Brooklyn
I awoke to white spots before my eyes. I didn't know whether I was lying or standing because I felt like my body was floating on chloroform. My head was throbbing and my mouth felt dry, but slowly I blinked away the blurry blanket that deadened my vision.
I made out the shadows of blue and red light and something pressing my back to a padded surface. Then I realized I was sitting, and the movement underneath my body was slightly uneven so I must've been in a car.
"I think she's regaining consciousness," a voice said. Consciousness? How long had I been passed out?
I forced my head to move and I realized I was in a car. A police car. My dad was driving this time, muttering things into the car's radio system. The same red-haired guy from before was riding shotgun, a worried look on his face.
"Brooklyn," the same voice called. "Brooklyn, are you okay?"
I looked into the concerned eyes of Tyson. He was sitting by my side, and only then did I notice I'd been resting my head on his shoulder.
"I think so," I croaked out.
He let out a breath of relief. "We're on our way to the hospital. We'll be there soon."
Suddenly the sound of the sirens pierced my ears, completely bringing me back to reality.
Sirens. Police. Paramedics. Blood. Lots of blood.
"Justin," I said, the urgency of my voice surprising even myself. I'd been trying so hard to put thoughts of him to the back of my mind for the past days that I'd almost forgotten how much I still cared about him.
My dad stopped talking, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror. "He's in good hands, sweetheart. They'll do everything they can."
Why did that not sound so reassuring? I knew why. I'd seen the scene, I was replaying it in my mind as the car flew past the lively streets of the Bronx. All the blood... I know it'd had to be an awful lot to make me faint. Because the only other time I'd ever really blacked out was back in the ninth grade when I was getting blood tests and a nurse dropped a tray of vials on the floor. Blood started spreading everywhere and I felt myself pass out.
"You understand we'll have to take you in for questioning, right?" My dad turned his eyes to Tyson.
He swallowed and nodded. I squeezed his hand. I knew my dad would be careful with Tyson knowing he was my friend and that he too was freaking out at the moment.
We arrived at Jacobi Medical Center at nearly midnight. I had lost track of time before so I had no idea of how long it had been since I'd seen Justin being carried to the ambulance.
As soon as we parked just outside the ER doors, I sprinted out of the parking lot and toward the building, feeling my heart beat in my chest at a speed that was almost frightening. I could hear Tyson hot in my heels.
I reached the counter just in time for the phone to ring, almost plowing into it from how fast I'd been running. I shot the woman behind it a look as if daring her to attend the call before me. She narrowed her eyes but didn't have time to shoo me away before I was demanding to know where Justin was.
"You don't understand," I said when she refused to tell me anything. "That boy is the love of my life and we had a huge fight before he got into an accident and now he might be dying thinking that I hate him. I need to see him now."
I must've been a bit loud because several people around the ER waiting room were staring at me, probably thinking I was a drama queen and that they had enough of their own problems to be bothered by my anxiety. Tyson was giving everyone the stink eye, but I kept my desperate eyes trained on the woman behind the counter. The phone hadn't stopped ringing and I was on the verge of ripping the cord from its base.
"Please, just tell me if he's okay or who I can ask about him. I need to see him."
The woman bit her lip and looked from me to Tyson and back to me.
"Please," both Tyson and I begged.
"What did you say was his name?"
As it turns out, the woman had seen Justin being wheeled into the emergency room to the right. She knew nothing of his current state, but gave us the name of the surgeon that had been sent to tend him. Dr. Holloway. Tyson and I ran for the double doors that enclosed the room, only to be stopped by someone as we approached them.
A good-looking male in a paramedic uniform told us we couldn't go in. His clothes were stained red with blood and he had piercing green eyes, contrasting with his bronze-colored skin. He kind of looked like that hot doctor in Grey's Anatomy. I think his name is Avery.
"I understand that you want to see your boyfriend, but I can't let you in. You have to let the doctors do their job," he said, not moving away from the doors. I didn't correct him when he called Justin my boyfriend.
"But you were in the ambulance with him, weren't you?" I glanced at his bloody clothes. He couldn't lie.
"His condition is critical," he finally said. I brought a hand to my mouth. I didn't like the sound of that. "There's internal bleeding and probably a few broken ribs."
I gasped. That 'probably' sounded more like a 'definitely'.
"But nothing that can't be fixed, right? He'll be alright?" Tyson asked, hugging me to his side. At this point I didn't know who was holding who up.
