.Gabriel's POV.
"Are you ever going to take that sweatshirt off?"
I looked up from my bowl of cereal. My mom and dad were sitting across from me at the kitchen table eating their own breakfast for dinner. Well, my dad was eating, at least. My mom had taken to staring at me instead. I stopped swirling my Cheerios around in the milk. I looked at her timidly, unsure about what she was talking about.
"What?" I asked. I'd heard her, but maybe I'd wanted her to think that I'd been so infatuated with my dinner I hadn't.
"That sweatshirt. You've been wearing it for the past three days. Don't you want me to wash it?" my mom asked. I immediately dropped the chilled silver spoon from my hand; it clattered noisily against the side of the bowl.
"No," I declined, quickly becoming filled with panic. Just the thought of taking off Evan's sweatshirt made my muscles tense and my hands sweat. I couldn't risk losing his scent to the washing machine, not when it was the only thing I really had left of him outside of the hospital.
"Gabriel, it'll only be a couple minutes until it's fresh again. Your dad has to throw in a load of laundry anyways."
"No," I insisted, feeling a tiny bit insulted by her persistence. Didn't she know whose sweatshirt it was? Didn't she know that it was the only thing that helped me fall asleep at night, if only for an hour or two? Who did she think she was, trying to take the sweatshirt away from me? It wasn't even dirty; it wasn't like I constantly got food on it or wore it around school. As much as it pained me not to wear it to school, I didn't dare risk contaminating the sweatshirt's scent with the hundreds of others there.
"Just leave him be," sighed my dad, not looking at me as he finished scooping the last bits of his Cheerios into his mouth. "It's Evan's sweatshirt."
My mom pursed her lips. "It's Evan's?"
"It's his football sweatshirt. Didn't you see the 'Ricci' on the back?" my dad explained, motioning at me with his spoon. I shrunk back in my seat just in case the milk from his spoon splashed at me.
"Oh," said my mom, craning her neck to try and get a look at the orange lettering. "I was wondering why it was so oversized."
"It's not that oversized," I mumbled. "It fits fine."
"It practically swallows you up, Gabriel," she attempted to joke, grinning playfully.
"So?" I nearly snapped. I didn't know why she was making such a big deal about this. Her eyes widened from my tone before she shook her head in disapproval and went back to her half-eaten cereal bowl.
I stared at my cereal, purrowing while doing so. I had barely touched it, having eaten only one or two spoonfuls. I just haven't been hungry lately.
"Eat your dinner," my dad said after another moment of staring. I didn't look up at him, just kept swirling my cereal in circles.
"I'm not hungry."
"When's the last time you've eaten?"
I didn't even attempt to think. "I don't know."
"Gabriel, give me an exact time or the sweatshirt's going into the laundry."
That made me glance up at him. "Um," I said, trying to remember. My brain was a little fuzzy; from tiredness or from hunger, I wasn't sure. "Yesterday morning? I think?"
My mother was shaking her head at her cereal as my dad stared hard at me. "Yesterday morning? Do you think your health is a game, young man? What, are you anorexic now too?"
"What? N-no! I'm not!" I spluttered out in surprise. Why would he even think that?
"Then why aren't you eating? You've been getting thinner and thinner, too, don't think we haven't noticed. Are you sleeping? How long did you sleep last night?"
"Why are you guys interrogating me? I haven't even done anything wrong!"
"You think your health is a game, Gabriel?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his seat. I could tell this was going to get heated pretty soon. "You think not eating, not sleeping and disappearing for hours into the night is healthy?"
"I'm not disappearing into the night! I'm at the hospital, with Evan, you guys know that."
"Gabriel, don't you think you're spending a bit too much time up there?" my mother tried to get me to understand, but I just stared at her because, um, no? "You should give the Riccis a break for a little bit. They want to spend time with their son."
And I want to spend time with my boyfriend! I thought angrily, my fists buzzing beneath the table. I couldn't even speak, though; I was too flabbergasted by this change of events. I thought my parents had liked Evan. I thought they'd supported our relationship.
"They don't mind me being there," I said, my eyes jerking between the two of them. "They even gave me a bracelet so I could go back in the ICU with him. I promised Evan I'd visit him everyday, why are you guys trying to make me break that promise?"
"We're not trying to do anything," my mom explained, "we're just saying that maybe you should take a break, is all. The school year is almost over, you should be focusing on studying for your finals instead of some boy."
