LIVE A LITTLE. GETTING THE DIAGNOSIS WAS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME. Her friend - patient - friend - gay patient with the death and the dad. He’d given her the drugs, told her that she could if only she wanted to. And she wanted to. Wants to.
Her hand hits off the bedside table, and she clumsily snatches her phone. “Hello,” she murmurs to herself. Messages. That’s new. What time is it? The numbers won’t focus, but there is an eight in among them. In her messages, she sees a single little letter, a tiny letter, smallest letter. C. She can’t read anything else really, or if she does the information bleeds out of her eyes again. She forgot to do the IVF for Cuddy. Her heart is pounding. Her heart is going to explode. Like, physically it is going to rip out of her chest and she’ll hear the thumping of it beating on her bed, the bed with the bedsheets yoking off the bed corners. leaving the scratchy exposed mattress face under her skin. Cameron can’t stop fixating on a piece of music that she’s forgotten the name of. She keeps her jaw clenched.
[ C. ] I’m Sorry!! I mised the shot. [ C. ] :( . [ C. ] SOrry! Soryr baby . [ C. ] I can do it now, my aim is on. [ C. ] [ LOCATION SHARING: ON. ] [ C. ] donnt be sad? COme over. [ C. ] Please
This is the most brilliant idea she’s ever, ever had. She keeps kicking her heels into the bed and she remembers her mother on the couch who did the same thing. “Fucking hell. Fuck.” She says, again just to herself. She’s not checked her phone in a long time, but she doesn’t have a very solid idea of time at the moment. Cuddy crosses her mind, and she bites her lip, mostly for the sake of guilt. Without checking for a response, she sends again: [ C. ] Where have you done?
@drliscuddy
