house I was meant to live in, she reached in her back

seat and pulled it out for me to hold while I toured the house for the first time.

It always brought back that distant and painful memory, but I kept it as reminder

by my side wherever I attempted to sleep. Never get attached.

I had been ragged on so hard for it that I was now resigned to hiding him under

blankets and in the bottom of duffel bags, but I never let him go. There was even

a ridiculously embarrassing nickname that I'd never ever admit to. And as I sat in

my crappy hospital bed, coughing up buckets of phlegm, I decided I might admit

to it... if I could get out of this fucking hell hole.

On the upside, I was feeling better. The cough was still a motherfucker, but it

was better than the fever and chills that only just recently abated that morning. I

felt... better. Not good, just better.

I stopped the button on Oprah and watched her prattle on about suicidal

housewives for twenty minutes as I tried my best to get comfortable in the

electric bed that was, unsurprisingly, not functional. Apparently, the debt the

little housewives had acquired over their flaccid marriages had them a little

depressed. I frowned mockingly and rolled my eyes. What an awful existence .

I heard the familiar sounds of tiny footsteps patter past my doorway and quickly

flipped the channel until I was sure they weren't entering my room.

Because...fucking Christ... if Jordan could see this shit, I'd never live it down.

He'd run around the house telling everybody I spent my day watching Oprah

fucking Winfrey and I'd probably have to lock his ass in the closet again. I

smirked at the thought. That little shit was the cutest six year old I had ever lived

with.

He was also annoyingly up my ass and visited much too frequently.

I heard another pair of footsteps ten minutes later. But this was a pair I knew.

Older. Refined. Dr. Cullen .

I sat up manually, because this shitty hospital lacked the funding to fix their

goddamn beds, and waited for him as he stood outside the door and likely went

over my charts with his keen eye. I smirked once again, a little proud that I was

finally improving, even though I didn't deserve any of the credit.

He entered the room as he usually did; with a light knock and a three second

delay before he opened the door and stepped inside with a smile. He was wearing

that same white lab jacket that made him look clean and sterile with his khaki

slacks and shiny black shoes. He always looked so neatly groomed and emitted

an air of calm that made him perfect for his chosen profession.

"Well, well, well..." He cooed as he approached my bed with my chart in hand.

"Felling better today are we?" He asked, a hint of smugness in his voice as he

stared at the clipboard in his hand and scribbled something swiftly.

I shrugged against the pillow I had positioned against the wall and crossed my

feet under the blankets. "Worse than normal, but better than shit?" I replied with

a wry grin, earning a hearty chuckle as Dr. Cullen finally met my gaze.

"Hmmm..." He mused quietly with dramatically furrowed eyebrows. "Be sure to

write that in my evaluation when you leave." He smiled as he removed the

stethoscope from his neck and placed it in his ears. "My superiors would adore

that." His eyebrows raised and he lifted his hand in the air as if to feign writing.

"Dear superiors, your qualified medical staff has managed to make me feel...

better than shit." He smirked, and I just had to laugh, because really, it wasn't

common to hear anything like that come out of his mouth.

He put the cold metal stethoscope to my back and went through the normal

routine of "Breath in, breath out" before he finally pulled away and returned the

chart on the side of my bed. I watched in fascination as he scribbled his findings

in black ink.

Dr. Cullen always fascinated me. I couldn't quite place why. Maybe it was how he

went out of his way to keep me company at nights. He'd always come between

shifts and play cards with me, like some fucking uptight version of Patch Adams

or some shit. Normally, that kind of thing would exasperate me, but he was

different.

He didn't treat me like some charity case kid when he kept me company. He

always engaged me in intriguing conversations about everything. Literature,

music, even politics. What kind of adult gives a shit what some kid thinks about

politics? But he always appeared so genuinely interested; offering his own

thoughts and opinions as he usually lost our card games. It seemed rather

intentional to me, but I never mentioned it. Because nobody ever let me win

before. The kids at 'home' all had the same mentality.

Survival of the fittest.

They were utterly devoid of compassion by the time they turned fifteen. That was

why I liked Jordan so much. He hadn't spent enough time in the system to

become jaded and cynical of everything. He still had that spark in his eyes that

shone of genuine excitement and vulnerable innocence. He wasn't hardened. But

he would be.

Dr. Cullen brought me from my musings as he wheeled his stool around to face

me from the counter across the room. He had the strangest look on his face. I

could tell there was a dash of caution as his bright blue eyes met mine, but there

was also a very uncharacteristic twinge of anxiety as his hand combed through

his hair in a gesture that clearly showed his nervousness.

I quirked an eyebrow at his abnormal behavior. He was always so collected.

Except, I suddenly remembered, for that afternoon five days ago when he put the

foster bitch in her place. Most of my fever had muddled my memories and hazed

them over even worse than the sleep deprivation I had become accustomed to

over the past four years, but that memory stood out prominently.