"He's not just some boy," I spat, the word a poison on my tongue. She'd said it so trivially, as if our relationship wasn't even a real thing, as if Evan was just some temporary high school crush. It wasn't, though. Our relationship was anything but. We were too involved with each other for that to be the case.
My dad sat up straighter in his seat. "All we're saying is, give them some space for a bit. You have his sweatshirt, you have his number, you can call now and then and check on how he's doing—"
"No!" I yelled, surprising all of us by shooting out of my chair. "You guys were totally fine with us being with each other everyday when he was out of the hospital, why are you so against it now? He's been there when I needed him, why can't I be there when he needs me? I know it's hard to believe, but he does, he really does need me, and you guys have no idea what you're doing by trying to separate us. You have no idea what you're doing—trying to take me away from him."
"Gabriel . . . " my mom began, but I shook my head.
"You're not—you're not doing this, to me, to him. You're not. I'm going to the hospital—"
"Gabriel," my mom tried again, but I grabbed my filled cereal bowl and poured it into the sink. The milk had turned the Cheerios to mush, anyways.
"I'll be back later," was all I said, but my dad grabbed my shoulder just as I took a step out of the kitchen. I immediately froze up, having not been prepared for the touch. My hands began to quake while the hair on my arms prickled and the back of my neck started to perspire.
"We're trying to help you, Gabriel," my father said, turning me around forcefully. I cowered beneath his grip, attempting to will myself to calm down, reminding myself that it was just my dad, everything was fine.
"How? By making me stay away from the only person who wants to be around me? Great parenting technique," I chuckled bitterly.
"Gabriel, quit it with the attitude," my mom called from her seat in the kitchen. I bit my tongue to shut up; I knew I was pushing my luck with them.
"Listen, Gabriel. Evan's father called while you were at school—he told us that Evan had a surgery this afternoon. The doctors tried to take him off the ventilator for a second time, but it didn't go too well and he almost stopped breathing again."
My blood ran cold. Oh, God, no. Not again. The doctors wanted to get Evan off the ventilator as soon as possible, and had first tried to take him off it two days ago, on Tuesday, but Evan had been unable to breathe by himself so they put it back on. Everyone had been hoping he'd be able to breathe the second time they tried, but I guess not even all the hope in the world could do anything anymore
"They doctors are going to try again tomorrow evening, but if it doesn't work out . . . " my dad trailed off, looking away from my eyes and instead at the floor. My jaw slackened a little.
"They're not going to put him back on it, are they?" I whispered, my bottom lip trembling in fear of the answer. He looked into my eyes for a second, then gave a small, curt nod of his head. After that, I didn't know how to function. How was I supposed to function? How was I supposed to remember how to talk and think if Evan only had one chance left to breathe on his own?
"They can't do that," I said, pulling myself out of his grip and taking two steps backward. "They can't just—just give up on him, just not let him breathe."
"That's not it, Gabriel. His lungs keep filling up with the liquids, it's getting worse. He's not getting any better—" I stumbled another three steps backward, my knees threatening to give out beneath me, "—and there's nothing more the doctors can do."
"Can't they operate? Remove the thing? It's not cancerous, can't they just—"
"His father said he's too weak. He most likely wouldn't wake up from the anaesthesia."
My chest was rising and falling rapidly by then. Despite my lungs' attempts, I couldn't breathe.
"So they're just gonna let him die?" I squeaked out, hyperventilating, fingers twitching relentlessly by my sides.
The expression on my dad's face was more bitter than upset. Finally, he gave another dreadful nod of his head, and with that nod went my consciousness. The last things I remembered were my legs giving out and my vision going black, and something that vaguely resembled my dad lunging to catch me.
*
*
I wasn't sure what, exactly, had brought me back to my senses. My vision was blurry and filled with too many different shapes and colors for me to recognize anything. My ears made me hear things as if I were underwater—everything was muted by indistinguishable words, yet there was still sound coming from somewhere in the depths around me.
When my vision finally stopped showing shapes from my tenth grade geometry classes and instead faded to a pale blur of blobs, which soon transformed into solid figures that were only fuzzy around the edges, I was aware of the extreme ache radiating throughout the back of my skull. It felt as if I'd slammed into a brick wall, like I'd headbutted someone with the wrong side of my head. The pain was throbbing and was the only thing I could really feel, aside from the sickening feeling floating around somewhere in my body.
