08

“Good afternoon, son," Jackson hears as he comes back to consciousness, God knows how many hours later.

His eyelids flutter open slowly, the white room a stab to his eyes so he shuts them close immediately, groaning in protest. A few seconds later, he tries again, slower and more carefully, taking little by little the light in the white room where a nurse and his doctor are standing, checking his vitals.

Jackson takes a deep breath, realising the surgery is done, it’s over. Physically, he doesn’t feel anything. No pain, no discomfort, no anything, he barely feels his body at all and it is probably due to strong painkillers.

Immediately, he thinks of Mark, recalling his face, his smile… and there’s nothing. Not even fondness, nothing at all. Where there used to be so many feelings that even made him sick, there’s nothing now and oddly, Jackson feels empty.

“How are you feeling? Any pain?” The doctor speaks before walking up to him to check on his chest, where the opened him to get to his lungs and remove the tumour. “Everything is normal and we’re giving you all the necessary drugs to speed up your recovery. This is another wonderful thing about this illness, this survival instinct. Once the feelings, the source of illness, are gone, your brain rushes your body to heal faster to move on and made up for the damage caused. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Jackson opens his mouth but only a hoarse sound comes out, so he only nods faintl