A Theatrical Performance Of An Intimate Moment

Part 7

"When can we see her?" Louis begs, anxious.

The doctor is apprehensive.

"I can take you through now, but I do have to warn you. She doesn't look like she normally would. It can be very confronting if you're not ready for it."

Louis and Matty nod, desperate to be with her, and she feels numb as they walk through the intensive care unit. She doesn't want to see her nightmares brought to life. Doesn't want to see if what she dreamt up was correct or if reality was truly worse.

"She's not awake, but you can talk to her if you'd like," the doctor offers them before pulling back the curtain.

Nothing could've prepared her for what she saw. Louis breaks apart immediately, and Matty is stoic. Tubes and wires run all over the bed into various machines surrounding the room. A heartbeat monitor hums a steady beep every few seconds, and a cannula pumps oxygen into Denise's lungs.

Her sons sit on a chair on either side of her bed. Louis lays his head down and places Denise's hand across his scalp, her long nails lay limply in his hair as he sniffles.

Matty brushes Denise's hair away from her forehead, pressing a kiss to her bruised skin. Her body is mangled, and her skin is grey and swollen. Her eyes, normally covered in black eyeliner, were bare, and there was no shiny red polish on her fingers anymore. She didn't even look like Denise.

Brittany backs out of the room, lying about getting a cup of tea but the boys don't even look up. Her lungs are tightening, and the lights are too bright. She was devastated, she was angry, and couldn't comprehend why this had happened at all. Denise shouldn't be there. She didn't deserve this.

Bracing her hands on her knees, she takes gulping breaths outside of the ward. She doesn't know what Matty and Louis would do if Denise didn't survive this. She didn't know what she would do. She'd already lost one mother and couldn't do it again.

Sliding down the wall, she tries to calm herself and focuses on breathing. It takes ages before she's able to get in a clean lungful of air, and even then, she can't bring herself to go back into the ward, staring a hole into the wall opposite her and letting her mind rest in the memories of days in Cheshire past.

"Britt?"

Matty kneels in front of her, his hands holding her forearms and concern coating every inch of his face.

"I'm ok," she breathes out.

"You sure?" He double-checks, and she nods.

He grabs her hands, pulling her from the ground and dusting off her (his) sweater. He puts an arm over her shoulders and steers her towards the coffee machine. Lincoln and Louis join them after she's taken her first boiling sip, the nurses having kicked them out of the room so they can change Denise's dressings.

They sit in the waiting room once again. Brittany is in the middle of the two boys, Matty's hand resting on her thigh and Louis's sniffling as he texts his girlfriend. She stares straight ahead. She doesn't feel like she's there, totally disassociating as she drinks the awful brew.

~~~

After midnight, she can hear the telltale sounds of the kettle boiling and a porcelain mug clinking onto the bench. A deep cough breaks through the white noise, and she knows it's Matty. Brittany throws the covers off herself and pads down the hallway quietly.

They'd driven home from the hospital earlier that evening in complete silence. She'd sat in the backseat, staring out the window into the dark sky. All she could think about were the tubes under Denise's skin. Her mind couldn't help but conjure the images of doctors and nurses slicing the older woman open to mend her. She felt herself turn green as her stomach twisted. Pictures of blood sloshing out between every incision and needles prodding grey skin flashed in her mind's eye like strobe lights.