Eddie's POV:
It's been a week since I've woken up in my hospital bed, my arm in a sling on my chest. My arm is still, unfortunately, in my sling, but I'm feeling much improved. I'm desperate to get out of my bed and see Ripley. The updates from Wayne and her mom aren't enough.
The guys stop by almost every day, noisily sitting around my bed. They talk about everything and nothing all at once, as if we are back in the school cafeteria and not in a hospital. Steve comes as well after checking in on Chrissy. He hasn't bothered to shave his face over the last week, a small mustache and beard starting to grow. Dustin particularly hates his facial hair and uses every chance he can to remind him.
"The beard is alright, but that mustache makes you look like a real creep," Dustin groans. "What do you think Chrissy will say when she sees it?"
Steve runs a hand over his face thoughtfully before shaking his head.
"Why is it only bad when I have facial hair? Eddie has a shadow," Steve gestures over to me and Dustin nods.
"But Eddie is injured," he argues.
"Besides," I start, a smug grin on my face. "Ripley doesn't mind a few bristles on the saddle."
Steve rolls his eyes and looks away, obviously disgusted and I try not to laugh as Dustin takes a moment to try to puzzle it together. When he finally comprehends what I am saying, his face turns a deep crimson and he looks like he is going to be ill.
"That's disgusting," he sputters, not looking at me.
"Says you," I chuckle. "Don't knock it till you try it. I'm sure Suzie wouldn't mind eventually."
"It's maybe a little early for them to be thinking about that," Steve says, smacking my noninjured arm and I snort.
"I definitely started thinking about it at about his age," I say, looking up at Steve and he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Yea, well, you're a neanderthal," he huffs and I laugh again.
My nurse walks in before we can carry on, a stout elderly woman named Fanny. She smiles politely at Steve and Dustin as she moves beside my bed, looking over my chart.
"How are you feeling today, Edward?" She asks.
"Eddie," I correct her. She has been working with me all week and insists on calling me by my actual name. "And I'm feeling fantastic. So great, actually that I think I'm good to go home. Or at the very least good enough to check on my girlfriend in the ICU."
"Well, we will have to let your doctor decide that," she says, her tone not hopeful and my chest fills with dread at the idea of being kept in this bed any longer.
"Is there any way you could put in a good word for me Fanny?" I say, batting my eyelashes dramatically at the nurse, making her snort. "I really can't stand just sitting here any longer."
"Maybe I can convince him to let me wheel you up there on my break," she offers, a small smile on her lips and my whole face lights up.
"But I make no promises," she hastily says before I can get too excited. "I'm not risking getting in trouble for you, Edward."
She turns to the door and starts to leave.
"You're a Saint Fanny!" I call after her. "The Catholic church should be banging down your door any day now."
I hear her laughter ring out from the hall and I sink into my mattress with a sigh, really hoping she can pull some strings. Steve and Dustin shake their heads, exasperated by my antics, but I don't care. I'd do anything to see Ripley. Even if it meant cutting off my arm to get out of here faster.
"They've been doing fairly well," Steve says quietly. "Who knows, maybe they'll be out of the ICU soon."
"I hope so," Dustin pipes up. "We've all missed them."
I nod at that, looking between their sad expressions. It's been hard to not be selfish and wallow in my own self-pity at not being able to see Ripley when I know that I am not the only one missing her. Robin has stopped by to see me a few times and I can practically see the hallow emptiness in the back of her eyes, a constant reminder that a big part of her life is broken.
Steve at least gets to see Chrissy, but he isn't on Ripley's visitation list. Her mom has kindly let Wayne see her in my place, but other than that, she has been safeguarded from everyone.
Ripley's hypothermia has been treated and she has been doing really well in that aspect. She's been able to maintain a normal body temperature and they have been able to taper back on the therapy they were offering. Their biggest concern has been and still is her head wound. When Jason took her from the mall, he hit her on the head with a bat. He struck her so hard he caused an intracranial hematoma. Her mom explained it to me as a collection on blood inside of the skull.
Ripley was rushed to surgery as soon as she entered the hospital. They are hopeful that because she is young and because she was still talking to me inside of Benny's Burgers, her prognosis will be good.
Her mom sat with me the night following her surgery and cried. It was the first time I had ever seen Mrs. Marro completely break down. She wept into my mattress as she hunched over, clutching my sheets in her fists.
"They shaved her hair," she wept and at first, I couldn't understand why they would or why that would upset her. After a moment, I realized she was just crying to cry, trying to feel something in all of this. I placed my hand on her arm, just letting her know I was there.
"She'll most likely never dance again," her mom eventually sighed, sitting up and wiping her face with trembling hands. My heart clenched painfully in my chest at the idea of Ripley waking up to this reality. "I don't know how to tell her. It's been her dream since she learned to walk."