The paramedic sighed, taking off the plastic gloves he was wearing before throwing them in a nearby bin. Red drops fell on the floor and I had to hold my breath for a second. He seemed hesitant to keep talking to us. Maybe he wasn't allowed to. Checking the corridor was empty, he continued, "One of the ribs... one of the broken ribs has punctured his left lung, causing a pneumothorax."
Fresh tears stung my eyes again. Thanks to my AP Bio class, I was privy to the term and the man must've realized it because he looked almost regretful that he had given us that piece of information. I knew the more common term for pneumothorax was a collapsed lung, and it was as bad as it sounded.
"Listen," he put his clean hand on my shoulder, making me look up. I was trying to hold back the tears, but as usual, it wasn't working. They were rolling down my cheeks too fast for me to wipe them away. "Dr. Holloway has been assigned as his doctor. I can assure you that there's no better surgeon to treat his case. He will do the impossible to help your friend." His gaze shifted to Tyson. I admired how he could still get a grip in this situation, especially when what the paramedic had just said sounded so cliché. What if he was lying? What if this Holloway guy was negligent? Or had barely passed his Med exams? Or this was his first surgery ever?
"You won't be able to see him for another few hours," the paramedic added. "I suggest you get your friend here some tea. It'll be a long night." The green eyes returned to me and looked almost afraid that I would collapse too. I was afraid myself. I had never been so scared for someone in my life, and the thought that I might not see Justin ever again felt like a broken rib puncturing my own heart.
Tyson left me sitting in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs of the waiting room, going to fetch a cup of coffee for him and some type of relaxing tea for me. In his absence I pressed my arms against my stomach. My dad was nowhere in sight and I was feeling sick. The paramedic words kept replaying in my mind until I stumbled to the restrooms and purged my stomach clean in the toilet. I felt a little better now that there would be nothing left to make me throw up.
It was hours until someone came out of the damn room to give us information. Hours that had been spent pacing the small room, committing the posters on the ugly green walls to memory, and padding over to the counter to ask for news. Of course there were none, and after the fourth time asking, the woman behind the counter threatened to kick us out if we kept coming. I could tell she was worried about us, though. I couldn't imagine someone could work here and not be worried about other peoples' problems all day. It sounded like a quite depressing job to be honest.
Kelsey had driven here as soon as Tyson had called her, and she too had held me while we both cried. She tried to assure me that Justin was strong and that he'd be fine, but how could she know? How strong can you be when you're fighting for air to survive?
Pattie, Jazmyn and Jaxon had showed up right after Tyson and I. The red-haired police officer, whose name now I remembered was Will Williams—quite the original parents—had called them when we'd arrived at the hospital. It was about the only useful thing he had done so far, and I knew I was being mean because I was edgy. We all were.
Jaxon had fallen asleep in Pattie's lap. Jazzy refused to talk to anyone, sulking in a corner instead as seemed to be her MO for tragic situations. I know she was trying to keep us from seeing her cry. I think I caught Pattie praying, but really she had mostly just weeped and hugged Jaxon tight to her body. God knows what thoughts must've been crossing her mind after having her husband's death still so fresh in her mind.
Tyson, as my dad had promised, was being interrogated in one of the hospital spare rooms. He'd sent me a nervous look before going in, but after having heard the whole story myself, I'd told him not to worry. After all, it had all been Tyler's fault. Once again. I was glad to know he had been transferred to a different hospital because I had a feeling he wouldn't leave this one alive otherwise. At least he was badly injured as far as we knew, since he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt fastened. Also his precious red car was reduced to a pile of gears and metal scraps. For a moment, I'd wished he would die. I'd chastised myself for being so cruel—wishing someone's death was going too far—but my heart hadn't been in it. My heart was in that room, just around the corner, beating crazily as it hovered over Justin's asleep form.
Let me tell you something: romantic novels lie when they say you can feel it in your gut or your heart or whatever when something bad is happening to your soulmate. The only things I could feel where restlessness, fear and hope. But while I'd been happily having dinner with my family, Justin had been putting his life at risk and nothing in the world had changed. I felt like it should have.
The peace in the waiting room was startled by the sound of doors sliding open. All heads whipped to the glass front doors, where a girl was walking in, her legs shaky. It took me two seconds to recognize her, and if I hadn't seen her change during the past couple of months myself, I wouldn't even have stood up to talk to her. More like pushed her out.
