He continues reading but I space out in the doorway. Your room is dark. There's only light from the lamp on your nightstand and the glow of Spencer's laptop, right next to you as well. The window isn't much help, considering the sun is hiding today. The sun seems to have disappeared for the last two weeks. The sun seems to have abandoned us all at the same time you did.
But God, how can I possibly put the blame on you?
I snarl at myself in disgust and look down at the linoleum floor. It feels so empty beneath it. Everything's empty. Spencer's still reading to you quietly, making comments about all the fan e-mails. They're all right. None of them have any idea what happened. No one does except me and you. And I'll be lucky if you still remember when you wake up. I'll be lucky if you remember anything.
I feel a body next to mine, and I know it's Jon, stepping in to fill the doorway. "You should talk to him," he says to me quietly, loud enough for only me to hear.
"He can't hear us," I say, almost through clenched teeth, my eyes fixated on your motionless body.
He sucks his teeth. He's fed up with me. Everyone is. They're fed up with my attitude toward this whole thing. Even I am. I just want you to wake up...
"Really, Ry...I'm sure he misses your voice." I know Jon's only trying to help, but he's making it all worse. He knows this when I turn to look at him, my eyes shining.
"He. Can't. Hear us," I state clearly enough. Then I look over to your bed again, holding back my tears. "He's in a fucking coma," I whisper, more to myself than to Jon.
A female voice sounds from behind Jon and I. "Excuse me," she says, gently pushing between the two of us. "How are you, Ryan?" she says, and I realize that it's Emily, your nurse. She's nice, but sometimes I wonder if she's more concerned about me than you. She talks to me excessively, and it always makes me want to remind her that I'm the boy her patient belongs to. And she just needs to tend to you. Fix you.
"Fine," I mumble, and I feel Jon walk away, out into the hall again. Emily is messing with all your monitors and my breathing hitches in my throat as I watch her. No, she's not clumsy; she's graceful and careful. But that's your life she's got in her little hands.
She seems to have backed herself into a corner, so to speak, and she stares at the machines, then looks over to me. "Ryan, do you think you could hold this monitor while I plug this one in?"
My body grows stiff. Spencer looks up at me and watches, as though waiting to see how I was going to solve this one. I'd never set foot past this doorway. I'd never actually been in your hospital room. I've just looked in and watched. I'd never entered to place flowers on your nightstand or sat by your bed to hold your cold hand. I just can't.
I gulp and nod, and I feel Spencer's eyes follow me. And as if we're playing connect-the-dots with our eyes, my eyes are following your body with every step I take. I'm surely going to be the one that ruins this favor for Emily. I'm going to run into something or drop the monitor that she places in my hands. You're so beautiful. Your skin is paler, your arms thinner, but you're still perfect. Well, you will be. When you wake up. When you wake up and take us all out of this nightmare with you.
The task is completed quicker than I thought. I don't know why I thought it would take longer; all she did was plug a wire into the wall. I place the heavy, black box back on top of another, and Emily says "Thanks." I nod and then remain stationary for a few moments, still surveying your once beautiful face. From beautiful to lifeless. I can't see your eyes, and that bothers me. It bothers me so bad that it sends me into a dreamlike state of remembering how I used to get those eyes to open. I would crawl right next to you in bed and kiss your lips before anything else. And you would wake up. You'd wake up just like that. But God, I can't do that now. My lips begin to tremble, knowing they can't brush with yours. You wouldn't feel a thing. I'm numb to you.
Spencer is watching me, his eyes and brows fighting against one another to look worried and resentful at the same time. I haven't been this close to you in two weeks, darling boy. I'm finally here by your side and you're still not moving. Everyone said this would work...
And that's why I only trust two things: your eyes and my gut instinct. Your eyes always had paths in them. Directions. So plan B means me. My insides. And I only trust myself because every action that takes place inside me is simply a reaction from you. And since I can't look in your eyes or feel the warmth that radiates from them anymore...I don't feel anything. I don't feel that gut instinct. I only feel my eyes welling up to their rims by the second.
I can only imagine the cold and absent life that lurks under your eyelids right now. Spencer utters my name fearfully as my legs pick themselves up to leave the room. They're moving quickly. I'm sure he's going to come follow me. I know he is. I sulk down the long, wide hall of the hospital, thrusting my hands into the pockets of my coat and kicking the doors open. I instantly feel chills run through my veins and I clench my elbows tighter to my body as I begin to walk around, gradually slowing my pace so I don't completely walk off the grounds of the hospital.
The grass is all a very dark green but coated with bright orange and brown leaves. October is beautiful. The trees are like skeletons, disguising the morgue of a hospital. It fascinates me. I kick around the leaves, finding them to be deep pools of crunching nature, and I have to pick up my feet to get through them. The sky is overcast at minimum, meaning raindrops were threatening to fall once again. And clearly, even rain has lost its appeal to me. Nature is just nature. Leaves are just leaves. Rain is just rain if I don't have you to kiss in it with. Snow is just snow if I don't have my angel to play in it with.
Autumn's not the same without you.
I kick the roots of a tree, feeling my face crumple up as I begin to cry. I know you're not gone yet, but you're not here in my arms, and that's not enough. I know you're hanging by a thread - a long one. But you're balancing the high line. You know I'll be the pool of water at the bottom to catch you but we both know it's gonna hurt when you fall.
Hell, it already hurts. And even if you wake up right now, it's still going to hurt. Because I left those scars. Every time you shed your clothes, I'll see those scars. I guess that's why the word "scar" has more than one meaning.
