Love Bird.

The Dark Side of the Moon

I paced the floor, in my mind I was trying to remember the sound of her voice. That smug smile she always gave me. The way she felt in my arms. The hospital teemed with life, gurneys skittering around me like a road block, but I couldn't sit. 

"Victor," Logan sighed from the chair on the other side of the room, "Come on man, you gotta eat something. It's been three days."

I looked at him, and I'm sure my face was crazed. Eat? While she was in there dying? Eat?

Logan's face was just as haggard as mine, his hair in a greasy disarray, eyes sunken from no sleep. We'd let her down. We'd let her into the hands of that devil. Why did we follow that stupid plan of hers? Why didn't her father come sooner? Why did we wait? All I had to show for it was a measly gunshot wound in my arm. Logan was bruised and battered. 

"She'd want you to eat, Vic," Logan reminded me, his voice gentle, if not a little hoarse.

This paused my pacing. I stood there, staring down the hall at the ICU doors she laid behind, still critically injured, suffering because of me. But he was right. She'd slap me on the back of the head and tell me I was making her feel worse. I knew that. But the guilt that clawed at my insides was making me sick. I couldn't imagine trying to force food down. 

I remembered finding her there, bleeding out on the floor, barely alive. It was all I could do not to scoop her up and scream for someone to help. I had to put pressure on her wound. She wouldn't wake up. She wouldn't breathe. It took them hours to resuscitate her. 

"Victor!" I was so lost in my memories that I realized, Jean was in front of me. She had her coat and a duffel bag in hand, and Mom was behind her. 

"Oh," Was all I could say, as her mother and Kent came in soon after, with bags of their own packed to the brim. 

"Come here," Jean grabbed my hand, and led me like a lost sheep back to the chairs.

Mom handed me a cup of something. I thought at first it was coffee, but when I mindlessly took a sip, it took a second to wrap my head around the fact that it was soup. Chicken soup. 

"Drink that," She said, as Jean forced me into a seat. 

I looked at her, as though the words she was speaking was gibberish. "Victor, she's going to be alright, okay?" Jean assured me. "She's too stubborn to die, you know her."

I didn't answer. I stared at the cup of soup, and wondered if I'd ever see her smile again. She didn't deserve this. 

"Victor," Mom called, and I looked up slowly, unable to shake this dreamlike feeling. "Come here, honey."

She called me over to the loveseat she sat upon, and I slowly stood. I walked over as she beckoned me, and sat down next to her. She pulled me close, taking my head and gently coaxing it onto her shoulder. 

"Just relax baby. I know she'll be alright. I know she will." 

I laid there against her, eyes welling with tears, as they slowly, and silently rolled down my face. She stroked my hair, and I closed my eyes. "It's my fault, Mom."

"No," She denied, with a firm voice.

"It is," I sniffled, throat growing thick with grief. "It is my fault. I should have protected her. I should have been there. It should be me on that gurney."

"You stop that right now," She pulled my face up to look at her, and my tears flowed now, as guilt consumed me. "It's not your fault, it's no one's fault but that horrible man. You saved her life, Victor. She loves you."

Sobs broke free, and I crumbled into Mom's arms. She held me tight to her, rocking me as we waited. Somewhere between the sobs, I fell asleep.

It must have been hours later, because when I awoke, Logan was shaking me. I was curled up on the loveseat with a jacket thrown over me. I immediately came awake, as he said,