Chapter 3 - The Syringe

Willy awoke. The lights in the room slowly began to cascade into focus. His eyes wandered vigilantly, yet lazily in a dozy spectrum. Rubbing his hand against his head, he sat up in the bed. He then felt the sheets. Much more shallow than his normal bed sheets at home. It was then he knew that he was at an unfamiliar place. He hadn’t noticed the pure white painted room he was inside first, before noticing by a sense of feel that he was in the wrong bed.

“You’re awake, I see,” the female nurse walked in the room, dressed in the standard white outfit, a clipboard in hand. She sauntered toward Willy’s bedside. After taking his temperature, pulse, and respiration, she smiled delightfully, leaving the room in a seemingly trance. Willy eyed her curiously before leaning back in his bed. She said nothing more, he didn’t ask. Why he didn’t ask, he wasn’t entirely sure. He was probably just afraid of the answer.

Willy couldn’t possibly grasp his situation right now. The last thing he even remembered was his bout with Sidian in the fundraiser race, in front of the whole school. He was humiliated! More than that, he lost! Willy clenched his fists and sheets, clenching his teeth, the veins in his head bulged.

“That bastard… he got me!” Willy exclaimed, making no attempt at hiding his frustration. For once in his life, one of the rare occurrences, he lost what little of his rationality he was holding onto. He yanked the sheets off of his bed, throwing them on the floor. He clutched his pillow, just glaring at it with the most horrible, tender eyes. He narrowed his eyes, burying his face into his pillow, compressing it against his face for a few seconds before calming down, steadily releasing his grip under a few calmer breaths. He glanced over to the door, seeing a lone figure standing inside, a feminine one, silver flowing hair, hazel eyes that matched Willy’s in intensity. She folded her arms, looking at Willy as what he mistook as pity.

She said nothing, only sighing at the pathetic sight she seen her younger brother in. She understood more than anyone in the world how stubborn and persistent he was. Once he had his mind set on something, even she couldn’t bring him back, even if she kicked his ass a hundred times over.

“It hurts,” Willy finally said, breaking the silence with a grainy tenor. Lara leaned her head down, cutting her eyes up to face Willy, not moving from her initial spot.

“Your leg?” Lara inquired.

Willy shook his head. Lara turned her head away for a second, looking down the open hallway. Upon examining the outside hall, she gently closed the door to the room. She further approached Willy’s bedside, smoothly placing her hand among the side rails. Willy continued looking forward, avoiding eye contact with his sister.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Lara said with a smile. Willy took a while to respond, leaning back he folded his arms while leaning back.

“I lost,” Willy stated bitterly. “He made me look like a fool.”

“Honestly Willy, you say the strangest things,” Lara lightly chuckled. Willy looked up once more, clearly not amused.

“Meaning?”

“People were astounded by your performance, you and Sidian.”

“What does that matter?” Willy asked, gritting his teeth. “In the end, I’m the loser. I lost to him. That’s all that matters. He showed me up.”

Lara closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before continuing. “You did your best.” She reopened them, staring at Willy with the most passionate eyes he had seen in his life. One thing about Lara, she was an awful liar. You could see it in her eyes when she lied. She was honestly the most sincere person he knew. Right now, she was speaking from the heart. Willy was too stubborn to see through to that.

Willy scoffed, folding his arms with resent, a large scowl upon his face. “A loser is a loser, a winner is a winner. Winners get more recognition, winners get ahead in life. Winners are leaders. I have dreams of going into the NBA. If I’m gonna make that a reality, I have to be top notch! Even you understand this, right Lara?”

Lara turned away from Willy for a split second, turning her back to him to walk out of the room. She glanced back with a genuine smile. “A real winner knows when to accept defeat. Losing is what molds winners, Willy. It’s our experience, and it’s what builds the foundation for our sportsmanship.” Willy’s eyes widened lightly, yet his face still twisted in an angry scoff. “If you want to go to the big leagues, you have to understand that more than anything else.”

