The more I think about Emily, the more I think about the hospital. The more I think about the hospital, the more I think about the irritating girl in room 417.

Why do I find her so irritating? At first I thought it was because she was a privileged little girl who got everything she wanted. But that's not true. Repeatedly, people take the time out of their day to bestow upon me an anecdote showing 417's true colours. Selfless, kind, caring. All the good crap.

Okay, so maybe I was eavesdropping on the nurse's conversation whilst 417 had performed another group reading session.

But now I know that she isn't what I had first thought, why is she still so irritating to me?

Maybe it's because she's not really sick? She can't be, she looks so healthy and happy. Or maybe it's because I'm stuck referring to her as 417, she has to have a real name.

I wonder why she doesn't tell anyone, maybe it's just as bad as Bennington.

I feel a sharp impact on the back of my head and curse automatically.

Swivelling round, I come to face Max, a friend of mine who also works with me at Michael's Mechanics. He's laughing and I roll my eyes, wiping my oily hands on the sides of my jeans.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" He pipes up and I glance at my watch. Usually I'd be at the hospital by now.

I curse again, blaming 417 for occupying my thoughts and consequently causing me to be late.

I thank Max on my way out and head for the bus station.

It's a fifteen-minute journey, which could be a lot worse. I sit behind an old lady, whose hair looks uncannily like wool and opposite a tank-like man whose eyebrows dominate over half of his face.

Tank man looks over and I quickly divert my attention elsewhere. I do not want to feel the wrath of his brows.

I impatiently jiggle my leg, not being able to relax in the slightest.

I like my routine, Emily is used to my routine. What if she thinks I'm not coming? That I've forgotten?

I lazily jog into the hospital entrance, my feet guiding me on the journey that they've seemingly taken hundreds of times by now. I glance at my nails and grimace at the black that's caked beneath them. I hadn't even washed my hands yet.

I don't bother to glance into the windows of 417, far too occupied with the task at hand.

Emily looks unbothered by my late appearance.

"Hi!" She says cheerfully and I huff, moving into the bathroom to wash my hands.

"Sorry I'm late." I murmur and she waves me off, staring intently at the TV screen.

"What kept you?"

"I lost track of time." I admit and she looks curious.

"You never lose track of time. What where you worrying about?"

"Nothing." I roll my eyes.

"Don't lie to me, Ben." Her voice is a warning and I proceed with caution.

"I was thinking about you and the hospital." I admit, leaving out 417.

She frowns but nods anyway.

"What's 417's name?" I ask abruptly, after a few moments of silence. I hadn't meant to ask, not really. I don't know why I did.

"I don't know."

"Why not? Aren't you curious?" I probe.

"Not really." She says with a shrug, her eyes narrowing.

"It's irritating. Why doesn't anyone call her by her name?"

"Why is this bothering you so much? If you're so concerned just go and ask." She says flippantly and I scoff.

"No way, I'm not that interested."

"Could have fooled me." She mutters and I scowl at her but say nothing else on the matter.

She drops the subject, thankfully, in favour of a debate on the best character in CSI. I join in with enthusiasm, thankful for her change of subject.

I don't care about the girl in 417.

-

The next day, I receive a phone call from the hospital. Emily's come down with a cold, which shouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the chemotherapy. Her immune system is pretty weak and they're preventing visitation until she gets better.

I would be irritated, but I know the hospital is doing what's right to keep my sister healthy and, more importantly, alive.

I fidget constantly, waiting for another call from the hospital to update us on her condition. I hate the feeling of restlessness and I can't stand not knowing.

After 4 days, we get a call saying Emily is stronger and can have visitors as of tomorrow. The relief I feel is immense. I can't wait to see her again. Hearing that she's better is all well and good, but I won't be able to stop worrying until I can see her, in person.

Apparently, it's my anxiety. I don't have anxiety, just a poor grip on my emotions. That's all.

Besides, we all have too much to worry about to be developing any mental health problems of my own.

As I walk through the hospital I can't help but notice the red and pink streamers that litter the corridors, little felt hearts are stuck to windows and I pull out my phone.

February 14th, Valentine's day. A made-up holiday if you ask me, something that was made up to draw in more money as people feel obligated to buy things in order to show affection to their significant other. Surely, you show a form of affection to your partner every day? Why does there have to be a specific day that's more romantic than others?

I shake my head and roll my eyes. Emily, like a lot of teenage girls, loves Valentine's day. She thinks it's so romantic and definitely not linked to the St. Valentine's day massacre.

417 is as usual sat in her blue room. I have noticed, from passing her room so often, that there is an awful lot of blue in that room. Blue rugs and pillows, paintings and pictures, everything is blue. Odd, but I guess it's her favourite colour.

She's looking down, playing with something in her hands and it looks like a big heart-shaped card. She looks up just as my sneakers decide to make a horrific squeak against the linoleum floor.

"Hi, Ben." She sounds less cheerful than usual. I find that quite pleasing in some, sick, masochistic kind of way.

"Hey 417." I don't stop walking but she halts me with a call and I sigh. I back pedal slightly and poke my head through her door.

"What?" I sound a touch more impatient than I had hoped.

Her face falls ever so slightly and I feel kind of bad. She rectifies her facial expression, smoothing it and producing a charming smile instead.

"Sorry to be a pain, could you give this to Emily? I'm guessing you're on your way to see her and it would save me the trip."

She extends the large piece of red card.

I sigh and walk into her room for the first time. It smells of lavender. Not the old lady kind but the fresh kind, not too strong.

I take the card and leave swiftly.

"Thank you!" She calls and I sigh again.

I flick it towards Emily as I enter the room and she fails to catch it.

"What's this?"

"Special delivery from 417. Looks like I'm a mail man now."

My tone is snarky but it doesn't faze Emily.

"Oh! Everyone in the ward gets one of these every year, without fail. I didn't think I'd get one, being so new and everything." She murmurs, reading the words scrawled very neatly on the card.

"That is so thoughtful." She says eventually, a small smile gracing her face.

I extend my hand out, silently asking to look at it and Emily scoffs.

"No way. Make friends with her and maybe you'll get your own."

I roll my eyes. Whatever, I don't want to see it anyway.

Emily tasks herself with propping up the card between photo frames, tilting her head every now and then, making sure that the angle is just right.

I notice a bunch of red roses and smile. I'm glad that dad hasn't forgotten his tradition with Em. He would always buy her flowers, saying that she is the only special lady in his life.

"So, how come 417 does the card thing?" I ask curiously.

"I don't know, it's a nice surprise I guess. People like to celebrate the holidays in here, makes life feel more normal I suppose." She says with a shrug.

"That's weird."

"Nice. The word you're looking for is nice. She takes the time to do this for other people, Ben. That's nice."

I nod along and produce a candy bar from my pocket. Emily's favourite.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Em. You had us worried." I admit and she grins.

"It's whatever. Maybe I'll get sick more often if you come bearing chocolate." She greedily rips open the packet and shoves it in her gob.

"No thank you. I think dad lost 10 years of his life worrying about you." I laugh and she joins in. I like it when I can joke with my sister. It's like old times, when we didn't have to worry about cancer.

"So, you sending out any valentines?"

"No. You know how I feel about this holiday." I say and Emily almost chokes.

"417 is exactly the same. Isn't that funny?"

"What?" My smile turns upside down at the thought of having things in common with the irritating girl in room 417.

"She hates Valentine's day too. Said something about a massacre." She shudders and I try not to smile.

So, we have one thing in common, no big deal I suppose.