Body, a tiny voice in my head crowed. The sound of the voice didn't have the same underwater effect as the other noises I had heard—which, by the way, were still going on. The more I grew aware of them, the louder they became. You have a body. You can move. Move your body, Gabriel, the clear voice encouraged.
I obeyed it, willing myself to leave the quickly-fading numbness I'd been in. I felt my limbs tingle and the back of my head throb harder.
". . . briel . . . "
"G . . . "
" . . . wa . . . e . . . p . . . "
"Gab . . . el . . . wak . . . p . . . "
Gabriel, wake up.
I blinked my eyes twice to get them to focus. My parents were looking down at me, a familiar look of worry making them look ten years older than they were.
"Gabriel," my mother gasped in relief, immediately leaning down and wrapping her arms around my upper body. The water must've dried up from inside my ears because she sounded normal again. "Oh, sweetheart, are you alright? Is your head okay?"
I was then aware of the pulsing, burning sensation coming from the very back of my skull. It was the same area Evan had always massaged, had allowed his fingertips to gently coarse across in order to put my mind at rest.
Evan.
Oh, God. Evan.
It was all coming back to me then—the argument with my parents, the news about Evan's fate, and me suddenly blacking out. It'd all happened so fast. Evan's health had been deteriorating so fast. He'd been sick for so long, so why was he suddenly falling ill so quickly? And why was my mother pretending that she cared about me when she'd wanted to take my sweatshirt away? Why was my father holding an icepack to my head when he'd been attempting to keep me from seeing Evan?
"Gabriel, talk to me, baby, can you hear me?" My mother was speaking again, acting like my consciousness mattered.
I didn't want to worry her, though. I gave a small nod of my head, my neck screeching in protest as the action made the aching area throb worse.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" My father held up a hand above my face.
"Four," I whispered. He furrowed his brows as my mother shot him a horrified look due to my answer. "Your thumb doesn't count," I explained.
They both smiled a tiny bit, but it only made them look even more exhausted. I thought of Evan's smile, how it never appeared tired around me. His smile was always happy when he saw me—his eyes would light up and crinkle slightly around the corners while his smile lines highlighted his cheekbones. I liked his smile. It made me feel less guilty about my existence.
"You must've fainted," my mother murmured as she carefully brushed my fringe out of my eyes. "You hit your head on the coffee table."
I blinked my eyes a couple more times and slowly pushed myself up onto my elbows. My father's hand followed the back of my head, the icepack cool against the pulsating area of skin.
"You see why we're trying to get you to spend less time with him?" my father asked, though I knew it was only rhetorical. "You're too attached to him, Gabriel. If worse comes to worse for Evan, you're going to be destroyed, and your mother and I don't want that for you."
I stared at the wall instead of either of their eyes. I didn't care if I was destroyed. "I love him," I said, my teeth gritted from building frustration.
"I know you do," my mother chided, the note of pity in her voice hard to miss.
"Then let me be with him." My throat was thick with emotions, and my eyes were not far from their typical watery state. I wanted my parents to stop trying to protect me from this; didn't they realize how much worse they were making things?
They were quiet after that. They just looked at me, then each other, then back at me. I trained my eyes on them for a long moment, the longest amount of eye contact I'd ever attempted to hold. I wanted them to know that I was serious, that I was growing up from the scared little boy they probably thought I still was.
"Alright," my father said, the concern in his eyes never leaving. "I just want you to be happy, Gabriel, and if you say you love him, then you can continue being around him."
I couldn't help the smile on my face, which really wasn't more than a tiny quirk of my lips, but I really was glad they were letting up.
"We only wanted to protect you, Gabriel," my mother murmured, pressing a light kiss to my forehead. I didn't react to it; I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. "We know he means so much to you, and we know you mean a lot to him. We know he's been helping you more than we ever could, and we're so thankful. We just didn't want you to get hurt again."
"I'm fine," I said, and even though we all knew I was far from it, my parents nodded their heads carefully. "Can I please go see Evan tonight?"
My father scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You just fainted and banged your head pretty hard, Gabriel. Stay home tonight. Get some sleep. You can visit him tomorrow."