"How is he?" Alejandra asked with a level of emotion that surprised me, grabbing at the sleeve of my cardigan.
I shook my head. "We don't know anything yet." My throat was scraped raw, and so my voice came out not sounding like mine at all.
Alejandra's shoulders heaved up and down with a sob. "Shit," she said. "He has to be okay."
My brows furrowed a bit in confusion. Eyeliner was running down her cheeks and her hair was sticking everywhere, as though she had been tugging at it. She looked as I should've looked—would've looked if I had been wearing makeup. Thankfully, my face was clean and I had resorted to tying my hair up in fear that I would rip it off in my antsy state.
"I'm so sorry, Brooklyn," she went on. "I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. Even if you guys broke up and he was a douche, he loves you. You know that, right?"
Now that she was being so nice to me—a fact I was being slow to comprehend, because, last time I checked, we weren't friends—I started seeing a different girl than the one she'd been months ago. With her bottle-blonde hair and her bitchy, boyfriend-stealing attitude gone, she looked more like someone I might befriend.
"It doesn't matter if he loves me or not. I just want him to recover," I mumbled emotionlessly, because it was true.
Alejandra bit her lip, darting her eyes away as if there was something she was holding back. I wondered whether something between Justin and her had happened and I didn't know about it. Hot jealousy sprouted in my empty stomach, but it vanished just as quickly, for I had bigger things to worry about. If something had happened between Justin and Alejandra before or after the breakup, it would only make my decision to go to Stanford and leave this all behind clearer, even if it would mean another fissure in my already wounded heart. However, it would be weird that she'd have the nerve to assure me that Justin loved me after she'd hooked up with him behind my back.
Tyson interrupted our awkward conversation as he left the room where my dad and Will Williams had been interrogating him. He spared Alejandra a neutral glare, which was an improvement from the usual, colorful use of insults he directed her way.
"Any—" he started, but dropped it as he realized if there had been any news, my demeanor would've somehow changed. He looked as tired as I felt, but not at all willing to leave. I idly wondered how long we'd have to be at the hospital. Hours, days, weeks... I immediately stopped that train of thought.
It might have been my imagination, but I believe I saw Alejandra giving Tyson something like an apologetic look.
"How did it go, Tyson?" Pattie asked, leaving Jaxon with a reluctant-looking Jazmyn as she closed the little distance to our little group. You could see she was concerned about Tyson too.
"Mr. Reed said I'll probably have to swing by the police station to give evidence again so they can record my testimony," Tyson said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Pattie's eyes, which were ringed in red, glazed over again.
"They won't be able to incriminate Justin, though, because they have no proof it was his car there. There were no legal documentation inside the car." He sent me a quick sideways glance, as if to say that my dad was doing us a favor with that. He knew it indeed was Justin's car, after all. I would thank him later.
"Oh," Pattie exhaled, bringing a hand to her chest. She'd just found out that her son raced illegally, and the news had been hard on her. I guess she still didn't know whether to feel relieved by what Tyson had said or not. I'd felt the same way when I'd found out Justin was taking part in such a dangerous activity so I could only imagine how she—being his mom—felt.
"Unfortunately, he won't be able to press charges against Tyler since there is no proof he was going for Justin's car intentionally... " he trailed off.
"But he was?" Pattie exclaimed, horrified. I shared her astonishment.
"It was obvious Tyler thought Justin was inside the car, or else he wouldn't have veered out of the road and toward it," Tyson added.
Pattie was crying silently against her fists. A tear slipped from my own eye, when I'd thought I had already cried myself dry. Tyler had meant to hit Justin? I realized I hadn't even bothered asking for the whole story myself. I'd been so preoccupied by the injuries and the fact that Justin's life was at risk, that I hadn't questioned how he'd ended up hurt in the first place.
"Wait, if he wasn't inside the car, then how the hell did he get hit?" I said, aware that my voice was growing suspicious. On top of that, Tyson and Alejandra shared a knowing glance. Those two would never do that unless there was something they were not telling me.
"It was my fault," Alejandra started in a small, broken voice. I'd never seen her looking so weak, and it was alarming.
"It wasn't anyone's fault besides Tyler's," Tyson cut her off.
Pattie shook her head. Apparently she knew as much of what had really happened as I did and was getting as impatient.
"What's going on?" I demanded, switching my glare back and forth between Tyson and Alejandra.
