The same relief washes over Jonan every time he wakes from sleep, convinced that everything's only been a bad dream.
But when the iron bars of his hospital bed crash against stretching arms, when there is an itch where limb is no longer there, when the cacophony of creaking beds and low murmurs crawl back into his ear, he knows that he's in a living nightmare.
The tenacious grief then returns, and Jonan pulls his blanket over his head, sleeping until his head spins until he's not sure if he's hungry or sick.
Or until the nurse gently wakes him up to eat.
It has been five days since the accident, the fourth day of consciousness.
Jonan's right leg rests in a cast, sagging on the cloth it is propped on. His doctor says it will heal, eventually, but his other leg...
The television hums in the corner of the room, hanging high enough for all of Jonan's roommates to see if any had the heart to do so. His father tells him he was all over the news when his accident happened, but now, a week later, the media slowly turns away, returning to political gossip and propaganda-like hero stories. Jonan is not one of those stories. It is currently on the weather forecast that predicts fluffy snow following sunny skies.
Outside, flowering trees blush beneath their new coats of snow, swaying with soft winds. Clouds drift across ocean skies, and icicles glitter as water drips and hits the pavement. Outside is almost too bright, too idyllic, when Jonan's world was cracking, withering.
He still remembers that night.
The snow had begun to drift, and he turned on the heater, shivering. Mist clung onto the windshield on the inside, but when it began to clear, it was too late. The truck did not see his car, and it slowly edged into his lane until he was pushed off of it.
He had not lost consciousness when the car tumbled down the escarpment or when he was pressed against the airbag. He still remembers the wintery air that ran past the nape of his neck, the blood sliding down his cheeks, and the numbness in his legs. It was in the shivering night when he drifted off to sleep.
The nurse taps on Jonan's shoulder, tearing his eyes from the window.
"How are you feeling?" she asks, and Jonan can't tell if it's merely out of obligation.
Jonan tells the same lie he does to his family: "I'm feeling okay."
The nurse shakes her head but says, "this afternoon, your parents are going to visit, and you'll also have a checkup with the doctor. You're healing fast."
Jonan nods, turning his head back to the window, and the nurse soon leaves.
He tries to think of nothing because he knows when his mind wanders off, bits and pieces of the car crash always find their way back. With it comes a hurricane of denial, remorse, and self-loathing and pain, pain where it shouldn't be.
Sometimes, the pain is subtle, pulsing in his leg or perhaps an itch where flesh is gone. Sometimes, the pain is an electric shock that pokes at the remaining stub, laughing at him. Sometimes, he simply wonders if he's gone insane.
Everyone assures him that it's "part of the process", but it doesn't relieve him.
--
Gabriel's mother knocks at the door and asks if he knows about the class visit to the hospital. But no response rises from inside the room. She slowly treads back downstairs, thinking she'll bring this up during dinner time.
In reality, Gabriel hears every word through his earbuds. He pats the bed for his phone, but he struggles in the pitch dark room. Soon, the screen lights up, and Gabriel skims through the class chat.
When he sees the homeroom teacher confirm that Jonan has woken up, and the guilt that plagued him for the last week rises from his shoulders with his exhaling breath.
Jonan was fine.
Fine?
Is "fine" enough? he thinks. When he could have prevented, everything?
This thought, the thought that he could have, should have done something, needed to have done something, anything, throws himself into desolation.
A tear splatters onto the screen when Gabriel reads bad luck in the group chat.
It wasn't bad luck. It was Gabriel's cowardice that stopped him. It was Gabriel's actions. It was--
Gabriel leaves his blanket, rummaging under the bed, and he finds it effortlessly as if it were waiting.
--The notebook.
The black cover stares expectantly as it's held in his shaking hands.
Gabriel stands there for a moment. The phone turns off, and he is plunged back in the dark. His fingers trace the strange cover, pale against the soul tearing blackness. He kneels on the carpet and clenches onto the notebook, not sure if he wants to throw it across the room or shred it in half.
When he flips to the first page and feels the ink on the page, words of apology push past his lips.
"I'm sorry..." he mutters above a bubbling cry. "I'm sorry," he can only say. But who are these apologies for? Jonan? Jonan's family? Himself?
The guilt settles upon him once more as the book is set on the floor.
He hears his mother call him down for dinner, and he quickly wipes his face.
"In a minute," he yells, hoping that his mother cannot hear his voice shaking.
Entering the washroom, Gabriel breaks in a small panic.
The flushed eyes and nose won't do. He can already see his father, who is setting the table and waiting for his son to come downstairs to eat, glaring at Gabriel, mouth sewn shut, but whose expression says all. His silence scares Gabriel, but what he will say scare him even more.
When Gabriel finally musters the courage to go to the dinner table, he tries to keep his face low, staring at the gray-blue ceramic plates in front of his seat. His father and mother laugh about something they saw online, and silverware begins to clatter as they start to eat. Shortly, Gabriel feels it, a look coming from across the table. His brown eyes meet with his father's, and he sees him sigh into his hand, shaking his head ever so slightly.
Water drips from the faucet in the kitchen, clattering against pots stashed in the sink, louder than the tick of the minimalist clock, which points to 7. The sun sets in the horizon behind the open window, and murders of crows take off, black feathers glinting silver.
