Lucid

CHAPTER 21 - BIRTH

I never thought life could shift so drastically. So suddenly. A heartbeat fading with every passing second. Cold. A winter we all dreaded had arrived early, settling into the marrow of my bones. I sat in the waiting room, paralyzed. Unable to stand. Unable to think. My heart sank lower with every breath he took, knowing it wouldn't be long before it would stop altogether. His time was running out. The sands slipping away.

I couldn't remember seeing colour. The green of the plants blurred into the background, swallowed by the sterile grey walls. The blue of the rushing nurses felt like a distant memory. Even the peaceful white of the room turned darker with each passing second. My hands were glued to my face, tears flowing uncontrollably, each drop carrying the weight of everything I couldn't say.

I looked up, desperately wishing for the universe to intervene. To do anything. He didn't deserve this. He had a future—more than I could've ever dreamed for myself. Friends who admired him. Teachers who believed in him. A loving girlfriend. He had it all.

And now?

It was all gone. All because a father took one too many. A father who never cared enough to stop.

I felt the eyes on me. Staring. Watching my grief unfold, wondering how much more sorrow could fit into one heart. But it wasn't just my brother they were waiting for death to take—it was me, too. I was empty now. Nothing without Cole. He was my anchor, my guide. He knew me better than anyone. Now, I was lost.

A soft hand touched my shoulder, breaking my spiral. I turned, meeting Amy's empty hazel eyes. She sat down beside me, tears streaming down her cheeks. She nodded, her gaze telling me everything I already knew.

I stood, my legs feeling like they'd betray me with each step. I passed the doctors, the nurses, the patients—feeling their eyes on me, offering silent strength for what was to come.

The cold of his room hit me like a slap. A doctor stood in the corner, his own face contorted in grief. This was the first time I'd seen him since it happened—the first time after all the surgeries, after all the endless hours of hope that came to nothing. The first and last time I'd ever see him.

His body was still, lifeless, covered in clean bandages. Tubes and wires crisscrossed his form, connected to machines that kept him alive against the will of his body. There were scars, stitches, places where his skin had been torn apart. But his face? That was the only thing that remained untouched—his soft, wavy ash-blond hair. His skin, tanned from the sun, while mine stayed pale. His strong, muscular frame was a stark contrast to my smaller one. And his eyes—his bright blue eyes, the ones our mother had given us—were closed.

Amy was at the foot of the bed, her hand resting gently on his leg. Her sobs were quiet, desperate. I knelt beside him, my hand covering his bandaged arm, wishing he would just wake up.

I could barely manage to get the word out. "Cole?"

Nothing. Just the sound of machines keeping him alive.

"I'm here... I love you, Cole. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you." The tears started again, thick and choking.

"I should've protected you. Should've—should've picked you up. I should've done something."

I heard the doctor take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry." My voice cracked as my head dropped to his chest. "So sorry, Cole."

The tears weren't just mine anymore. Amy was sobbing beside me, the sorrow filling the room like a tidal wave. I couldn't breathe through it. The emptiness inside me was too much to carry. The guilt was a wound I couldn't close, a scar too deep to heal.