Two weeks was all it took to break me. Two weeks I sat by Lauren's bedside, holding her hand and talking to her as if she could actually hear me. She never moved. She never laughed at my lame attempts at jokes just to make me feel better. She never lit up the room with those bright green eyes that I was begging to see by the end of fourteen days.
But I never gave up hope.
"She has a one percent chance of survival," they said. Each day, the doctors tried to keep me from coming back. They'd say they had testing to do or that there was no use, that I was just upsetting myself. Even Lauren's parents got to the point where they'd sit in the hall instead of in the room because they, "Couldn't tell whether she was dead already or not." Already, like it was inevitable. "One percent," they told me, but I told them no, because after all, it was still more than no chance at all. Lauren was still in that body somewhere. Her soul, the mind that was so wonderfully filled with imagination, it was all somewhere inside of her, and there was a one percent chance she would find it all again. That was enough to make me stay.
The idea that I may one day hear her voice again was enough to glue me to that chair beside her bed for eighteen hours a day. I slept for four hours every night. I had one hour to get to the hospital and one hour to get home; the rest was devoted to Lauren. I had four hours to myself each night, and each second alone was another that I wished I was in her bed.
I began to think that my years of rebellion finally meant something. It was easy to tell the doctors no when they begged me to leave, to hold my ground when they wanted me to give up. The day of my trial was the hardest. The second I was through the hospital doors I had tears streaming down my face. The doctors said I had to leave the room because "the environment wasn't healthy for Lauren," as if she could see that I was crying for her. I dried my eyes and pulled up my chair, and that was that. For two weeks straight I followed the same routine. I ignored the commands of the doctors and the nurses and Lauren's parents, and I sat there with her until I could no longer keep my eyes open. Fourteen days was all it took for me to break.
I didn't give up hope. I didn't give up on Lauren. I gave up on everything that was holding me together.
...
The air conditioning coming from the vent under the window chilled me to the point where I was numb. No lights illuminated Lauren's pale form sleeping peacefully in the bed next to me. It was only the light from the town outside the window that made it possible to see her face. She looked so peaceful. It was almost easy to believe that she'd never faced any trials in her lifetime. The faint smile that still graced her lips made her look so innocent. She looked perfect, but not the kind of perfect that I saw when she was awake and in front of me. This was textbook perfect- silent, still, and untouched. She still had a tube that stretched from her throat to a machine by her bedside. She couldn't breathe without it. It didn't seem fair to me how such a simple task could suddenly become so hard for someone so young and healthy. None of it seemed fair.
"I guess life itself isn't really fair," I thought aloud.
It was easy to speak to her when I wasn't silenced by her breathtaking presence. I found that I spent most of my time spilling secrets and telling stories with no one around to hear. My voice never reached above a whisper, almost as if I didn't want to disturb her.
"I remember one time when I was little, my dad took me to the beach," I chuckled. "It's the earliest memory that I have of him. After that, he kind of disappeared. It was a great day until he took me to the ice cream shop at the end of the pier. There was a family in front of us, and the little girl asked for a chocolate cone, which was what I planned to get. When it was my turn to order, the cashier said, 'Sorry, we just ran out of chocolate,' and I broke down crying in the middle of the store."
I smiled to myself as I recalled the distant memory. I was surprised by how many things I could actually remember when I had no one to tell them to.
"My dad took me outside," I recalled. "He sat me down at one of the tables and said, 'What the hell is wrong with you, Camila? It's just ice cream,' and I told him, 'But it was my ice cream. That girl took it,' and he shook his head and went, 'Sometimes things are taken from you in life and you have to settle for the next best thing.'"
I sighed, my smile now gone. My happy moments were short lived when I was sitting by that bedside. It was hard not to relate every memory back to Lauren. After all, she was every part of me. She was my mind, my memories, and my happiness.