"She always thought you hated the idea," I said softly, worried that I might upset her further. Her mom huffed and shook her head, her eyes puffy.
"It's definitely not the career I invisioned for her, but that was because I didn't want her to ever struggle. When I was younger, my family lived in poor houses. My way out of that was her father, but he turned out to be a different kind of terrible. I swore I would make something for us so she would never have to go through that. I just worry that she will take a wrong turn. It's what mothers do. I do the same thing about you. I would call your uncle every week while we were away to check on you."
My eyes widened in surprise as her gaze lifted to meet mine. I never knew. She lifted her hand to rest it on my cheek and she smiled sadly.
"You can't begin to imagine how proud I am. Neither one of you came to me and told me directly you were dating, but I always knew you loved one another. I knew you would become a lovely young man and I wouldn't have anyone else care for my daughter. You know that, don't you?"
I nod softly, my own tears rising.
"I'm sorry we never told you," I said and she shook her head, waving me off.
"Don't worry about it. In my pursuit of financial stability, I lost sight of what's important and I've drown myself in work. I'm barely home and I've missed so much. When I get both of you out of here, I plan to fix that."
"I think Ripley would love that," I told her honestly and her lower lip wobbled a little, as though she was going to cry again. She leaned forward to kiss my forehead before she left the room.
I remember laying back and staring at the ceiling for a long time, wondering how far Ripley was from me and wishing I could rip myself free from my monitors and run to her.
I'm pulled from my memories by Uncle Wayne entering my room. He looks between Steve, Dustin, and I with a tired expression before his eyes lock on mine. There's something in them that makes me freeze, my heart speeding up.
"Hello boys," he says to Steve and Dustin. "Do you both mind if I have a moment with my nephew?"
Steve and Dustin share a loaded look before nodding, waving at me before heading towards the door.
"Chrissy's older sister was looking for you," Wayne calls after Steve and he nods as they exit.
Wayne stands awkwardly at the end of my bed, just as he has done every single day. He seems so out of place in my hospital room and it's obvious he isn't sure what to do with himself either. His eyes look troubled, though, and my stomach churns with worry.
"What is it? Is Ripley alright?" I ask, unable to take his silence and he sighs. He clutches the frame of my bed, his knuckles white.
"She's had a seizure today," he tells me and my head spins. I reach for the IV placed in my hand and start ripping at the tape, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.
"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?" He demands, surging forward to stop me.
"I'm going to see her," I say frantically. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep getting bad news and sitting here waiting to hear something different. I hate that I have to hear about this stuff from other people. I need to be with her."
Wayne looks down at my face with his eyebrows creased. He can tell that I am completely serious and he wouldn't put it past me to do something stupid. He nods slowly and pats the hand still clutching my IV, giving me a stern look.
"Let me go talk to your doctor," he says and I give him a skeptical look.
"No," he says, shaking his head. "You're right, Ed. You shouldn't have to hear about this stuff from us. You have been recovering really well and I don't see why I can't wheel you up there in a chair to see her during the day. They have medical personnel all over this building in case anything goes wrong and I can keep an eye on your bandages."
I give him an appreciative look as he straightens and turns to the door, only stopping to shoot me a warning look over his shoulder.
"Don't go anywhere until I'm back. And leave that damn IV in."
I flop back against the mattress, my head spinning. I close my eyes and a million different memories skirt across my closed lids.
Ripley swinging high on the swings, her blond curls swaying around her face. She must have been no older than five. Ripley at seven or eight, defending me on the playground, screaming at a group of bullies as I desperately pull her hand, wanting to run away. When we were ten and Ripley got her first bass, her blond brows furrowed in concentration and her tongue sticking slightly out as she learned the chords. Or when we were thirteen and we went to our first middle school dance. I had been too nervous to ask her to go with me and even more nervous when I saw her in her baby blue dress. I spent the whole night sulking as she danced with her girl friends and had a good time.
I remember when she moved away, exactly what she was wearing the day she said goodbye to me. I remember how angry and hurt I was and how I refused to promise to stay in touch, turning cold to protect myself. I remember that she cried and after her car disappeared around the corner, so did I.
All the memories over the last few months swarm back as well, filling my heart with an achy happiness that is foreign to me. I never knew joy could taste so bitter.
"Get up, boy," Wayne says, startling me and I jostle upright. I blink the remaining tears from my eyes and wipe hastily at my face with the back of my sleeve. "We're going to see your girl."
I jump to my feet, only wincing slightly at the ache in my shoulder. Wayne ducks out for a second to grab the wheelchair from the hall and I plop down eagerly in it. He instructs me to hold on to my IV pole with my free hand so I can pull it along with us. We stroll out into the hall and Fanny has us sign a form so she knows where Wayne is taking me and at what time. She winks down at me, a grin on her lips.