His mood had shifted slightly since that afternoon, but I could tell he was trying

to hide that it bothered him. I couldn't figure out why it would. I was used to shit

like that. What I wasn't used to however were people sticking up for me. It would

have pissed me off, but I felt too sickly and weak to object to his outrage on my

behalf.

And now, I felt a little ashamed over the whole thing. It wasn't because I needed

his protection or anything, though that didn't exactly help my pride any. I was

ashamed because he had seen that part of my world. I was afraid he'd think less

of me, see me for what I really was. Just a piece of shit foster kid that was kept

around for the monthly government check.

But he came back that night and played cards with me like nothing had

happened. And even though I could still see the flash of silent fury in his eyes

every now and then, I refused to believe it was in any relation to that afternoon.

I cocked my head at him a bit, because he wasn't saying anything and he was

just fucking staring at me with those penetrating and intense eyes and... it made

me uncomfortable.

All at once his face collapsed into an agonizingly troubled expression that made

my stomach lurch into my throat. It wasn't exactly the most comforting face to

see on your personal physician turned... kind of friend. "You'll be discharged in

three days." He informed me in an oddly strained voice. The heel of his loafer

began tapping at the floor as his knee bobbed up and down. I nodded at him

slowly. I was pretty fucking excited about that, but he didn't seem to share my

enthusiasm for the freedom.

His cheeks suddenly puffed out momentarily as he held his breath and lowered

his face a bit. A gusty sigh was mingled with words as he expelled the breath

from his lips. "I was wondering if you might be interested in coming to stay with

me." He spoke hastily while his heel tapped rapidly on the floor.

I sat staring at him blankly for a few moments before I could finally process his

words. "Huh?" I asked bewildered as my jaw hung slightly agape.

He sighed again and finally lifted his face to meet my gaze. "You can't go back to

those awful people, Edward." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sterile

jacket as I once again saw fury flash in his eyes at his coming tirade. "They will

use you and squander every bit of potential you have until you're nothing but

another statistic on the daily news, and I..." He halted abruptly and inhaled

deeply, appearing to calm himself. I was once again torn between awe and all

encompassing shame over the situation. He did see the real me. He just saw it as

a distant possibility of my future, and not the person I had already become.

I chuckled humorlessly and leaned back onto my pillow while I attempted to focus

on Oprah once again. "You don't have to worry about me Dr. Cullen." I waved my

hand in a dismissive gesture. "I can handle myself. I always have." My words

were far more bitter than I had originally intended, and I knew when I glanced

sideways at him that he could tell the process had already begun for me.

Then I was pissed off at myself, and maybe him a little too. I didn't want to be

the charity case I never thought I was to him. And this felt too much like it for

my comfort. In the matter of a minute, our whole dynamic had shifted from peer

to adult and child. I kept my eyes on Oprah as his stool noisily wheeled to my

bed side, and I fought back a grimace mingled with a gag.

"Edward?" He called to me softly while Oprah's next housewife finally broke down

into tears. "I'm not asking for an answer right now." His hand came to cover mine

on the blanket at my side and I flinched away.

Then I was torn between being deeply touched by a show of affection I rarely

received and being seriously creeped out. I didn't really know this man. I spent

time with him at nights when I refused to sleep or accept the sedatives, but… I

didn't really know him. And now he was asking me to come to his home and...

touching me outside the bounds of our doctor-patient relationship.

I had a difficult time determining if my paranoia was justly founded, or if it simply

stemmed from years of living with children who had been lured into homes with

nice people, who later turned out to be devious and menacing. Their nightly

horror stories whispered in the dark quiet of various bedrooms had made me ever

vigilant of affectionate contact like that.

He didn't seem to take any offense to my discomfort. "I have a son about your

age, you know?" He asked in a voice that wasn't defensive, just merely

informational, likely in an attempt to placate my suspicions.

I peeked at him curiously because I didn't know he had a family. "You're

married?" I asked quietly, as more of a statement than an inquiry while searching

the hand on my bed for a wedding band.

He shook his head and appeared apologetic as he withdrew his hand. "No. I

adopted Emmett six years ago. He's fourteen now." He smiled as his eyes shone

with something akin to pride and... something else. Adoration ? I furrowed my

brow at this expression on his face, and the way he beamed at his adopted son's

mention.

It kindled this feeling deep inside of my chest and I had to look away before he

could see the pain flashing in my eyes. It was a kind of love that I could spot

anywhere. Fatherly .

"We have a condo on the east side of the city." He continued as I watched the

television in a facade of disinterest. "It's just the two of us, so you'd have plenty

of space and more quiet than you're used to now." I saw him smile and shake his

head out of my periphery as he chuckled softly, as if to himself before he

continued. "I'm not Ward Cleaver or anything, but you'll be well cared for both

financially and medically." His words shifted to an oddly business-like tone, which

I rather appreciated. The whole sappy father bit was starting to irritate me.

"You'll be expected to maintain good grades in school much like Emmett, but I

doubt that's really a problem for you." I noted his smirk from the corner of my

eye as Housewife Number Four admitted to a sultry affair with her husband's

brother. He sighed and persisted, though I was attempting to seem very

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