There Are Never Enough Minutes - A SoKeefe Short Story

The Penultimate Part

Sophie awoke in a bleary state and had to blink multiple times before she could adjust to her surroundings. The walls around her were white, almost too white and the bright lights above her only reflected upon them, causing her an immediate headache. Unfortunately, that wasn't Sophie's only pain. Her entire body was achy as if she hadn't moved in days, not to mention the back of her head was throbbing fiercely and it wasn't from a headache. She tried to reach up to hold her head only to find that her arm had some sort of tube attached to it.

Then it all clicked.

She was in the hospital.

Why was she in the hospital?

Sophie's head snapped to the side to find a small cot, similar to the one she was in, next to hers.

On it, was Keefe.

Almost immediately, Sophie's heart sank to the deep depths of her stomach. Keefe lay still in his cot, pale, weak. Numerous tubes connected to his arms, through his nose, machines monitoring his heartbeat, his breathing, but worst of all was a thick bandage wrapped around his chest. Right near his heart. The bullet had hit Keefe.

It should have hit her.

Instead, she was fine besides a small bump on the back of her head. She never saw herself as a trouper, why had she been spared? Keefe was incredible in every way, he was funny, yet kind, teasing, yet understanding, artistic, and empathetic. He understood her in ways no one else did. And yet, she had pushed him away for fear of being pulled too deep.

Too deep to swim back up.

But what had it gotten her? Hell, what had it gotten him? A permanent wound? PTSD? Nightmares? Aches? Restrictrictions? Reminders?

Death?

Would he survive this?

"Oh, you're awake!" A low, male voice pulled Sophie from her thoughts. She looked over to the door that she hadn't noticed before to find a doctor. Tall, olive-skinned, perhaps in his forties, staring at her thoughtfully.

"Yeah. I guess so." Sophie murmured in agreement.

"But he's not." This time she merely shook her head, worried that her words wouldn't be strong enough to hold back the hurricane of tears ready to pour. It seemed he understood her silence and decided not to ask any more triggering questions. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Any pains?"

"Just achy."

"You were asleep for quite a while. Perhaps two or three days."

Days? She had been asleep for that long? What about her family had they come to see her? Her other friends? Had anyone come for Keefe? He answered her questions knowingly.

"We didn't allow anyone to see you until we were sure the both of you were in a stable state. We weren't entirely sure either of you were actually going to wake up. Shootings can be incredibly traumatic. It's hard to understand the level of hatred that could cause someone to do such a horrid thing."

Sophie really didn't want to talk about this with some random doctor. As far as she knew he wasn't a therapist and therefore had no right to talk about such things. Had he been in an event such as the one she had lived? Quite frankly, she would have preferred if no one talked about such things around her ever again.

The back of her head throbbed again and Sophie went to cradle it when she found she was restricted by the tube on her arm again. The doctor, seemingly deciding that she needed it no longer, detached it along with the few other medical instruments.