Willy remained calm, staring out at open space, lost in thought. Had he been so obsessed with winning, he lost his sense of sportsmanship? Just as Dew said the other day, he was a loser. His friends appeared to be slipping away. He sat up in his bed, staring at the door as it creaked open once more. Lara stood back, the white coated doctor walked in the room, clipboard between his right arm and side, eyes closed, he pushed up his glasses with his index and middle finger. He approached the corner of the room, eyeing Willy.

“Doctor Norton,” Lara greeted from the other side of the room politely. He waved a short gesture with a curt nod before turning to his patient, Willy.

“Good to see you awake, Willy.” Doctor Norton spoke professionally in a British accent, a man one could easily rely on. Willy could tell that about him at a glance, as could Lara. “You took quite a nasty fall there. How you holding up?”

Willy looked up, nodding slowly. “I’m fine,” he replied simply.

“Good, good. Well Willy, I’m not going to mince words with you boy.” The doctor glanced on seriously. Willy’s eyes perked up slightly, his mouth somewhat agape. Lara stared on inquisitively.

“Your anterior cruciate ligament is torn. In other words, a torn ACL.”

Willy looked up in shock, his eyes completely widened, his mouth agape. Lara’s reaction was virtually the same, although much less severe than Willy’s case. His whole body shook from the news. It couldn’t be true. He had heard of torn ACLs before, nothing he heard was anything short of awful.

“I would recommend reconstruction surgery, due to the severity of the tear. The ligament is completely torn; therefore it will not heal on its own. After that an extensive period of rehabilitation to regain proper function of the knee again. The chances of you regaining full strength in that knee, due to the severity of the injury, is very unlikely.”

Willy sat still, not even knowing how to react. He simply glared up at Doctor Norton. “… No… there has to be another way! Isn’t there like… some drug you can give me? Don’t athletes get them all the time?!” Willy exclaimed, on the verge of freaking out. The news still hadn’t even fully settled with him. Lara clutched her hands together across her chest and looked down solemnly.

Doctor Norton looked on rather apathetically to Willy. “If you’re lucky, you may be able to return as good as new. Although, you’re looking up at at least nine months of recovery.”

“Come on… don’t say that…” Willy said, laughing slightly. Now into the denial phase. “It… it can’t be over! This is everything to me!”

The doctor merely shook his head, walking out of the room, passing by Lara on the way out. Lara gestured to the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor Norton.” The doctor merely nodded in return and left, closing the door behind them.

Merely seconds after he left, Willy’s shaking hand clutched the right side of his forehead, over his right eye. Tears began to well up in his left, uncovered eye. He fought with all of his might not to do this. Even watching Willy swelled up Lara herself inside. She watched, looking down at her beloved, heartbroken brother with the most somber eyes.

“…It’s over… isn’t it?” Willy’s voice became raspier, his throat scratchy. He let the waterworks fall. Lara leaned down across the hospital bed, embracing him by his shoulders. She was there for him; it was the best thing she believed she could have done for him. She couldn’t personally imagine how he felt right now. An inspirational speech at this moment wasn’t hitting on the right timing this round. Together, she intended to be there with her only brother in the world.

---

A week had passed since the news had passed on Willy’s condition, and exactly five days after the surgery. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything Willy had fought in his life. He had to sleep in one position, with the inability to move his knee, and he spent most of his time laid in his bed. Watching the ceiling and ESPN was his main pastime. During this period, he was unusually silent, only speaking unless personally addressed, and only speaking to Lara, accepting no visitors or get-well cards, anything of the like that reminded him as a form of pity. He missed school, Lara taking the iniative to hand him his homework and personally tutor him (which she was pretty good at doing. Then again, there wasn’t much Lara couldn’t do, except cook). He mainly folded his arms and dazed off, his mind elsewhere.

