he<\/em> says them.<\/p>\n\n\n\nI don\u2019t want to die. I have too much to live for. I\u2019m young, successful. I have many friends and a loving family. I have a great relationship with my husband even though we couldn\u2019t conceive for the longest time. We still can’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes, we drifted apart because of work and routine, but not anymore. This car accident is my wake-up call. When I leave the hospital, we\u2019ll go in a second honeymoon. I\u2019ll cook him his favorite meal–I forget how much I enjoy cooking. Work has turned me into a machine. I\u2019ll have that asymmetric pixie haircut I always fantasized about. I\u2019ll take a vacation. Hell, I\u2019ll quit my job. I never liked it. I\u2019ll write the book that lived in my head so long for me to know its characters more than many people in my life, its plot, and every twist and turn. I\u2019ll have a pet, a chipmunk. I\u2019ll name it Chirpy Chip. I\u2019ll try again for a child like he wanted us to. No matter how many times it takes. I\u2019ll let him turn the garage into a man cave like he wished. I\u2019ll even design it for him. I\u2019ll cherish every moment with him if only he opens his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I reach for his cold hand on the bed, tracing his wedding band. It seems like yesterday I put it there not five years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPlease, open your eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I choke on my words, tears flooding my cheeks and drenching the sodden sheets. I lean on the side of the bed that I didn\u2019t leave, bringing his hand to my lips, kissing every knuckle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPlease, come back to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His broken body stays numb. This isn’t like him to deny me something I want.
Did they shave it? The savages. Don\u2019t they know how much he likes his brown locks? It’s my favorite feature too, among my other favorites of his. I love everything in him. Except this silence.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nHe has stitches on his lip and at the side of his right eye. He has bright green eyes, closed bright green eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Oh, how I wish he opens them. How I wish he looks at me so I know that there is a meaning to this life.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nIt\u2019s been three days since they brought him here, saying it\u2019s a matter of time. So, I prayed ever since. It’s hope that keeps me here, the life we had, the life we’ll have, the dreams we strayed away from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t leave me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My sobs fill the room when my words couldn’t help my desperation, however, crying is useless too. I sniffle while a headache presses on my eyelids, making it hard to open. His hand twitches, and I shoot up on my seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Did his hand\u2014? Did I imagine that?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nDid they shave it? The savages. Don\u2019t they know how much he likes his brown locks? It’s my favorite feature too, among my other favorites of his. I love everything in him. Except this silence.<\/p>In The Eye of The Beholder<\/cite><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\nMy gaze run over his body, stopping at his face. His eyes are closed, but surprise and hope curve my lips into a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What should I do?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\u201cBaby, can you hear me?\u201d I laugh while tears roll down my cheeks. I tighten my hand around his, willing it to move again. It doesn’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The monitor\u2019s rhythmical sound picks its pace. It becomes frantic. I spring on my feet while seizure rocks his unconscious body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSomebody, help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I scream, not able to tear my eyes from his shaking form. Foam coated his intubated mouth. His eyes open a sliver, but I wish they don’t. They are white like a blank page, like the single piercing beep that replaces the frantic signal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Shoves send me away while white, green and blue scrubs take my place. They shut the door in my face, but I already saw everything, the doctor pumping his heart, the nurses fussing around chanting spells I don\u2019t understand, the monitor’s long red line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood in the middle of the corridor. Alone. Because I didn’t lose hope, because we\u2019re young and in love, because we shouldn\u2019t have drifted away. I blink at the closed door, hands numb by my sides until it opens again, allowing the rhythmical beeping to mend the broken pieces of my soul and melt my freezing state. Faces pass by, but I don’t have eyes for them. My gaze outstrips my steps inside the room to assure me that life is still worth living, that it still has a meaning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe\u2019s stable. Go home. You need to rest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hand that clutches my arm drops, when I walk inside the room not providing an answer. I drag the chair to its previous place next to the bed. I throw my battered body on it, taking his hand in mine. I rest my cheek on his palm, savoring the little warmth that’s still there. The birds chirp by the window while the branches sway at the rhythm of the breeze. If I stare long enough, he\u2019ll wake up, or I\u2019ll wake up to find it all a dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If only it were a dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\nMy gaze outstrips my steps inside the room to assure me that life is still worth living, that it still has a meaning.<\/p>In The Eye of The Beholder<\/cite><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"They think I\u2019m depressed because I refuse to leave this bed. I\u2019m not. I put the tray on the table next to me. They want me to eat, but I don\u2019t need food. The birds chirp on the tree at the window in front of me. If I stare long enough, the voices of the<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":4852,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[23,31],"tags":[10,32,8,33,7,34],"class_list":{"0":"post-246","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-romance","8":"category-short-stories","9":"tag-clean-fiction","10":"tag-featured","11":"tag-fiction","12":"tag-picks","13":"tag-short-story","14":"tag-trending"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=246"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4850,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/246\/revisions\/4850"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4852"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=246"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=246"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goodcompanylit.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=246"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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