"At the time, I was young, and I thought he was the smartest person in the world," I remembered. "I thought, what a beautiful thing to say. Now...I realize how fucking stupid it sounds. How is that fair? How is it fair to force someone to settle when they had the world in their hands just moments before? How can anyone be expected to settle for the next best thing when the thing that was taken from them in the first place consisted of everything good in the world? There is no next best thing. There never will be."
I picked up Lauren's hand. It fell limp in my grasp, but I could still feel her pulse through her fingertips. I looked out of the tiny window that overlooked the urban side of town. The lights were bright, but not bright enough to cover up the stars. It was like the entire universe had gathered outside of Lauren's hospital room to say goodnight. I squeezed my eyes shut. It didn't seem fair to experience such a beautiful sight without her. That was when I knew I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't do anything without her. She couldn't see those stars or the lights from the city. She couldn't hear the stories I told her. She couldn't feel my hand in hers.
"I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this," I laughed, a single tear slipping down my cheek. "You won't remember any of it. I mean, for fuck's sake, who knows if you're even going to wake up, Lauren? I wish you would just give me some sort of sign. I wish...I just wish I knew. I wish I knew if I was wasting my time."
I released her hand as a quiet knock on the door echoed through the tiny room. I had no thoughts left to share anyway. I was numb. I was broken and tired. Lauren's mother pushed her way inside and stood in the doorway, her arms crossed as she looked across the room out of the window.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" she observed.
"Looks can be deceiving," I breathed.
She nodded and made her way over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
"Any signs of life in there?" she smiled sadly, staring down at the body that once held her daughter's vivid imagination.
I shook my head no. She bit the inside of her cheek, but no attempt could come close to stopping the waterfall of emotions that erupted as she shook her head in defeat. Her hands shook. I picked up the one she placed on my shoulder with my free hand and squeezed it supportively. She sobbed. She cried for a solid ten minutes, shaking and convulsing until nothing was left and she was numb like I was. We were both broken.
"It's not fair," I choked out, moved to tears of my own by her episode.
"No, it's not," she agreed. "Why this had to happen to her, I don't know. It doesn't make any sense."
"It's...it's all my fault. I shouldn't have taken her there that night. I should have just-"
"Camila, don't," she scolded. "Don't blame yourself. No one else is blaming you. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Silence was my only answer. It still made no sense to me why everyone refused to believe I was a part of Lauren's state. I could have done so much to protect her. I knew that as well as her mother and father did, but they insisted that none of it was my fault. I wasn't going to argue. I didn't have much fight left in me.
"Why don't you go home and get some rest?" her mother suggested. "You've been here for two weeks. You deserve a break."
"I can't leave..."
"Yes, you can," she insisted. "You're exhausted, Camila. I know you're worried, but you have to think about your own health too. When's the last time you ate a meal that wasn't from the cafeteria? Lauren will be right here when you get back tomorrow."
"What if she's not?" I questioned.
"I doubt she's going to wake up."
"You know what I mean," I said quietly.
She lifted herself off the bed and pulled me up with her, holding onto my hand as she led me to the door.
"If anything happens, I'll call you," she promised me. "Anything at all. Good or bad."
I nodded in agreement. I could feel the exhaustion taking over my senses now that she'd mentioned it. I was already out of energy to keep fighting. I knew it was only a matter of time before I was too weak to continue my visits to the hospital at all. Her mother smiled warmly as I found my way outside, but I didn't return the gesture. Lauren stole my last few smiles when she slipped away from the real world more than two weeks earlier. I was out of tricks.
...