Although I was still pretty upset about not being able to see Evan that night, I was glad that they weren't going to try and stop me tomorrow. After a couple more minutes of lying on the livingroom floor, the rest of my body began to ache, so I went upstairs. I made my way to my bedroom with a new icepack pressed against the back of my head since the first one had melted.
I didn't bother taking a shower that night. I was afraid I'd end up passing out again—my vision still had a bunch of little black spots whenever I stood up for too long. I climbed into my bed and squished myself against the giant teddy bear Evan had gotten me.
God, I hoped he was okay. I hoped he didn't think that I had forgotten about him. I hoped he wasn't mad at me for breaking my promise.
That night, I didn't sleep. Even with Evan's warm sweatshirt wrapped around me like one of his bear hugs, my head was in too much pain to even think about letting me sleep. It was just there, throbbing, reminding me about how much pain I was in, and how no one was there to take it away.
Nothing in my life ever enjoyed playing out in my favor, did it? Because that'd just be too easy. Because I haven't had it hard enough already. Because I didn't deserve a break or happiness.
Staring up at the blackness of my ceiling, I was really beginning to think I was less than the marigolds.
*
*
"Gabriel, you will not believe what Axel did for me last night," Alana giggled excitedly to me during history class that morning. The teacher had stepped out of the classroom to talk with the principal, so the class took to conversing amongst themselves. I glanced over at Alana to see her emerald orbs shining brightly in the crappy classroom lighting. I wish my eyes could do that.
"Hmm?" I hummed, struggling to give her my full attention. I'd been thinking about Evan nonstop since last night. How was it fair that Alana got to spend time with Axel, but I couldn't be with Evan? Actually, nevermind, it was fair. Alana deserved someone to be happy with. I just wished fate thought I deserved someone like that, too.
"He took me out to the beach last night, but before that we made this whole dinner together to bring up there. It was really nice, and no one ever—no one's ever done something like that with me before. He didn't even try to kiss me or anything, either, and he made sure to have me home exactly at 9o'clock, just like my dad told him."
"He's a good guy," I told her honestly. He was. Axel really adored Alana, and as funny as his crush was, it was also really sweet. Even if he'd been a jerk to me in the beginning, I knew he'd never really meant it, deep down.
"I know, right? Speaking of good guys, how's Evan doing? I tried visiting early this morning, but they said he's in the ICU."
I shrugged. I didn't really want to talk about him at 10AM in the middle of history class. She did have a right to know, though—Evan was Alana's friend, too, and had even been her fake boyfriend at one point. I really didn't want to talk about it, though. I didn't want to tell her about his fifty-fifty chance of living or dying. I didn't want to say it aloud because I didn't want to admit any of it to myself again.
"Not good," I settled on, and even though I could tell she wanted to know more, the sound of my voice clearly told her I wasn't up for explanations.
"Oh," was all she said, sinking slightly in her desk. Right then, the teacher returned to the front of the classroom and called the class back into order. I didn't bother paying attention; nothing really mattered all that much anymore, anyways.
*
*
As soon as school let out, I drove straight to the hospital instead of home. I wanted to get to Evan as soon as possible and have a chance to see him before he went into his final procedure.
When I arrived on the floor of the ICU, Mihael was the first to greet me.
"You're here!" he cheered, pulling me out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened. It was like he'd been waiting for me or something. I could see his mom sitting in one of the chairs by the window. "Man, Evan was up all night waiting for you. I should've given you my number to text me on, to at least let us know that you couldn't make it."
If I hadn't felt like the absolute lowest piece of scum last night, I sure did right then. "I know," I whispered, trying to keep my voice from breaking. "I'm sorry. My parents were—they think I'm getting too attached to him, and they made me stay home. I couldn't sleep at all, either. I feel awful."
Mihael nodded, styled bronze hair bobbing with him. "I can tell. You look terrible. When's the last time you've eaten, dude?"
"Doesn't matter," I said, blinking to clear my vision of all the tiny black dots. "Is Evan awake?"
"He's awake, yeah, but they're having a family moment right now. Dylan finally showed up, the assfuck. He looks worse than you, so don't worry."
"Thanks," I muttered, because Mihael was obviously really good at making me feel better about myself.
"No problem. Let's grab something to eat, yeah? You seriously look like you've lost ten pounds since I've seen you. Evan's gonna kick your butt—as soon as he gets out of that ventilator."