I feel eyes on my back now, and I would have guessed Spencer, but no. Mr. Walker is standing several yards away from me, probably scared that he'll catch my weariness if he gets too close.
"You need to realize he's okay," Jon states plainly, and I'm a little taken aback. "The doctors say he could wake up any day now. You also need to realize it isn't your fault." He shrugs. "And that's what Spencer and I decided we had to tell you. We know you love him, okay? We know you love him because...you don't look at us that way, or anyone else. You are always the first to spring at the reception desk when we stay at hotels. We knew you were hiding something. And all the pieces fit. They just...fit."
I don't even know what to say, so I nod, still letting the wind blow over my streaks of tears, making certain spots of my face feel like ice.
"And," Jon starts again, "we want you to know we're okay with it. And when...not if, when Brendon wakes up...you don't have to hide it anymore."
Of the many burdens that amplify my heavy heart, one is lifted. A huge one. I could either express my appreciation through words and words and words of gratitude or I could just say "Thank you". And this seems to work out better.
Jon nods, and I see him contract his muscles, feeling the cold just as well as me now. "So stop blaming yourself too," he says slightly coldly.
The wind whistles loudly between the large gap of our stiff bodies. This I can't do. Jon doesn't know the details. He wasn't in the car with you and me that night. He doesn't know the half of it. "It's all my fault, Jon. It really is; you don't even know."
"No. It was the drunk bastard that smashed his headlights into your dashboard's fault."
"Jon!" I yell hysterically, freeing my hands from my pockets to talk more animatedly. More openly. More honestly. "I told you! You don't know. Okay? I was the drunk bastard. Do you even know the destination and beginning of me and Brendon's little road trip? Well, we started at some bar where we both got wasted and then we tore off the road, heading toward a cheap motel out of town. Sorry for the graphic mental images, but maybe you'll understand now. Maybe you'll understand that that night was supposed to be perfect but instead, it turned into this hell that I now have to live through every single day. Every single day until he wakes up. And not knowing when he's gonna do that? It's-"
The wind is blowing against my hair. I don't know why I stopped ranting. Jon's looking at me with the most sympathetic look in his eyes. He's waiting for me to continue, probably because he doesn't know what to say himself. I gulp back more tears. "It's torture."
"I know," he says quietly, and I can barely hear him over the rustling of the leaves.
I feel more tears run down my face. I'm numb to it all on the outside, but inside, where it matters, it hurts like hell. "He can't die, Jon. He can't die..."
We both really feel it as lightning strikes somewhere off in the distance. The overcast was swept away and replaced with rain clouds. The night I broke you, it was a night a lot like tonight. The night I split you in half, it was raining like this. How simple is it? It's the pinnacle of simple - if it'd been me in the passenger's seat, it'd have been me wheeled away on the gurney. Oh, how I would have preferred it that way. That's how this should have happened.
But in a way, you have it easy, and that's all I ever wanted for you. That's all you ever deserved. You get to sleep your way through these weeks. No tears, no pain, no headaches from lack of sleep. Damn you, Brendon. Damn you.
"Ryan, let's go inside," Jon says as we shiver. And I nod quickly. He waits for me to catch up to him, and then we walk together back into the building. Thunder roars as soon as we enter, and I'm glad to be out of the mess of nature. I pause for a moment before proceeding down the dull hallway, thinking. But I don't have much time to do so, because Spencer comes running down the hall toward me, grinning widely. I try not to get my hopes up, but oh, it's difficult...
"Ryan!" Spencer shouts, earning disapproving glances from nurses passing by. "He moved!" I stare at him, open-mouthed, as he reaches me, and he nods excitedly. "He really did. He moved his arm...and rolled his head around, but then nothing. Please come back to him, Ry."
I stare at him, definitely believing him, but wondering if it really could have been me that touched that spot in his brain that caused him to stir him in his sleep. Oh, how I'd love to think it was.
With one last look in Spencer's eager eyes, I hurry down the hallway and skid to a halt at your room, stopping in the doorway to look at your gorgeous face, sleeping and so at peace. I slow down from there. Spencer's chair is still seated right next to your bed, and I cautiously sit down in it, never removing my eyes from your lids. You're as still as you ever were, and I wonder if I'm just being silly, thinking that my simply being here could save you. I slowly reach out my hand that was previously insensitive to anything, due to the cold, and I place it right on top of yours. And I feel your warmth transfer straight into my veins. How I wish I could press my lips to yours and let your peaceful state return mine to their full, pink color, rather than the saturated, chapped look they had to them these days. How I wish I could lay right next to you and just be there in your arms, and we could be just like we used to be, vibrant and alive, and lucky to just be that.
I begin to stroke the back of your hand with my fingers as I look around. Spencer's laptop is still on, sitting on your nightstand. I look over at him and silently asked him if I could use it. He nods and I remove my hand from yours for one second, to secure the laptop on my lap. Then, without hesitation, I place my hand back on yours, not wanting to end this connection we are both feeling. I know you feel it. Under the wires and cords attached to your frail body, you feel this.
With my free hand, I continue sorting through our e-mails. I smile a little, reading all the incredibly kind messages. "They love you, Brendon," I whisper delicately, looking up at your pale, content face. "But they don't need you like I need you, angel." And I keep reading the e-mails out loud to you, because every time I look up, your lips are twitching more and more, and the monitors around us make sounds that they've never made before. I keep reading because maybe not tonight, but in the morning, you'll be perfect again. Just like we were supposed to be.
rate/pick/message/cbox. like always.
:]