After hesitating for a second, she spoke. "Right as the race started—Justin wasn't racing—Tyler just drove out of the marked path and came speeding at the spot where Justin's car was. I-I didn't have time to react. The car was coming so fast." She started to hyperventilate, as though the scene was playing so vividly in her head that it was terrifying her all over again. "I was there and then, next thing I know, I wasn't and I heard this collision right before Tyler slammed on the brakes and then I just saw a body lying there. He cried out only once and when I realized it was Justin—" she broke down and couldn't go on. Tyson moved to her side, supporting her weight like he'd done with mine not long ago. I was too freaked out to find the gesture bizarre.
I took a step back, struck speechless. "I-I don't understand," I stuttered. "You mean Justin jumped in front of a car for you?" My tone went at least an octave higher. That was ridiculous. Couldn't be true. He wasn't that stupid or self-deprecating. "You mean he risked his life for you?" At this point I was practically shouting, but I couldn't care for nothing beyond the anger bubbling up inside me. The person I cared most about in my life might be dying because of her.
"You whore," I suddenly spitted venomously, barely able to control the words that were leaving my mouth. I was aware of Pattie's sobs intensifying, of Tyson's arms around me again, of Alejandra's vulnerable expression, but I could only concentrate on my rage. I don't think I'd ever felt so pissed off before. And I'd been pissed off plenty of times. "You fucking whore. You put him there! It should be you in that room, not him! If he dies, it will be your fault as much as Tyler's!"
Twenty minutes later I was still wailing hysterically, only I'd been kicked out of the waiting room and I was now leaning against the outer wall of the hospital. I was still mad enough that Tyson kept his safe distance from me, although I could feel his concerned eyes keeping guard.
I just couldn't wrap my mind around it all. Justin had saved Alejandra from a potential death and now that could mean his own. But why would he do that? Had he known he was meant to be the target of Tyler's car? Did he care so much about her that he'd give up his life for her? Did he love her? Had I been blind all this time?
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold ground, my face in my knees. The crying had slowed down to a gentle shaking and the anger was seeping out of me like steam out of a boiling pot. I had left in such a rush that I hadn't even bothered to make sure Pattie was alright. After all, this was her son. The son she loved so much and was so proud of despite of whatever Justin might think. The son that she so desperately tried to get back in track. The son that was doing things behind her back she had never imagined, or at least tried not to. She must've been devastated, even more so than I was.
I stood up in time to see someone reaching for me. I wiped my face and nose on the sleeve of my coat, surprised to see my dad instead of Tyson. He had probably gone back inside. It was cold enough out here that my fingers were frosting and my teeth chattering.
"Sweetheart, we should go home," Dad said, although I knew he wasn't going home. He'd be heading back to his office. "They'll call us if there are any news. You need to rest and—"
"No!" I squealed. "I'm not going home. I need to be here when he wakes up." My fingers gripped the brick wall behind me, like that would help if my dad tried to drag me away.
He looked at me with what seemed to me like pity. I didn't need more pity, I was already floating on my own.
"Please, dad. You ought to understand," I said quietly. "If it was mom there you wouldn't leave her side."
He seemed confronted. I knew it was hard for fathers to understand their teenage daughters' love life, especially when I was the daughter and I was supposed to be home sulking over our breakup and not in a hospital waiting to know if my ex was going to live. Although 'ex' was a term I'd rather not use.
"At least call your mother. She's worried sick about you... and about him too." He said the last part as if he couldn't quite understand that. I knew how bad it must've looked to him that his daughter was involved with a guy that moved in those circles. If he had been wary about Justin before, I didn't want to know how he felt now.
I nodded eagerly. "Thank you, daddy." I hugged him tight.
________________________________
I never understood why people hated hospitals just because. I'd always seen them as a really clean and white place where people got cured. It was supposed to be a good place. However, in movies and books everyone complained about the smell and sad memories they stirred.
Now I understood those people.
It wasn't so much the smell—disinfectant and medicines—or the memories, which in my case were nonexistent, as the way time seemed to slow down while you were inside. I'd look at the round clock hanging on the wall thinking at least 20 minutes must've passed since I'd last looked, only to find it hadn't even been five.
Tiredness and boredom started to kick in. Watered-down coffee in Styrofoam cups started passing around, and nerves started fraying as the hours ticked by. At some point after my ugly outburst, Alejandra had left, offering to drive Jazmyn and Jaxon to one of Pattie's friends' apartment. Jazmyn had almost made a scene when Pattie had asked her to leave, but after seeing the look on her mother's face, she'd obeyed with a bit of resistance, making us promise we'd keep her updated on her brother.