I really didn't have much of an appetite; all I wanted to do was sit next to Evan, hold his hand and tell him to get some sleep so that he wouldn't be tired later in the evening.
Mihael could easily read my thoughts. "They'll be finished up as soon as we're done. We'll be right downstairs."
Reluctantly, I stepped back inside the elevator, Mihael following after me. We went down to the main lobby and went into the tiny sandwich shop located next to the Starbucks we'd gone to before. Against my will, Mihael bought me half a sub-sandwich and a bag of animal crackers. "For dessert," he'd said.
"I'm seventeen, not eight," I mumbled, sitting across from him in the plush lounge chairs set up in the dining area.
"Everybody loves animal crackers," he replied, opening the bag and stuffing four into his mouth. I didn't respond. I rested my head on my arm and watched him devour his own sandwich.
"Come on, you really aren't gonna eat?" he huffed, folding his own arms against his chest. I shook my head and pushed the sandwich toward him. He pushed it right back. "We're not going upstairs until it's finished. Got it?"
I stared at him to see if he was joking or not. He wasn't; he looked totally for real, playful smirk wiped from his mouth and dark eyes anything but lighthearted. With a grumble, I unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite of it. It wasn't that bad, and it wasn't until I swallowed the first bite that I realized how, exactly, hungry I was.
I didn't look at him while I ate, but I could feel his eyes on me. Evan never watched me eat, and I never realized how much I appreciated it until Mihael did the exact opposite. He was probably watching to see if I was really eating or just hiding the food under my tongue.
"See, not so bad, right?" he said when I finished the last of the sandwich. I felt very full and bloated since the sandwich had definitely been one of the biggest things I'd eaten in one sitting.
"Can we go?" I asked instead of answering him.
"Eat your animal crackers."
"I'm going to puke if I eat one more thing," I told him, serious. He rolled his eyes.
"Fine, you can save them for later." He stood up from his seat and I followed, trying to control myself to walk instead of sprinting to the ICU. My legs settled for a light speed-walk, and Mihael grinned while following me into the elevator.
"It's kinda cute, you know, how much you guys like each other," he commented as the elevator rose slowly.
"Um," was all I said, unsure of how to take the (what I assumed to be) compliment.
The elevator doors opened after that. Mihael's mother was gone from her seat in the chair, which meant she'd probably gone back to Evan's room. Mihael got the same impression, and the two of us made our way down the ICU's quiet corridor.
I entered the hospital room first to see Evan's parents, Mihael's mother and Dylan. Dylan had his back towards us and was sitting next to Evan's sleeping figure, head down and shaggy brown hair covering his eyes. He didn't look up when the two of us arrived, but the other adults offered me a tired smile. It seemed that those small, insincere, exhausted quirks of their lips was the only type of smile an adult knew how to give.
"You guys should get something to eat," Mihael murmured to them. "We'll come get you when he wakes up. He'll be alright for a couple hours."
"He's right," said Mihael's mother, looking at Evan's parents carefully. "We should get some coffee, wake ourselves up a bit. It's gonna be a long night."
Evan's mother seemed reluctant to leave, but her husband guided her slowly out of the room, his hands light on her shoulders. Mihael's mother kissed her son's cheek and followed the others out.
"How's he doin', Dyl Pickle?" Mihael asked, going over to stand next to Dylan's side. I stayed in my spot by the doorway, watching Evan's oddly discolored face.
"I don't know," Dylan muttered. His voice was hoarse as he lifted his head up to look at Evan. "He's sleeping."
"I see," Mihael hummed with a nod of his head.
Dylan shifted in his seat. "I'm the worst big brother in the world," he said, and I heard the bitter smile in his voice that was anything but happy.
"You're not that bad," Mihael responded, ruffling the older man's hair.
"He thinks so." Dylan motioned towards Evan with a small flick of his hand. He then turned in his seat and locked his bloodshot eyes on me, and I was surprised by how completely ravaged he appeared. He had a 5o'clock shadow covering the entire lower half of his face, and his dark eyes were ringed red and watery. His clothes appeared dirty and rumpled, like he hadn't changed them in a couple days. "Did he ever say anything?" he asked me, and this was a totally different side to the older brother I was seeing.
"L-like what?" I asked, my voice shaky with nervousness. This was the first time Dylan had ever directly spoken to me.
"About how terrible I am. About how much he hates me."
