Still Beating Jennifer Hartmann

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Corabelle."

I can hear my name being called from the other side of the shoreline.

I hate that dreadful name, and yet, it sounds so much sweeter flickering across his tongue. My hands wave around in the air, trying to grab his attention. "Dean!"

His head twists in every direction, until he spots me running towards him in the sand. "There you are," he says, a devilish grin lifting on his mouth. "I thought I lost you."

I leap into his arms and he catches me right beneath my thighs. Our noses kiss, my smile matching his. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Promise?"

My head bobs as I lean in to caress his lips with mine. I pull back, searching his eyes. "Are we going to be okay?"

Dean plants another kiss against my forehead, then sets me back down, my toes disappearing into the sand. He places his hand over my heart, while reaching for my own hand and placing it against his. With my hand to his chest, and his to mine, our heartbeats vibrating through our fingertips, he whispers down at me, "They're still beating. As long as they're beating, we're okay."

My smile broadens as tears coat my eyes. I'm about to reply when I hear my name being echoed across the beach again.

"Corabelle."

Dean releases a sigh, and it evaporates on a salty breeze that sweeps through. "It's time to go," he says wistfully.

"But I like it here."

He cups my cheek in his palm, grazing his thumb along my skin. "We'll come back."

"Corabelle."

My eyelids flutter, rejecting the artificial light spilling into my irises. The poetic sound of ocean waves transforms into angry beeps and buzzes, humming machines, and jumbled voices. My lips are dry and chapped as I part them to speak. "Dean?"

I'm met with a moment of silence before a familiar touch strokes my hair back. "It's me, sweetheart."

"Dad?"

Another presence nears the edge of my bed where I'm lying beneath itchy sheets, hooked up to needles and monitors. "Oh, Cora, baby," my mother says as she sits beside my father.

I blink, willing their blurry faces to come into view. "How did I get here?"

I try to remember the events leading up to this moment. I try to recall the reason I'm lying in a hospital bed with my parents looming over me with tearful faces.

"You overdosed on your sleeping pills. Dean went to your house to check on you and found you unconscious. He called 9-1-1," my mother tells me. "Oh, sweetie."

She drapes herself over my stomach and starts sobbing as nurses begin to filter in, poking and prodding me.

Oh, God.

Memories trickle through me, and I feel sick.

I wanted to die.

I genuinely wanted to die.

Tears brim in my eyes, and I can hear my heart monitor start to climb as my breathing escalates. I lie there, dazed and horrified, while a nurse relays information to my parents in a voice that sounds like the adults in Charlie Brown. I wonder if I'm still underwater.

After the nurses check my vitals and file out, I glance up at my mother standing at my bedside. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"Honey, none of that matters right now," she replies, placing her hand against my shoulder. "We'll talk later. You just need to get better."