I leave myself silent as we walk down the halls. Thank goodness someone knows where we're going, I just wish we'd go faster. Down the halls with the swirling lights, matching their friends, the buildings I met earlier.
A few slower breaths only hurt me because my body is going so fast. My throat feels clearer, but still wounded. Not as wounded as my heart, though.
A nurse catches us rushing through the halls and asks if she can help us. I say a name- his name- and she nods, before leading me faster. I get nervous. We're going.
I don't even know why I'm so anxious or scared to get there. He's not even going to see me, or know I'm there. He's not going to talk to me or see my imperfections. I don't need to be perfect and I don't need to be clean. I don't even get to see, well, the real him. But it's still him.
We enter a secluded hall. I like the aroma and tone here. It's special, it's for him. And for me, because I think I'll be here for a while. When the nurse stops at a door, she turns to us.
His family is there. His brothers. But some of them are in their own hospital rooms getting checked upon as well. None of them are unconscious, except him. There's sobbing and shuddering and depressed breaths, and then there's beeping and machines and people yelling across the room.
I'm not allowed to go in. Yet. I can barely process their words.
I love him more. I want him more. I need to be in there more.
I'm not even sure if that's accurate, but I feel it. And if I hadn't made a good enough impression on his family, maybe that was going to come back and bite me now. Maybe they didn't know how much he meant to me, or how much I meant to him.
So I feel scared and trapped and afraid because maybe there isn't anything I can do.
I'm told to sit and wait like the others.
But I'm not like the others.
I can't stand even a whole second on the bright blue, flat chair as I sit. There's his door right there and his brothers that I should be with.
For once in my life I break the rules.