In spite of the situation, Willy found it odd there was a guy he blamed more on the incident rather than himself. Perhaps it was a cop-out to blame this ‘accident’ on the intentional actions of another within the race, but he didn’t care, it made him feel better. In his condition, he didn’t honestly care if he was being a jerk. Seeing his first visitor that day, all of those feelings suddenly bulged up inside of him, consuming him in a fiery wrath that could barely be contained, except by a bandaged up leg and a crutch that was hidden by Lara incase he did intentionally intend to strike poor Dew with it.

“Willy-man!” Dew entered the room, accompanied by Lara from behind. Willy scowled ahead, looking at the wall, paying no mind to Dew at first. “Been a while dude. How you been holding up?” Dew asked, before even waiting for a response, he approached Willy, which Willy responded with an immediate upward scowl. Dew cocked his head back slightly, a ‘what’s your deal?’ look on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Willy asked with squinted, unappreciated eyes. Dew looked back, somewhat bewildered by Willy’s sudden demeanor. Of course he wouldn’t understand the psychological impact of Willy’s pain the last week, but what was this about? Had he done something?

“I came to wish you well, my man,” Dew replied with a frothy manner, attempting to slice through the thick, superfluous tension thickening the atmosphere. “Wh-what’s wrong with you?”

“You wouldn’t know, man. Why are you here acting like everything is cool?” Willy lowered his head, shifting his eyes to face Dew’s with a headstrong glare, an esteemed glare that was a clear declaration of resent. Dew, obviously, had no idea what was going on.

“I’m not following you,” Dew said, chuckling lightly, rubbing the back of his head. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

“It’s all your fault! You ruined everything! My career, my ambitions, my life! I have nothing left, all because you tripped me at the race!”

Dew stared down wide eyed at Willy, in apparent disbelief. “You’re blaming me for an accident? What the hell is your problem?” Dew asked, his tone gaining a pristine callousness. Willy glared fiercely at Dew, the latter whom returned with a ferocious stare of his own. Even right now, Willy didn’t back down, despite never seeing this side of Dew before. Dew never even shown this side of his personality to Willy, his apparent best friend. The strains were on now. “It was an accident; simple as that. Why are you making a federal case out of this?”

“My problem? Look at me!” Willy exclaimed, no longer able to simply hold it in. He had held it in for so long, he needed release. “That’s easy for you to say! You weren’t the one who snapped your knee because a lard ass tumbled along your merry way. It was ‘cause of you I lost the race. You made me look like an idiot, like a loser. Exactly like you called it the other day. I hope you’re satisfied now, ‘cause you’ve taken everything from me.”

“It was an accident. But… let me assure you one thing buddy…” Dew’s hair covered his face, shadowing his immense expression. He smiled slowly, clenching his fist, he grabbed Willy by the collar of his shirt, thrusting him up to his face. Willy sprawled in pain as his knee was also forcefully jerked from underneath his encased pillows. He bit his lip, attempting to hide the pain. “This isn’t.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking to me like that, you little punk.” Dew grinned wildly, pulling his other fist back behind him, tightening it to smash against Willy’s face.

“It’s about time someone shut your feeble punk ass up… you got any idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this?!” Dew exclaimed, his grip tightened, clutching Willy’s collar by his throat. He gagged, attempting to fight Dew away… but to his surprise, Dew’s strength was extraordinary. Willy’s eyes widened in dismay, yet remained vigilant and headstrong.

“If that will make you feel like the better man… if you wanna insult my any farther, go ahead and do it! Prove to me how much of a coward you are!” Willy shrieked with all of his vocal strength, his face twisting into a ferocious glower. Dew smiled, his eyes then looked down at Willy, the look of a victor.

“Just like a winner is born a winner… a loser is born a loser! That’s just how shit works son!” Dew launched his fist forward in a blazing might. As Willy braced himself for the worst, in no physical condition to evade the blow, he waited, closing his eyes for the trajectory which never came. Willy slowly opened his eyes as a slight narrow, extending them upon the realization Dew’s hand was caught.

