There you were. Laying on the bed, motionless, hooked up to wires. The constant beeping of your heart consumes me.
Doctors rush in and out, taking vitals, adjusting your medications, but I stay there. My hand in yours, tears staining my face. Your little brother came in. He talked to you about school and about his crush. He said he's used to you in the hospital by now.
I see your mom every once in a while. She comes in to talk to doctors or check your papers before she runs off to do her daily chores. She's tired. She hasn't been sleeping much recently.
Our friends have come to say hi. Although you don't respond. They tell you all about the new gossip, the annoying teachers, the homework. Everything. As if you were talking right back. I don't understand how they do it.
Your dad came. Once. When you were first admitted. He said he couldn't bare to see you like this, then ran out and didn't come back.
It kills me to see you vulnerable. To see this disease slowly ripping away at your body. To see it slowly defeating you. You fight so hard. You've fought for so long.
It was bad this time. Taking you out. It was like a boxing match. Round one. Lasted a year, but you beat it. Round two. Worse than before, but only lasted six months. Round three. Worse than ever, and they tried a new medication. That lasted two and a half year. And now, round four. You fainted one day at school. You've been admitted to hospital for a month and counting. You still haven't woken up. They're now calling it a coma.
The cancer is about win. And I can't bare to watch the KO. Because there's only one winner in boxing. And it's not going to be you this time.
"You should go sweetie. She'll be okay." Your mom says sweetly. I look at you again, memorizing every detail of your face before nodding.
"I'll be back after school tomorrow." I whisper standing up. Your mom gives me a big hug before nodding. I see the tears in her eyes as she looks between me and you.
"You really love her. Don't you?" She asked, holding your hand.
"Of course. How couldn't I. She's perfect." I smile, remembering every single thing we've done since I met you in the hospital hall.
It's been two years since that day.
Since the day I was diagnosed with heart disease. The day my whole world came crashing down. Also the day that everything made sense.
Thing is, they can fix me. Oh how I wish I could switch with you. I would swap any day in a heartbeat just to make sure you're better.
They say they have a heart. There's a heart ready for me. All I need to do is agree. But I can't when you look like this. I can't be better when you're so close to the end. I have two days.
"They have a heart for me." I whisper and your mom looks at me, amazed.
"That's amazing. When is your transplant?" She asks. I look at you, wanting to cry.
"I haven't confirmed it yet." I mutter, and her face falls.
"Do it. That's all she would want you to do." She tells me, hugging me. I smile, letting out a breath.
"Thank you." Is all it takes before I know I'm free.