"See you soon, Edward. I hope you enjoy your visit."
I grin back at her as Wayne steers me down the hall to the elevator. He pushes me inside and hits the button for the seventh floor. His hands move to comb through my hair and I tense, momentarily surprised.
"They keep everything pretty sterile up there, so they might ask you to wear a cap. I'm going to tie your hair up just in case. Hold still."
Wayne expertly combs through my curls with his fingers and slides a hair tie around the strands, something he hasn't done for me in a long time. He always keeps a spare tie on him though, just in case I need one. It's one of the many things I love about my uncle. He pats my right shoulder softly as the elevator door opens and ducks down, so he is near my ear as he pushes forward.
"Make sure to wash your hands before and after you are with her. If you have to cough, cover your mouth. And they like things to be quiet around here, so be on your best behavior."
I look up at him, glaring sideways through my lashes and he shrugs as if he didn't just scold me like a preschooler.
"Just gotta be sure," he says defensively. "Faith would kill me if anything happened to either one of you on my watch."
I laugh softly, only recently understanding the weight of Mrs. Marro's protectiveness.
We wheel up to the ICU reception counter and check in. Ripley is in room 710. The walk there is short. Wayne pushes me inside and directly towards the sink. I wash my hands, but my eyes are only on her.
She's hooked up to a bunch of machines. They beep melodically around her as she rests. Her hair is buzzed down to her scalp and I can see where they made their incision underneath her brain monitors.
Her mom had said they needed to cut all of her hair because most of it was frozen, other parts caked in blood and God knows what else. I know she'll hate it when she wakes up, but I think she's beautiful all the same. Wayne pushes me so I'm beside her bed and then he pats my back once before he leaves to wait in the hall.
I've never been with Ripley like this. Sure, I was with her in the hospital when she got her tonsils removed and a few months ago as well. But those were visits in a completely different ballpark from this. I reach out and take her hand, careful not to jostle anything as I stroke it softly. I feel so tiny and helpless as I look at all of the screens beside her, spewing information I can't understand.
A doctor walks in, looking down at a chart at first, but his eyes drift up to see me sitting here. His eyebrows lift and he looks between Ripley and I for a moment before moving to the sink, a welcoming smile on his face.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Bishop. I've been working with Ripley since her arrival to the ICU."
"Hi," I say softly. "I'm Eddie. Ripley's boyfriend."
"Ah," Dr. Bishop nods, knowingly and gestures towards my arm with his chin as he moves towards Ripley's machines. "How has your shoulder been healing? I heard you were shot during her rescue."
"I'm still sore, but much better compared to when I first came in."
Dr. Bishop opens Ripley's eyelids and shines a light in her sapphire eyes. They contract and he nods with a small smile, making my eyebrows furrow.
"Why do you do that?" I ask and he glances over at me before returning to writing things down on his clipboard.
"To make sure the brain is still alert and there is still activity going on. The brain controls the pupils, so if it responds to stimulation, it's a good sign."
I lean back in my chair, nodding gently to what he is saying. He continues to peek over at me as he scribbles on his paper, a knowing grin on his lips.
"Do you have any other questions for me?" He asks and a million come to mind. I sigh.
"Her mom said she most likely will never dance again," I start and he nods slowly. "Are there other things she may not be able to do?"
"With a brain bleed like hers, it is hard to say," Dr. Bishop says honestly. "The hope is always a full recovery with no issues, but sometimes that doesn't happen. She may have some difficulty with muscle control and mobility. She may suffer from memory loss or have trouble retaining new information in the future. The likelihood of these things go up the longer she is asleep."
"She had her first seizure today?" I ask and he looks at me sadly.
"Her first here. I believe she had several while she was abducted."
The information is hard to hear, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Mrs. Marro and Wayne have been extremely closelipped about everything, wanting to shelter me during my recovery. But this is what I needed. I needed to be here with her, facing this.
"Seizures can be expected with this kind of injury. If I'm being frank," Dr. Bishop says, clutching his clipboard against his side. "Her prognosis can still be good if she wakes up soon. From what I heard from the EMT that bought her in, her mother, and Sheriff Hopper, she's a fighter. She's young and healthy and I think she can push through if she wants to. Living is harder than dying, though, and she's going to have to want it."
His words sting on the way out, but I know what he is saying is true. Ripley is strong and I know she can do this. Now, to just figure out how to help her wake up and fight this with me. I thank Dr. Bishop as he leaves and turn to look down at Ripley, a gorgeous statue under a handful of tubes.
"You're not leaving me, damnit," I say, my heart hammering in my chest. "Don't you dare."