Tyson had gone to fetch us something to eat from the vending machines when Pattie turned to me. We hadn't talked much, basically because there wasn't much to say. Around 2 am a young nurse had come out of those damned double doors with their little squared-shaped windows, just to tell us that the surgery was still going on and it was proving difficult to access the damaged part of the lung. Justin had also lost a lot of blood so they were pumping in transfusion as they went. He was AB positive so it was supposed to be easy to find suitable blood for him.
Obviously, the news hadn't been very hopeful, but the nurse had kept a smile on her face the whole time, and I'd wondered how hard it was to be the one that had to face every patient's family. She'd promised to come back as soon as she had an update on Justin's condition, but it'd been nearly two hours and I'd given up on it for now. Who knew surgeries could take so long.
"I am a terrible mother," Pattie said, breaking the silence in the waiting room.
The woman that'd been behind the counter before and told Tyson and I where they had taken Justin had left not long ago, and now a man was boredly typing in the same computer. He didn't seem as nice. I guess having the night shift will do that to you.
The room was almost empty save for a middle-aged man that seemed to be familiar with the ER and two parents with their little kid in a wheeling chair. My heart had shrunk when I'd seen him wheezing as a doctor rushed to attend him. Now he was asleep in his chair as they waited for some results.
"You're not, Pattie. Don't say that," I replied, making an effort to get my voice out. I was feeling the stress and the exhaustion weighing down on me.
"I let this happen. I should've been much more careful with him." She shook her head, and I think she would've cried had she had more tears to shed. It was killing me to see the look on her face. I didn't want to see mine, that's why I was avoiding mirrors and other reflective surfaces.
"You couldn't have stopped him. He doesn't listen to anyone," I said, trying to sound comforting, although I felt the same way. Maybe there was something else I could've done to keep him in place. Maybe I'd given up too soon or hadn't been strong enough.
"But I'm his mother. I should've seen this coming, and instead I've been oblivious to everything that's been going on," she sighed, and suddenly she looked much younger. Like a lost and inexperienced teenager that was carrying a child at 18 and had no idea of how she was going to make it. "I knew Jeremy's... I knew Jeremy being gone had affected him—especially since they had reconciled before he left—but not so much. I didn't think he would ever reach the point of putting his life at risk like it was a game."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I whispered, hiding my face from her because I couldn't fathom looking at a mother blaming herself for his confused son's mistakes. Not when I could've maybe, possibly, perhaps done something to avoid it. "I didn't think he would go so far either and when I realized it, it was already too late."
Pattie's head whipped like I'd just confessed to a murder. "It isn't your fault, sweetie. You were loyal to him, and I appreciate the fact that he has someone he can trust like that." Has. So Pattie didn't know Justin had broken up with me. "I don't think it would've made a difference if I'd known anyway. Justin is as stubborn as his father was."
I gave a little choked laugh. "That he is."
I looked at Pattie again, studying her face. There were permanent purple shadows under her eyes, but her face looked startlingly young. Her hands were reddened and scrubbed from being a hard-working mother. I admired how she could manage being a widow and working two jobs plus housekeeping at the same time. And with three children, no less. It made me understand why Justin wanted to help economically so bad. He hated seeing his mom consumed by work, but it still didn't make it okay that situations like this one could end up happening.
I took Pattie's hand in mine and squeezed it. "He'll get out of this. He always does."
Another painfully slow hour went by before the damn doors with the damn square windows opened again. This time, though, it wasn't the young nurse from before, it was a grown-up man dressed in scrubs and a scooters-patterned cap. Yes, little, red, kids' scooters.
"I'm Dr. Holloway," he announced, shaking hands first with Pattie, then Tyson and then me as we stood up. There was blood on the front and the sleeves of his blue scrubs.
We all patiently waited for what he was about to say. I crossed my fingers and worried my lip.
"Is he going to be okay?" Pattie asked eagerly, clutching her purse in her hands.
The doctor let out a breath as if that was the million-dollar question he always got. "For now, he's stable, but the first hours are crucial to determine his condition. He needs to rest and we'll be checking on his vitals every few minutes to make sure he doesn't stop breathing again."