I didn't know how to respond. What was I supposed to tell him? Yes, actually, he did. All the time, in fact. You really are a horrible excuse of an older brother. I didn't want to make the guy feel worse than he probably did. I also didn't want to lie to him because he had hurt Evan by forcing him into going to parties he didn't want to, beating up on him, and even making fun of him for dating me. Dylan had even walked out on Evan that one day in the hospital when Evan had needed his big brother most. Despite all that, I knew that Dylan wasn't a terrible person, and Evan was just too angry with him to understand.
The longer I kept silent, the quicker the hopeful look in Dylan's eyes broke down into regret. When several tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes, he turned away.
"Fuck," he whispered, shaking his head and looking down at his lap. "Oh, fuck. I fucking—I never meant to be such an asshole, holy shit, I never wanted him to think of me like that. I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't survive this. I love him so much, you know?"
Mihael didn't respond, and neither did I.
Dylan swiped at his eyes in an attempt to hide his tears. "I just wanted to be his cool older brother. I wanted him to look up to me like he used to, when we were little. I never wanted him to hate me."
"N-nobody wants their little b-brother to hate them," I responded softly. "A-and even though he s-said it sometimes, I know he never m-meant it."
"Really?" Dylan asked, glancing back at me doubtfully.
"Really," I promised. He smiled a little, shaking his head.
"You're really not that bad, by the way," he told me after clearing his throat. "I mean, I still think you're as weird as you were the first day we met, but . . . Evan's seemed a lot happier since he's been with you. And I guess I don't mind the whole 'gay' thing that much anymore. As long as he's alive and happy, I don't care who he sticks his dick in."
Mihael started giggling when my entire face grew beet red. "Thanks," I muttered, looking at my shoes. Mihael laughed harder, contagious and high-pitched, and soon enough Dylan and I were grinning too.
Our laughter must've woken up Evan because the next thing I knew, a new pair of groggy, light golden-brown eyes had revealed themselves to the room. I immediately left my spot by the doorway and stood at the other side of the bed, thinking with my heart instead of my brain, and wrapped my arms around the lower half of his torso so that I wouldn't knock into the ventilator.
"I'm so sorry I didn't come last night," I told him, moving to touch his face. He stared at me for a moment before giving a tiny shrug of his shoulders. His fingers twitched by his side, and I didn't hesitate to grip the swollen digits. His whole arm had ballooned into a puffy, bruised limb due to all of the IVs shoved into his veins. I kissed the corner of his mouth, gently stroking the side of his face. He looked up at me, and I could tell by his eyes alone how exhausted he was. He still looked happy, though; there was a certain light in his eyes that had formed when I'd kissed him, and he no longer looked like he was being shipped off to his doom.
A clear of a throat reminded me that we weren't alone. "Oh," I said, pulling away a little. I looked sheepishly at the other two boys on the other side of the bed; Mihael looked amused, but Dylan looked like he really wanted a turn with his brother. "Sorry," I apologized, sitting down in the chair on my side of the bed. Evan squeezed my hand; I glanced up at him to see the corners of his lips quirked upwards.
"Evan," Dylan said. Evan looked over at his brother; a slightly hostile look entered his eyes, darkening them enough to match Dylan's. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry. For everything. For being the worst brother in the history of siblings. And I love you, okay?"
Evan looked slightly taken aback. He glanced at me to see if he was serious. I nodded. He furrowed his brows and turned his gaze on Mihael for a second opinion.
"I'm serious, dipshit," Dylan huffed, annoyed at not being taken seriously. His thin lips formed a smile when Evan attempted to grin at him. Evan tapped Dylan's arm with his own, probably telling him that it was okay, and Dylan's eyes grew watery as he enveloped Evan in a tight, brotherly hug. I was really happy that they seemed to be making up; I never wanted Evan to have a poor relationship with his brother. He didn't know how lucky he was to have someone to relate to; I'd always wanted a sibling, to be able to always have someone around.
"Ah, good ol' brotherly love," Mihael cooed at them. Dylan flipped him off and Evan squirmed exaggeratingly due to Dylan's unbreakable hold.
After everyone had finished hugging Evan, we all settled in our seats. Mihael was talking to Evan about nothing in particular, just how things in their old town were going. Dylan would occasionally butt in and make a smartass comment about Mihael. I stayed relatively quiet, just taking in the fact that Evan was here, alive and breathing. I rested my head next to the side of his thigh, my face squished against the bed as he carefully rubbed the pad of his fingers around the sore spot on my head.