Willy heard Dew’s grunts as he attempted to fight his fist free from Lara’s quick, strong grip. Lara’s hazel eyes stared critically into Dew’s, looking for the faintest sign of weakness. Dew smiled, jolting his hand away, even forcefully, and stood back. Lara staggered slightly by Dew’s sudden burst of strength, that even long surpassed hers. She stared seriously at Dew.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Dew nodded slowly, glaring at them both with a twisted smile. “Yeah. You’re right. See you later, Willy-man.” Dew waved, walking out of the room as if nothing had happened at all. Lara sighed, turning to Willy, who to her surprise, was genuinely taken aback. He had spoken his mind, but he certainly didn’t expect this kind of retaliation to Dew. Had he really felt that way about Willy, his supposed best friend, for this long? Willy looked away.

He felt he was slipping away, and losing everything.

---

Willy sat in the hospital room, time for his one week check up after his surgery. Lara stood within the room with him, observing the various posters and props within the room. She took innate interest in an anatomy of the human muscles chart. Lara always stated one of her primary goals was to become a surgeon. She often studied under the doctors at the hospital there during her free time. With Lara’s busy schedule, she and Willy rarely actually seen each other, only on account of Willy’s accident were the two strung together so closely once again.

The nurse walked inside, same one as a week ago, the rather eerily creepy nurse with the strange uplifting smile, every bit of an oxymoron as it was. Lara stepped back, turning around, she greeted the nurse with a friendly gesture. The nurse simply smiled back with the same eerie, unwavering beam.

“Would you mind leaving the room for a moment, Lara?”

Lara glimpsed up, staring with an inquisitive eye at the nurse. She crept him out about as much as Willy, but hers was more along the lines of suspicion. She decided not to raise a case among the scenario, and complied. Lara slowly nodded with a gracious smile, showing herself the exit of the room, she gently shut the door.

The nurse gaped down at Willy, a gratifying smirk plastered among her face he couldn’t quite decipher himself. She slowly flicked the loose strands of goldenrod hair out of her face before commencing. What she was about to say completely caught him off guard.

“You’re in pain… that breaks my heart. Such a healthy young man with the ambitions to take on the world. A tragic robbery.” She spoke calmly, a rather cold chill to her words that sent a small shiver down Willy’s spine. He wiped his hand across his face, attempting to hide the fact he had shed tears before her entrance.

“Why do you care?” Willy asked with an impromptus sudden jolt of his hands. He looked away from the female nurse with certain distaste about her.

“I can make the pain diminish.”

Perhaps she was taking advantage of Willy’s desperate nature, but he didn’t care. If it was an opportunity, he would take anything and everything. Willy perked up, staring at the woman with a severe wide gaped stare.

“I’m listening.”

The nurse pulled out a syringe from within her white coat pocket on the inside. Willy appeared dumbfounded, waiting for the nurse’s next response. Her face twisted into a look of dominance.

“Will you comply, Willy?”

Willy would have stood back if he could, but being confined to the bed he simply nodded slowly, somewhat reluctantly. “"You can really fix me?"” He thought, saying it aloud. The nurse nodded in compliance. Willy's gaze averted down over his body, looking at his perplexed, weakened state. He hated this. More than that, he hated the two people he felt were responsible for his downfall. Willy finally nodded. "Whatever it takes."

“Hold still,” she creepily stood next to him, straightening the needle before injecting Willy in his arm. Willy felt a short jolt of stinging pain before it subsided completely. He groaned. Compared to the pain he had endured the last week this was nothing. If this little sting injection was all it took to make Willy’s recovery that much faster, it would be well worth it. The nurse smiled, putting the needle away, and began walking out.

“What was that syringe?” Willy asked before she left. She stopped, didn’t turn around.

“This will be everything. The bridge you are to cross from this day on is crafted by a shift of fate. Remember me... Willy.” She began, looking back at Willy with somewhat deranged, lustful eyes. What she lusted after, Willy had no idea. Maybe it was his satisfaction, but that seemed really strange. She was strange either way. "For my name is Sora."


The nurse, 'Sora', left the room, leaving only a bewildered Willy watching her leave. He stared at the doorway for a long minute before turning back in his bed, adjusting his leg.