His mother is the first one to speak. "Gabriel, your class is organizing a visit to see Jonan in the hospital. Are you going to go?"
Gabriel's fork stops. "I..."
"Of course he's going." His father answers for him.
"Actually, I—" He sees his father glare at him, and he stops talking.
"You're what?" his father asks, almost taunting. "Your classmate is in the hospital, and you don't have the time to go?"
"I do," Gabriel tries to explain. "But it's just that..."
"That you'd rather stay at home and play your...Video games?"
Gabriel kept his mouth shut. There was no way to answer instead of lying.
"That's not the kind of person I raised you to be."
-
When Saturday arrives, Jonan could sit upright and welcomes his classmates, a small crowd of 20 people. They bring flowers and fruit for him as well as words of sympathy.
Or pity? He wonders.
They're just looking at me like I'm an animal, Jonan thinks. Like when someone sees a crippled puppy on the streets. He desperately wants to believe that's not true and that his classmates care, but when faces he barely recognizes show up, he's not so sure.
"I agreed to this," he mutters to himself when the teacher sets a bouquet in his hands and murmurs something he doesn't catch.
Only when his friends get to talk to him is he finally assured. Even if his friends from cross-country do not understand him, Oliver will understand him, who is one of the last people who greet him.
"How's it going?" Oliver sits beside Jonan on the bed and grins lightly, but his face holds a hint of sorrow. Oliver rubs his broad nose to keep himself from frowning.
"I can't say that I'm fine." Jonan doesn't lie this time as he raises his leg in a cast. "But I'm glad to see you again."
"You know I heard..." Oliver looks away and takes a deep breath, deciding not to ask further. "Hey, you know, you're alive. That's all that matters. Without you, I don't know..."
Jonan stops listening at this point. All he can think of is "you're alive," "at least you're alive." His hand clenches under his hospital blanket. What's the point of living if he's not in one piece, if he will never feel the wind on his face, the frosty morning air piercing his lungs, if he won't be able to run?
Oliver rests his hand on Jonan's shoulder. "I'm just glad you're here."
He thought maybe Oliver would understand him. Maybe he's wrong.
When Jonan looks at Oliver, Jonan seems frail, deathly pale under the hospital lights, strands of hair framing his face unevenly, dark circles that hint blue settle under his eyes.
"I'm not as glad to be here," Jonan says at last, voice a whisper.
"I understand your pain" is the first thought that comes to Oliver's mind and the first words through his mouth, and he regrets it immediately.
Jonan's expression drops. "No, you don't understand."
Their conversation drowns inside waves of sluggish noise in the air as other students, who had already given their greetings, look through their phones, discussing what to eat during lunch or which movie to watch later that day.
When Oliver quiets, Jonan can hear them. Couldn't they at least not talk in his face?
Jonan's parents, Mr. and Ms. Shun, stand on the side of the room, talking to his homeroom teacher. They are tired. Ms. Shun had taken two weeks off to take care of Jonan, and it took all her power to remain temperate. Mr. Shun still holds himself responsible for everything, but he hides his grief well from his daughter and son. His wife is the only one who sees him weep, late at night, when both people believe each other to be asleep. Jonan's little sister, Amelia, obediently stands beside them, unable to process everything, but she understands that her brother is sick. She is the only one who notices Jonan turn away from Oliver, the guy who comes to their house every so often.
This is when Jonan sees Gabriel at the door behind his parents. He stands up in a fury, forgetting his legs. He stumbles as a shock rips up his leg, and Oliver catches him before he falls.
"Hey, are you alright—"
Jonan pushes him away and glares at Gabriel, who now stands in front of his bed in a gray hoodie, eyes darting around frantically.
"You knew something, didn't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"You knew something!" He grabs the bottom of Gabriel's hoodie. "You knew something!" His hands tremble, from anger, from fear. He hates how he must look up, how he can't even push his face.
Gabriel doesn't answer. Everyone was looking at him, and the same sick feeling crawls back. He should've never come here. He should have stayed at home and died in the darkness.
He needed to tell Jonan the truth, but he couldn't open his mouth. He didn't even have the strength to escape.
Time slows.
Jonan shouts at him, shaking him back and forth. Gabriel can only focus on Jonan's dark, messy hair and red-rimmed eyes as Oliver pulls him back and his parents rush towards them.
Next thing he knows, he's pressed onto the ground, his hoodie choking him.
"TELL ME!"
Mr. Shun finally pulls Jonan away. "Jonan! What are you doing?"
Jonan stops struggling and stares at his father defiantly but keeps his mouth shut.
The nurse helps Gabriel up and quickly escorts him out of the room. It's cooler and quieter outside, with no one in the hallways except for a doctor walking towards the elevator. Gabriel takes a shaky breath, and his legs soon stop quivering.
"Are you hurt?" she asks as she closes the door.
"I'm fine," he says, even though the back of his head throbs.
She sets a hand on Gabriel's back. "Don't take it personally, alright? Jonan is going through a hard time." She smiles comfortingly. "Sometimes, we can't all control our anger."
"No, Ms." Gabriel shakes his head. "Jonan had every right to be mad at me."