"We should probably go get our parents," Mihael commented, looking at the window. The sun was starting to lower in the sky as the evening began to replace the afternoon. "Come on, Dyl Pickle."
Dylan squeezed Evan's upper arm and followed Mihael out of the room. Finally alone, I lifted up my head and leaned in closer to Evan. I touched his jaw with the tips of my fingers—I wanted to remember the way he felt.
"Are you nervous?" I whispered. I wasn't sure why my voice was so quiet; it's not like anyone was there listening to us. Evan knew exactly what I was talking about; he must've been thinking it over ever since he'd woken up. He gave a slight shrug and shook his head, no. "Really?"
He hesitated, not exactly meeting my eyes before giving a slight nod of his head. "It's okay to be nervous," I said, cupping the side of his face with the same hand. I pressed my thumb lightly against his cheekbone. He shook his head, no. "Yes, it is." He gave an even harder shake of his head, closing his eyes tightly.
I moved my hand up his jawline and loosely tangled my fingers within his dark, greasy tendrils of hair. I didn't mind the oiliness; mine was surely just as bad. "Are you scared?" I asked.
His answer truly surprised me. I had expected him to shake his head, no, all while giving me a tough, defiant look, but he didn't. When he opened his eyes, they were glassy with tears. They weren't threatening to overflow like mine always did, but if pushed, a tear or two would definitely release. He tried to look away from me, but the ventilator didn't allow him much movement. I moved my hand back down to the side of his face; his clenched jaw loosened against my palm as he relaxed into my touch, just as I always did to his.
He gave a tiny nod of his head, eyes closing tightly once again. Yes, he was scared.
I looked away from him, staring hard at the tan wall across from his bed. It took me a moment to regather myself, to get my own emotions in check, before I looked at him again. He was already watching me, brown eyes dull and slightly red from the tears.
"It's okay to be scared," I whispered. "And it's okay to cry, too."
He just shook his head, giving me a long look. "Yes, it is," I said with a sad chuckle. His lips twitched at the sound of my laugh. He then stared intently at the spot on my face right below my eyes. "Why aren't I crying?" He gave a stiff nod of his head. "Because I cry too much, don't you think?" He furrowed his thick eyebrows, shaking his head again. He was going to shake the ventilator off if he kept it up. "Yes, I do. I'm a huge crybaby. Don't you get annoyed of it?"
Evan gripped my hand tightly and narrowed his eyes at me. If he could talk, he'd tell me to shut up. He would then probably pull me to his chest so that I could bury my face against his t-shirt and get my snot and tears all over it.
"You're so scared," I said instead, touching the corner of his eyes as a small drop escaped. "You know that they're not going to put the ventilator back on, don't you?" I felt my own teardrops begin to leak down my cheeks as he nodded his head.
I took a collective, shaky breath. "So that's why you have to breathe," I told him, brushing a couple more tears off his cheek. It broke my heart to see him cry; Evan was tough as nails; I'd never thought he was capable of crying. Despite that, I didn't think any less of him. "As soon as you can breathe on your own, you'll be able to talk. You can tell Mihael to shut up with his stupid jokes. Tell your parents how much you love them. Dylan, too. I know he's a huge pain, but he loves you so much, Evan. He'd be devastated if you just . . . gave up." I couldn't bring myself to say the 'D' word, because then I'd turn into an even bigger sobbing mess.
"You need to try to breathe this time, okay? You still have to tell Axel and Donovan that you're okay because they're constantly asking me about you. You need to get better so that you can go home, and Jurnee, Alana and us can make rainbow jell-o together. You need to come back to school—I'd forgotten how terrible the place is without you. We still have so much to do together, you know? We have to burn the paintings. And we haven't even gone on our first date yet, isn't that dumb? We've been dating for almost three months—which, hey, I think we should just say seven, because those first four months were full of mixed signals, don't you think?" I teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. His lips quirked upwards and he gave a tiny nod in agreement.
For a couple moments after that, I continued on talking, telling him everything he had to breathe for, to talk for, to come back to school for. As I talked, his eyes never left my face. Eventually the tears on his cheeks dried up, and he just kept watching me, seeming lost in his own thoughts. I began to trail off until eventually falling silent. Evan brushed his thumb against the back of my hand, his eyes no longer dull and watery. He seemed a little more relaxed, a little less scared as he thought of all the things he had been put on this earth to fight for.
