Day 147

                                    

                                          
He stood at the door like he was holding his breath, the hospital's quiet pressing in on him. That early, before the day really began, energy surrounding him, the place felt less like a hospital and more like a ghost of one—barely there, the silence stretching out between the walls. It was the kind of quiet that felt fragile, like a thing that could break if you even breathed too loud. Trey wasn't sure why he felt like he was intruding, but he did. He hadn't even knocked yet and already he was doubting himself.
When he finally raised his hand to knock, it sounded too loud in the stillness. The sound echoed down the hallway, and for a second he thought maybe he should leave before the door opened, before he had to explain why he was even there.
But Dr. Bryan answered, the surprise on his face only flickering for a second before his usual calm settled in. "Trey," he said, glancing at his watch, raising his brow in that way that always made Trey feel like he was two steps behind whatever was really happening in the conversation. "Did we have a session today?"
Trey shifted awkwardly as he entered the room, like his body hadn't quite decided what to do in the space yet. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension curling itself into his muscles, making him feel heavy and clumsy. "Uh... no. No session."
Dr. Bryan waited, his gaze soft but sharp at the same time, like he could already see the whole picture of what Trey was trying to say, but he wanted to hear him get there on his own.
"I was wondering if I could get a day pass," Trey said, the words tumbling out like he hadn't really planned to say them until they were already hanging in the air between them.
The doctor didn't react right away, just sat down in his desk, his fingers steepling as he looked at Trey with that same deliberate calm, like he was studying something fragile, something on the verge of falling apart.
"A day pass," Dr. Bryan repeated, not quite a question, more like a pause. Trey could hear the unspoken and why hanging there, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
He shifted again, feeling the weight of Dr. Bryan's eyes on him, the way they never pushed but always seemed to expect more. "Yeah," Trey muttered, his voice low. "I want to do something for Wren." He didn't mean to say her name like that, soft and careful, like it was a secret, but once it was out, it felt too real to take back. He glanced at the floor, suddenly aware of how small the room felt, how everything he said seemed to hang in the air too long.
Dr. Bryan didn't respond immediately. He let the silence stretch between them, filling the room with the weight of it. "Something for Wren," he said slowly, like he was turning the words over in his mouth, tasting them. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
Trey hesitated. He wasn't sure how to explain what he wanted without sounding stupid. It wasn't like he had a plan. It was more of a feeling—this gnawing urgency to give her something, anything, that felt like a real day, not another one of these endless hospital routines. "I just... she's been through a lot... with the donor falling through and all. I thought maybe I could take her out. Just for a day." The words sounded weak, even to him, and he hated how they seemed to crumble the moment they left his mouth.
Dr. Bryan was quiet, his gaze never leaving Trey's face. Trey felt the weight of his words settling into the room, the vulnerability of it all making his skin crawl. He hated talking like this—hated being open, being soft. But this was for Wren.
"Do you think that's a good idea?" Dr. Bryan asked, his tone careful but not dismissive.
Trey clenched his hands into fists at his sides, feeling the frustration build. "I don't know if it's a good idea," he said, the words coming out sharper than he meant. "I just... I want her to have one day where she feels like a normal person. She deserves that. Even if it's just for one day."