Chapter Text
Doctor Princess is odd, of course, she is. Because what type of Doctor doesn’t wear gloves? And her fingers prod and poke Betty like a fish.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Yea, uh, I’m. I do.”
She says nothing as the Doctor puts on more of that liquid.
It looks funny.
She tells her she needs to change her medicine.
And that's good. Because Simon is going crazy, he's worried. He's so worried, and he tells her every time they see each other.
And she says she's okay.
But it makes her feel a bit sick, like the feeling of when you have to throw up, but can't. And she feels tired, very tired, all the time. She isn’t sad, but just, a mundane feeling.
It feels like her whole body is just exhausted.
And it hurts.
But that's okay.
Simon kisses her and tells her she is pretty.
She feels sick again.
He asks her why she keeps her hair so unattended, she doesn’t feel like doing it, and she says nothing, not telling him it is because she likes it that way.
Well, she likes it but not like this. And they had spent that entire day washing her hair, cleaning her up, and offering her stale crackers. There were all sorts of machines near her, buzzing and screaming.
Every time Doctor Princess checked up on her, that flora scent would tingle in her nose. She hopes to bury her face in that scent, her face in the tangerine sweater. But she’s sure it’s not necessarily okay to say.
So she told Simon, and Simon didn’t acknowledge her. Even when she tells him her doctor has very nice thighs and how she thinks Simon should look too.
When the doctor came back, the smell was stronger.
She wonders what perfume it was, and Simon tells her, he can probably smell it because he is near her, and it makes her jealous.
The doctor is weird, she doesn't know what she's doing, and yet, they let her work on Betty's head.
What a bunch of fucking morons.
She tells her, and Simon sighs.
She thinks he might be getting tired of her.
Maybe he is.
Maybe that's why the doctor is here.
And she tells him that, and Simon looks like he's in pain, he looks so upset, and he asks her, why she thinks that.
She doesn't answer, she doesn't know, and he looks like he wants to cry.
Simon doesn't understand, she can tell. He doesn't.
The doctor asks her questions, and Simon asks her if she can hear her. And she can. But she's not going to answer her, not until the doctor gets away from her face, because her perfume is giving her a headache and it’s making her gag.
As if flowers were stuffed down her throat.
Today is not a new day, it’s the same as yesterday. But Betty isn’t allowed to smoke anymore, because Doctor Princess said so. And Simon trusted her words so blindly, he nodded along and agreed.
What a nymph.
“It still hasn’t snowed,” Betty said, her eyes trailing over each groove in Simon’s hand, watching as he patted the pots of dirt with care.
He’s smiling.
“Yes, but, maybe it might snow another time.”
It won’t. Perhaps.
But Betty doesn’t care, because her hands are empty and her mouth is dry. “You look pretty from here.” She tells him, voice all soft and gentle. Simon doesn’t look at her, but even with his attention swept, she can see the small details of his lips.
His teeth peeking out as he giggles.
“Yes. So do you.”
She can't help but feel giddy at his words.
Because the sun is rising, and it feels like she's warm honey on a summer day.
Betty has always been a sucker for his compliments.
And he looks at her, a bit of a smile on his lips, and she can't help but wonder if he would kiss her.
And he does.
And his lips are so soft against hers.
He tastes like mint. From their toothpaste. And his lips feel so warm. Inviting. But it’s gone sooner than not, he’s back to filling dirt holes, where the flowers died because of the weather.
“Maybe. I should make hot chocolate.”
“Can you add Marshmallows to mine?” Simon asks, and she nods her head.
He has a very nice smile.
Simon has always been pretty.
And the way his fingers are covered in dirt is cute.
She thinks so, at least. His smile is contagious. Simon has always been the pretty one, the boy with a sweet smile and an even sweeter laugh.
With a beautiful personality.
Betty is just a weed, the one no one would ever notice unless they looked hard enough.
She has a beautiful personality.
They don’t talk much about her scars.
Because it hurts to talk about her scars.
Simon says nothing about the scars, but she knows he wants to ask.
But she can't tell him much about it.
She doesn't want to talk about it.
The doctor said the scars were self-inflicted.
And Simon knew.
So she doesn't need to tell him.
He already knows.
It's better if he doesn't know.
Because he would be sad.
But he knows already.
And Simon hates it when Betty hurts herself.
So she does it less.
For him. Not too much, she doesn’t care, it’s not that deep to her. It’s her body. And it’s fun. Thrilling. But if he’s going to whine about it, she’ll quit for now.
I guess that means she shouldn’t trace his name onto her skin.
Betty doesn’t like the smell of hospitals. It makes her feel weird. She doesn't want to go back, but Simon says she has to.
So she doesn't say anything.
Doctor Princess is odd, she's not a very good doctor.
Betty would've liked a different doctor, someone nicer.
Doctor Princess is kind, but she has no clue what the fuck she’s doing.
Simon doesn’t know what to say.
He's worried.
Betty knows.
But Betty doesn't care.
Betty's been a bad girl.
Simon said so.
And she told him.
So, he says nothing.
But Betty is not stupid.
She is a smart girl.
She knows what she's done wrong.
She's not supposed to bite people.
And she knows that.
But she doesn't know why she did it.
And that's the truth.
She doesn't remember.
But her hand does.
Because Doctor Princess has a nasty mark on her hand.
A mark.
Her teeth marks.
But the doctor is not angry.
Simon is though.
Because the doctor is his friend.
Not Betty's.
They’re friends now? When did that happen? Doctor Princess is not a good friend.
Simon is.
Simon is a very good friend. Even if he told Betty before, they weren’t friends.
He doesn't let anyone bite him.
And that's okay.
Because he's very fragile.
Simon is delicate.
Simon is a flower.
And Betty is a weed.
So she should not touch Simon.
Because her hands are not as delicate as his.
Because if she does.
She'll break him.
Like a weed.
Betty is a weed.
Betty is a weed, a dead one. One that does not need air or carbon dioxide. And she’d love to see how the rain comes down upon her roots, lather her up.
But she’s a weed. A dead one.
Maybe her flowers are prettier, but that doesn't mean they don't hurt.
And Simon is a flower.
Simon is a flower.
So Betty should not touch him.
But Betty can't help it.
She likes Simon a lot.
She wants to tell him.
But she's scared.
Because maybe Simon will leave.
But maybe he won't.
She can't decide.
She's not good at thinking.
Simon is a flower.
And she is a weed. A weed that is no longer in the dirt. Uprooted from its home. And she does not know if he weeps for her. She doesn’t think. Or feel. Because she is a weed.
A weed is all she is. And weeds are not good, but they aren’t bad exactly.
She wants to see if he’d cry, see how her bones stick to the pavement, or how her head leans to the side with a bubbly foam running down her chin.
Maybe the scatter of gore on tracks, the carbon dioxide that filled her lungs. Whichever way it is. Betty was a weed, not in the dirt. But gone from that trusty sidewalk.
And Simon is a weeping flower that walks on that sidewalk.