A tiny LED light on the machine next to Evan's bed flashed, catching my eyes. The morphine in one of his IVs read that it was being given in smaller doses, meaning I didn't have much time left before the doctors and Evan's family kicked me out.
I was suddenly filled with an intense feeling of fear. I was terrified of losing Evan, of him not being able to breathe, of my pep talk not being enough. I could honestly say that I didn't see myself being with any other human besides him. He made me feel like I was meant to be alive, like the world wanted me in it. He made me feel like the sun and the moon rose and fell specifically for me, and I knew that I'd never feel that way with anyone ever again. I was too attached to Evan to even consider staying away from him forever, and he needed to know that. At that moment, I didn't care if he didn't feel as strongly for me as I did for him. Because right then, I would gladly follow him to the end of the world if could just remember to breathe during the trip there.
"I love you," I said. My voice didn't tremble and my eyes didn't flicker away from his own. As soon as those three words had left my lips, I knew that there was no going back—but at that point, I really didn't want to. "I love you, so, so ridiculously much."
His eyes immediately brightened, his dark eyebrows raising and disappearing into his messy hair. He stared at me in shock until his lips began twitching in an attempt to form words.
"You're my everything," I confessed, stroking his hair out of his eyes with my freehand. "I always feel so complete when you're with me, and you make me feel like everything might actually be okay. If you leave me, Evan, I won't be able to handle it. I'm so weak. I'm nothing—I'm nothing without you, okay?"
He was shaking his head at my words, most likely not wanting me to put myself down like that, but I didn't care. It was true. Without Evan, I was nothing but a crying little child who didn't know how to fall asleep at night.
I continued stroking the side of his face, my tears rolling off my chin and onto his hospital gown.
"Do you love me?" I whispered, trying to ignore the nervousness I felt at being rejected. I seriously thought the ventilator mask was going to fall off with all of his jerky, quick nods. "No, you don't." I knew that I was torturing him by doing what I was about to do, but it was the only way I could guarantee he would try as hard as he could to breathe on his own and survive his procedure.
Evan's nods only quickened.
"If you love me, you would say it back."
His wide, chocolate brown, golden-flecked orbs searched mine desperately. His fingers clenched and unclenched around my hand as he practically begged me with his body to understand—to know that he loved me back.
"If you love me as much as I love you, you would say it back." I removed my hand from his face and wiped my eyes with the back of it. It hurt doing this to him, and he was starting to develop tears of his own when I rose from my seat.
"You have to try your hardest to be okay, for me," I whispered, resting my forehead against his own. "Nobody else, just me." It was a selfish request, but I knew he'd do it. He knew he'd do it, too. I placed a soft, chapped-lip kiss on the bridge of his nose, my lips trembling as I pulled away. He looked totally broken inside, soft sounds attempting to be heard past the ventilator. He tried to pull the mask off, but I shook my head, pressing his hands back down to the side of the bed.
"Just breathe for me," I whispered, smoothing down his eyebrows and wiping at the corners of his eyes. That was when I heard several people entering the room. I quickly worked my hand out of his death grip and slipped past everyone surrounding the door. I heard Mihael call after me, but I kept walking, my head down and my heart aching. I felt so empty then; I felt like everything was going to end terribly, like I would never hear Evan's voice again, like I would have to face the next umpteen years of my life alone.
I broke down, needless to say. I sat in the bathroom located in the ICU's waiting area and cried into my hands. I'd tried my hardest to be strong for Evan, but the thought of the only good thing to ever happen to me being ripped out of my life really destroyed my already fragile emotional state.
It was simple; If Evan died, my heart would die with him, followed by my smile and laughter. Everything he'd restored in me, my faith in humanity, my happiness, my desire to live—if he left, all those things would leave with him. I wasn't strong enough to go through life without him. Not yet, at least. I needed him, like the moon needed the sun, and as the sky darkened to evening, I desperately hoped he needed me enough to remember how to breathe.
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Alright! This is the chapter that makes it or breaks it, I guess. Sorry for taking so long to update; my Internet has been pretty crappy lately. Thanks for reading so far; don't forget to leave a vote and comment!
Drawing done by the amazing sp00nerismx! Thank you so much; it's amazing!
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