The Author and Her Bodyguard

Chapter 46

How is it that some people radiate sunshine while others radiate darkness? It's not something you necessarily see, but you feel it. How does that even work? How do we just know that someone is a beacon of light while someone else just oozes shadows? Tate was sunshine. Bright and warm. He made you smile against your will and always had a way to make you laugh even in the darkest of times.

But what happens when that sunshine is broken? Shattered like a mirror. Can it still reflect light?

I sat next to Tate, listening to his breathing, adding each breath to a mental tick of all the reasons why I should be thankful. He was alive. He was breathing. But he was a mess. His entire body was in a cast that made him look like he was suspended in a falling pose. His face was swollen and purple almost beyond recognition.

He had slipped into a coma days ago, something that had been a possibility but wasn't a good sign. If he didn't wake up soon, his chances of coming out of it were small.

I began to doodle a penguin with a clown wig on his cast, determined to give him something funny to look at when he woke up. When. When. When, I chanted in my mind.

"Hey, bud. New day, new doodle... I think you'll like this one. It's a penguin clown. Which is basically you because you wear suits but are a total dork." I had already drawn a unicorn with a mullet and a whale with a tutu. Three days of visits, three sets of doodles.

I swallowed, trying to decide what to talk to him about. "Your Aunt has been leaving you a mountain of food here in your room. You'll have quite the feast when you wake up. When. When. When.

"You'll be happy to know you are officially relieved as my relational therapist. Aiden doesn't regret kissing me." I paused and smiled softly. "I still can't believe that. I keep expecting to wake up and be back in my apartment before I met either of you." My smile faltered.

I put down the sharpie and gripped his fingers, the only part of him that seemed unbroken. "You're gonna be okay. You're strong... and my best friend. So you better get better because who else is going to eat PopTarts and buckets of unhealthy food with me? Who else is going to get EVERY WORD to EVERY SONG wrong when we listen to the radio together? Who will tell me when I am being an idiot and help me figure out how to be better? Who am I going to make fun of Aiden with?"

I wiped my eyes wildly, refusing to cry again. I had cried when I first found out that Tate was in surgery. I had cried when he came out of surgery and I saw how badly he had been hurt. And I cried every day I visited him. "They are letting me out of the hospital today," I said past the lump in my throat. "And I'm sure you won't be far behind me."

Tate deserved as much joy as he gave but I couldn't think of anything funny to say. So I picked up the sharpie again and wrote "Kiss me, I'm injured," on his wrist, hoping it would make him laugh when he woke up. When. When. When.

"And you better wake up soon because we gotta talk about you tricking me out of that car..."

I sat back down on the chair next to his bed and carefully pulled up my legs to my chest. Staring up at him, now out of words and in the silence, my guilt overwhelmed me. "I'm so sorry Tate... please—" I cleared my throat, pushing back a sob. "Please wake up..."

"Did you say my aunt brought food?" he breathed, his eyelids flickering open.

"TATE!" I shouted jumping to my feet so fast that the chair skidded back and hit the wall behind me with a crash. I had to fight the urge to hug him fiercely. "You idiot! You wonderful, stupid idiot!"

He breathed out, a weak smile covering his face. "Why... am I... an idiot?" he asked carefully, his voice a mere whisper.

"Because the only thing you heard was the food part!"