I shut my front door slowly behind me. It clicked into place in the pale moonlight and I stepped towards the staircase, attempting to make it to my room before my dad found me. I was living with him again since Lauren's parents were spending day and night at the hospital. I knew they didn't have the time to take care of another kid, and I didn't want to put the burden on them anyway. I'd barely spoken to my dad since I'd returned home, but that was fine by me. I didn't have much to say to him anyway. I trudged up the stairs and slumped into my bedroom. It was empty and lonely, all of my belongings packed away for my failed departure to college. I hadn't gotten around to unpacking yet. It didn't seem like much of a priority. I pulled my hair out of its messy ponytail and slipped off my jeans, climbing into bed in just a t-shirt and my underwear as I was too exhausted to do much else. The light from my phone nearly blinded me as I checked it one last time before bed, but nothing appeared on the screen before me. I didn't know what I was expecting. There was no Andrew, no Jacob, no Micah, no Lauren. No one to text me or tweet me or like my pictures on Instagram. Things that seemed so insignificant at one point now meant the world to me when no one was around to provide them. How ironic. I placed my phone back on my nightstand, but before I could shut my eyes I saw the light from the outside hallway spill under the door. Seconds later, my dad was in my doorway.
"Are you awake?" he whispered.
"What do you want?" I demanded.
He stepped inside and flipped on the light, temporarily blinding me as I shielded my eyes from the brightness.
"Why are you home so early? You haven't been home until around one every night," he questioned.
"Lauren's mom sent me home," I explained. "She said I need to rest."
"Well, at least one of you has some sense," he teased.
I just glared at him, ignoring his attempt to lighten the situation and anxiously waiting for him to say what was on his mind and leave my room.
"Look, Camila, I've been thinking," he started.
"I don't care," I snapped. "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. Nothing you have to say could be more important than Lauren."
"It's about school."
"Again, I don't care," I insisted. "I'm not going anywhere that involves being away from her for too long. She's dying, dad. She may never wake up."
"That's the point!" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "Do you really think she'd want you laying here feeling sorry for her if she died, Camila? I may not know everything about her, but I know she expected more from you. She was the first person to come along in your life and see your full potential, and now you're pissing it all away because of the possibility that she may or may not wake up."
He took a seat on the edge of the bed as I sat up against the headboard. I remembered how she'd flat-out told me she wanted me to go to college when I'd gone to Miami with her family. She told me it was what she wanted even though I was afraid of being away from her. Now, it wasn't much different, only this time I risked being away from her permanently.
"You know I'm not just going to bounce back if something happens and she doesn't wake up, right?" I told him. "I could get to school and she could die the same day and I'd be right back here. It could all be a waste of time."
"And so could waiting around for something that may never happen," he countered. "You can't live your life by chance, Camila. You have to grab it by the balls and run with it."
"I just...I don't know if I can do it right now."
"Don't do it for yourself," he said. "Do it for her. Whether she wakes up or not, prove to her that you're not going to give up. Make something out of yourself, but do it for Lauren. Show her that she had every reason to believe in you while she was here."
I didn't know what I was so afraid of. Maybe it was a mixture of the possibility that she may never wake up and the possibility that I may not be there if she did. Maybe it was living without her. Maybe it was letting her down, or maybe it was all of that, but for the first time, my dad proved a solid point. I wasn't spending eighteen hours a day at the hospital for my own personal benefit. I was doing it for Lauren. I could do this for her too. I could make something of myself, of what we could have been. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Most of my days would be consumed by my thoughts and my frantic phone calls to her parents, but I could get through it. I was broken, but maybe with enough time, I could be put back together again. What a wonderful feeling that would be- if she woke up, to see the pride in her eyes, and if she didn't, to feel her smiling down on me from heaven. I realized that every single day was just another day closer to death. Some just happened to experience it sooner than others, but that didn't mean that it was the end. There would always be the chance that Lauren would never wake up as long as she was in that hospital. There was always a chance that her life was over, but my life was not. Lauren was my life and she always would be. I wondered if a part of her had heard me in the courtroom two weeks earlier when I'd said, "This is for you, Lauren." If she hadn't, I knew I still had another chance to show her what I meant. It wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but neither was sitting next to her, watching her completely still and lifeless every single day. This was for her, but everything I did was for her. The air I breathed, the songs I heard, the steps I took, the pictures I painted, they were all for her.
Lauren Jauregui was my life, and I was not ready to allow Lauren Jauregui to be over with.