Pretty Poison

Sixty

The machine beeps steadily as a vent blows cold air down onto his bandaged face. His chest rises slowly under the thin blanket. His hands rest on either side of him, a clip over his pointer finger reading his pulse. His eyes are closed shut, his long eyelashes in perfect array. His hair is clean, combed back. He is bandaged everywhere, his gown hiding every scrape and every wound.

I stare down at him blankly, not knowing what to think. I admire his face, even through a busted lip and broken jaw he still manages to look handsome. I avert my gaze away from him and stride over to the counter adjacent from the hospital bed. I flip through a folder with his name on it, reading every last injury.

Four broken ribs, a ruptured artery, a punctured lung, broken jaw, broken nose, gunshot to the shoulder and right oblique. I close the folder, daring to read no further. I let out a sigh of frustration, pivoting to walk to the floor to ceiling length window. I stare down at the city below, the ocean just beyond it. It stretches across the horizon endlessly, the brilliant blue covering the earth as far as the eye can see. I fold my arms over my chest, a frigid shiver running up my spine then back down again.

"Do you remember that night you took me out on your motorcycle? To that secret spot? Where the water was so clear, so untouched, that every last seagrass and every last bit of sand could be seen? Do you remember when you held me so closely? Your breath mixed with mine until finally you kissed me so gently," I turned away from the window, striding back to his side.

I take hold of his hand and caress his palm over and over again with the pad of my thumb. I stare at him, helplessly, knowing he can't hear me.

"Do you remember that one night in Florence? When we danced under the moonlight to the sound of violins? Do you remember the first time we talked? Back when you were so young, so curious. You got you and I in trouble, but I didn't care. I won't forget that night you caught me running, stealing a piece of your mother's jewelry I had no business stealing. I won't forget when you told me to stay, but deep down you knew I couldn't," tears come to my ducts as one spills over.

I push my sweaty hair behind my ear as I kneel beside the bed, my hand still in his. His skin is cold, all warmth that once resided in his veins now gone. The machine beeps become less frequent, the line dropping lower and lower, threatening to come to a stagnant standstill.

"Keep fighting Luca, don't give up. You're a fighter, you have so much left to learn, to experience. Don't give up," my voice quivers as it cracks. My throat becomes dry as it tightens with every word I say to him.

"I'm right here, Luca, I'm right here, fighting with you. Don't give up, please...please don't give up." I grip his hand with both of mine, pressing his knuckles to my lips, kissing each and every single one twice over.

The line drops lower. Then lower again, until it's almost too low. My eyes widen for a moment, as a fear takes its course through my veins right alongside my adrenaline. I get to my feet quickly and open the door to his room, running out into the common area searching frantically for help.

"Someone! Somebody please, he's dying! He's dying!" At that, an incessant beeping comes over the loudspeaker, a voice calling for immediate medical attention in room A112, Luca's room.

I ran back inside, two nurses immediately at his side preparing to move him somewhere else.

"Where are you taking him?" I ask, but no response. "Where are you taking him?!" I shout, but again, no answer.

The tears fall uncontrollably now, I don't bother to wipe them away anymore for they just keep coming.

"Take him right into surgery, quickly!" The doctor orders, a clipboard in hand as he runs out of the room pulling the front of the bed. I follow suit, running alongside them down the corridor.