"He stopped breathing?" I asked shakily, totally bemused. The good-looking paramedic hadn't mentioned that.
Dr. Holloway looked from me to Pattie as if assessing whose expression was worse. Or maybe wondering who the hell I was. "I thought they'd told you that before."
"No, they didn't," Tyson said sharply.
The doctor wasn't faced, though. He was like a block of ice. "There were a few seconds during which his lungs couldn't draw in any air because his ribs were crushing them and he was choking on blood from internal bleeding. "
Pattie let out a gasp, and I didn't blame her. The man clearly didn't mince his words.
"But if his brain wasn't getting any oxygen... " I trailed off. Damn AP Biology for making me privy to all this stuff. "Cerebral Hypoxia... did he—was he dead?"
The doctor eyed me with something like annoyance and admiration at the same time. "A quick intervention prevented that, but yes, he was close to dying."
I swallowed down the ball that had raised in my throat. Hearing it was so different from just imagining the probability. Justin hadn't died by the skin of his teeth. A violent shudder went through me and I felt Tyson tremble beside me as well. I didn't dare to look at Pattie.
"I think it'd be better if you sat down while I tell you the rest," Dr. Holloway suggested, now sounding slightly afraid one of us would faint or go nuts.
We listened and sat back in the padded chairs we'd moved to as he took a seat on the low table opposite of us. His hands dangled between his knees casually, but his face remained serious and focused.
"As I was saying, when I was called to operate on him, his pulse was very weak and he had lost an ungodly amount of blood. The paramedics hadn't been able to identify where the internal bleeding was coming from because there were several broken ribs blocking their view in the scanner, and then there was the problem of his collapsed lung." The doctor only stopped to confirm we were following him before launching into it again. "We had to intubate him so he would be able to breath and practice surgery to repair the damaged tissues in his organs. Luckily, his heart wasn't grazed by any of the fractured ribs, but we discovered his spleen was causing the internal bleeding. We had no choice but to remove it, and that involves some risk."
I shut my mouth, although I had a vague idea of what the consequences of living without a spleen were. It was viable and shouldn't cause any serious problems to any patient, but Justin wasn't just any patient right now, and that scared me.
Dr. Holloway continued, "We'll have to keep an eye on his immune defense system since people without a spleen are more prone to suffer infections. We'll also have to check his vaccination record."
"Is he out of risk now?" Pattie said after nodding, asking the question we'd all been thinking about.
The doctor took in a deep breath. We weren't going to like the answer. "Mrs. Bieber," he said. "I need you to understand that your son was on the verge of dying. The force of the car's impact caused injuries that are in no way mild, so we can never be sure of whether he's safe now or how his collapsed lung is going to heal. That's why he's been transferred to the ICU. On the bright side, he didn't suffer any brain damage during the collision, which means his brain is functioning properly. Right now, he's in an unconscious state similar to a coma. We can't know how long it'll take for him to wake up. It could be hours or it could be days."
"But he'll wake up eventually," Tyson intervened quickly, griping the edge of his seat until his knuckles turned white.
Dr. Holloway stared at him for a second. "I like to think all my patients are on their way to recovery after I'm done with them." He turned to Pattie. "I'm going to need you to sign some papers, Mrs. Bieber," he said, standing up. "If you'll come with me."
Pattie smoothed her hands over her cheeks and gave us what I interpreted as a hopeful look before trailing after the man, who was at least two heads taller than her.
Tyson and I only sat in silence for a moment. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That we should sneak in the ICU?" I replied, a smirk forming on my face.
Tyson mirrored my expression, and we both stood at the same time. Finding the ICU room turned out to be pretty easy if you followed the indications on the walls. We only got lost once.
The scenery changed very little in comparison to the ER. Same dull walls, same posters with pictures of babies or how to do a tracheotomy with a pen, same fluorescent tubes and same night-shift nurses and medics dressed in blue or green.
"We're here to visit Justin Bieber," I said with my best earnest voice, as though I was completely confident that they would let us in.
The blonde woman behind the countertop eyed me up and down as far as the counter let her. It may have been my disheveled hair or the bits of dirt and blood that had made it into my clothes when I'd kneeled next to Justin, but she looked at me like there was no way she was letting me into the pristine room. Tyson and I had tried to get a glimpse of Justin through the bluish glass doors before, but we had only seen curtains, sheets and machines.
It seemed like a big effort for the woman to search his name on her computer. "He was just admitted into the ICU. Only immediate family," she said in a monotone.
