That Boy [bxb] - sequel to P.B.

Day eleven

Day Eleven

Monday 

For the rest of my Sunday, I sit and stare at the shell of my boyfriend, waiting.

Today, I watch his favourite movie, played aloud for him to hear. I hold his hand the whole time, my thumb encircling the back of his hand over and over. I had cut his nails after I noticed they had grown. He wouldn't want to wake up with talons, I think he'd be mortified.

My eyes flicker up and down his body, watching for any sign of movement or gaining of awareness. It is a constant battle of desperation and agitation; I spend hours sitting by his bedside, expectant of any type of sign.

Nothing else happens. The disappointment that floods my every movement as I am pulled away from Matty at the end of visiting hours is evident to all those who suffer through watching me.

I toss and turn in bed at night, my mind racing and interchanging through many different emotions: guilt, excitement, sorrow, love, and disheartenment. It is ironic how much love I give him because I don't give much love to myself.

I miss laying my head on his chest and listening to his heart beating, beating... beating... It still does that now, of course, yet it has changed, morphing into a rhythm of artificiality. I know that it is not feigned, the only thing being guided by machines is his breathing, but I don't know. It doesn't feel as though he's alive. Not that I think of him as dead, he is just... dormant.

I am exhausted by morning, every ounce of energy has leaked from my body.

"How are you feeling, Tesoro?" Tina asks me as I beeline straight for the coffee machine. She is in her scrubs, the ones with turtles today, and putting a sandwich in her bag. I don't know how she can eat at work knowing her son is in the ICU, not too far away. I don't know how she can even go to work at all.

I am dramatic with my sigh, "I don't know."

Tina gives me an encouraging smile, "That's okay."

"Are you doing okay?" I ask her. I wonder how many people have asked her how she is doing as opposed to how many people have asked her how Matty is doing. Erica went through the same thing after Chloe was born. A lot of questions about the baby but hardly any about the mother.

"I am not too sure. I am so tired," She tells me honestly. I feel trusted and I appreciate it.

"That's okay."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something. But it is very private."

"Yeah, of course--"

I am cut off when Luca enters the room, "C'è più latte, mamma? (Is there more milk, mum?)"

He sounds just as Matty does when he speaks his familial language. Hearing it makes my heart constrict in my chest; it feels almost as if Matty is in the room with us. I feel a great urge to grab him and hold him to me, but I can't, he's not here.

I feel like this every time Luca speaks in Italian. He never used to very often, not as much as Matty had done and his siblings do, but ever since Matty became ill he's been speaking to Tina solely in the language. Eva and I speculate that it is because of his guilt.

"Si," Tina responds. "I have got to get going to work now. I will see you this evening."

"Give Matty a kiss for me," I request.

"Of course."

She kisses my cheek, then Luca's, and then she's out of the door.

"How come you're not going to hospital with her today?" Luca asks.