Letters to Juliet

Juliet

We reach the second floor and walk out of the staircase, looking both directions down the long white hallway. We share a look of confusion and I shrug, grabbing her wrist lightly and pulling her to the right. We spot a nurse station and make a beeline for the front desk.

I open my mouth to speak just as his mother starts talking, and I flush lightly and mumble an apology. I gesture for to keep talking as I clamp my lips together to keep from interrupting.

"Hi. We're here to see my son. Devon Calloway. He was in a car accident?" She phrases the last bit as a question, and the nurse smiles reassuringly at us and nods in confirmation.

"Of course. He should be down the hall right there. Past the restrooms and the third door on the left." She points off to the right at an extremely long and empty hallway.

We thank the nurse and silently turn to our right, swerving a bit to avoid a doctor sifting through files on his way to the elevator.

As we walk down the seemingly endless hallway, I reach out and grab his mother's arm. She pulls me closer to her, until we're walking in the very center of the hall. "It's Caroline, by the way." She whispers quietly without looking at me.

"Well, Miss Caroline, I'm very glad that I got to meet you. And I hope that this won't be the last time we ever see each other." I try for a smile as yet another tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly brush it away with the back of my hand.

She nods and squeezes my arm a little in reassurance. We're nearing the room now. I don't know what we're going to see when we get there. I'm terrified. What if..what if he doesn't make it? What if his mom blames me? What if she hates me like I hate myself already?

My hand starts to tremble as I contemplate the effects of losing him. I've never told anyone, but I've liked Devon for a long time. Ever since the funeral. He was always there for me.

And now I'm about to lose him forever, and it's all my fault. If I hadn't agreed to what Brandon had said.. maybe if I had just told him what was going on, we wouldn't be in this position. Devon would be safe and his mom wouldn't be crying so hard. She wouldn't be contemplating all the ways she could get the money up for his coffin and other funeral costs.

We slow to a stop in front of a closed door. This is it. This is the room. For a second I entertain the thought of running and getting away from here. Of never looking back and running from the guilt of this. Maybe if I run away from this place, I won't have to see what's on the other side of this door. And if I never see it, then it can't be real.

But one look at Caroline tells me that I can't do this to her. I can't do this to him. After everything that I've done to cause this, I owe them both. So I don't run. Instead, I grab Caroline's wrist and nod at her slightly as I put my other hand on the door handle.

I take a deep, shaky breath and twist the handle. pushing the door lightly open. It glides smoothly on oiled hinges without making a sound, and we walk cautiously into the room, our feet clicking loudly on the sterile tile.

It's white washed and smells strongly of antiseptic. There is absolutely nothing distinguishing this room from any other. Nothing personal or comforting. There isn't even a bag for his things. I appreciate that a little. It makes this all seem a little less real.

Our footsteps echo in the small room, and I take shallow breaths as we round the corner. I expect to see a half-dead, comatose Devon with tubes sticking in every direction and a faint heart monitor. But we don't see any of those things. What we see is much, much worse.

The room is empty.