Tyson and I exchanged a glance. We'd foreseen this problem. I leaned my elbows on the countertop and licked my lips, as if that would help me get ready to get into character. "I am his fiancée."
Tyson disguised a laugh with a cough.
The woman raised her eyebrows almost amused. "That one's new," she muttered.
"You have to believe her. See the ring?" Tyson took my hand and nearly shoved it in the woman's face. Thank heavens I was actually wearing a thin, gold ring that could pass for an engagement one. That fiancées counted as immediate family, I wasn't so sure.
I sent Tyson a knowing smile. "Fast thinking," I mouthed while the woman examined the ring dubiously.
"You're not gonna say you're his fiancée, too, are you?" she said to Tyson with an expectant look on her wrinkly face. "Or worse even, his brother."
This time I was the one who had to stifle a giggle.
"Hey, I could be adopted!" Tyson protested, and the woman rolled her eyes.
Surprisingly, though—because she had seemed the opposite of nice—she checked both ends of the corridor and exchanged a look with a nearby nurse, who shook her head like Whatever.
"This is an exception because it's nearly 5 am and I almost believed your fiancée invention," she said. "You have five minutes. Go."
Tyson actually leaned over and kissed the woman on the forehead, which made her blush like crazy and push him away.
I wondered how many times she'd done the exception because it sounded too cliché to really be the first time. At any rate, bless the woman.
"I must warn you, the state your... friend is in may be a lot to take in. So if you're going to puke or break down, make sure you don't bother other patients." Then she gave us a dazzling smile.
Being straight-forward seemed to be a trend between night workers at this hospital.
Tyson took my hand as the glass doors slid open, letting us in. The smell of disinfectant and medical fluids was stronger inside and there was a constant cacophony of beeps and clicks and exaggerated breathing sounds.
The room was shaped like a U, with a counter similar to the one outside in the middle. It was empty now, although I could hear the gentle voice of a nurse talking to a patient farther inside the room. We passed three beds before I recognized Justin laying motionless on his own.
The nurse had been right. The sight was a lot to take in. My eyes instantly started to prick, and I could feel Tyson suck in a breath beside me. Justin looked like he was in a very deep sleep, his chest rising and falling at a normal rate. The sound of his soft breathing was amplified since it wasn't actually his lungs doing the work but a tube coming out of his mouth. My skin crawled. It looked so unnatural that I had no idea how he wasn't choking on the tube. His hair was pasted to his forehead and damp so I figured they had sort of washed it. The scrapes I had seen on his face before weren't so bad. They were just a couple of red lines under his eye and next to his eyebrow. His skin looked sickly pale, even his usually pinkish lips. I followed the line of his neck as Tyson and I came around the bed to his side. The top part of his chest was exposed. There was a fresh bandage on the left side from where they'd operated on him that disappeared down his blue hospital gown. Two electrodes were stuck to his skin, keeping track of his heartbeat, which displayed nice and steady on the screen monitor next to the bed. 65/BPM. That was normal as far as I knew.
"Shit," Tyson murmured, bringing a fist to his mouth. I'd seen him cry before in the waiting room, and I really hoped he wouldn't do it again because it would be my undoing. There was something about seeing such a cheerful and funny guy crying that I didn't want to witness again.
I sat down in one of the stools next to the bed, because I had a feeling my legs were going to give out any second. It was hard enough trying to contain the tears after seeing Justin like that. My fingers almost involuntarily reached for his hand. I hesitated. We were no longer together. I'd lost the right to hold his hand... But he wasn't even conscious so I allowed myself the whim.
When our skin made contact I felt the same electric spark as always, above all because I'd expected him to be as cold as the Arctic. Instead he was warm. Justin-warm. I let my fingers trace the lines of his palm, moving upwards to his wrist and the fleshy part of his forearm. There was an IV in the inside of his elbow, pumping liquids into his blood stream. I had no idea how they'd found the vein underneath so many tattoos or if that even was healthy because of the ink. I guess it was okay.
My fingers travelled back down to his hand and the fair hairs on his arms rose. It is a reflex movement, I told myself. He isn't really aware of your presence. As if to prove my theory, his eyes remained sealed shut. His fingers didn't even move when I slipped mine though them. His hand was limp in mine and a tear rolled down my cheek and into the white sheets. I closed my eyes and pressed our hands to my forehead.
"Please, wake up," I whispered.