What If I Can't Forget You?

{23}

Alex's POV

I was on Claire's heels all the way back to the waiting room.

He's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive

Claire's words echoed in my head, over and over like a song.

He's alive, he's really alive. Everything is going to be okay, everything is going to be fine. I believed those words this time.

I spotted a trash can as we ran down the hall, and stopped for a moment near it. I pulled the pills from my pocket, staring at the label one last time. I disposed of my burden and ran on.

When we got back to the waiting room, everyone was awake, standing alert next to a plump nurse with a clipboard. Vic bounced on his toes, smiling at us as we approached. We joined their circle, silent for a moment.

Vic gave a nervous laugh, and we all started to laugh with him. We laughed because we were exhausted from a long night. We laughed because our friend was alive.

I began to cry a little, my worry falling away. Claire was crying too, tears of joy and exhaustion flowing down her cheeks. We hugged, holding one another as we both melted. I felt Tony join our hug, then Vic, then Mike.

We stayed like that for a moment, and that moment was more precious than any of the other ones we'd shared together. It was cheesy, sure, but we all were so full of joy and relief that everything was going to be okay. We were probably quite a sight; five kids that looked like they had survived nuclear warfare and an all-nighter, holding each other in tears. But then, we didn't really care.

When we finally broke away, the plump nurse led us down a hallway and up an elevator to one of the top floors where the patient rooms were. She stopped outside room 2358.

"Now, your friend probably has quite the hangover, so I'd try to be quiet. And, please, don't try to hug him. He's very fragile right now." We all nodded, eager to see him. "Alright then." She turned away from us, knocking on the door and poking her head in. "Mr. Preciado? There are people here to see you."

We couldn't hear what he said to her, but she furrowed her brow.

"Are you- are you sure?" She asked, looking a little disheartened. "They've been here all night..." We heard a loud voice from the other side of the door, but couldn't make out any of the words it said. "Alright..." She replied, turning back to us. "Bad news-" She started. Mike jutted in.

"He doesn't want to see us?!" He looked furious.

"Well..." The nurse looked sheepish. "No, not really."

"What the FUCK?!" Mike yelled as he brought his fist down hard on the green wall.

"Mike, dude, please." Vic said softly, pulling his brother back towards the waiting area on this level.

I apologized to the white-faced nurse, and steered a shocked Tony and Claire after Vic and Mike.

"Honey-" the nurse stopped me, and I sent Claire and Tony on. We were the only ones in the hallway now. "Honey, are you Alex?" I nodded, wondering how she knew my name.

"He's been saying your name all night. I just wanted to know if it was you he was talking about." She smiled. "I don't think he'll mind if you go in, do you? He was napping when we got up here, so he might have drifted off since then. You shouldn't wake him back up, but I know you wanted to see him."

"I do. Thank you, thank you so much." She opened the wide door for me and I quietly stepped into the dark room, pulling the door closed behind.

He lay there on the hospital bed, sound asleep, just like the nurse predicted. His street clothes were gone and he was in a blue gown, his IV tube in his good arm. His shoulder looked broken, and his whole left arm was bandaged up. Beyond this, he looked fine. He was so lucky. He looked so beautiful there, his long hair falling on the pillow around his cut-up face.

I approached his side, silently pulling up a chair and sitting there next to him for a moment, just taking him in. I finally gingerly reached out and touched his arm. Nothing. He was totally asleep, knocked out by the same alcohol that got him here in the first place.

I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers just like we had a thousand times before. Wishing he would wake up, wishing he would forgive me for everything I had said.

I stayed by his side for a long time, looking at his angled features and clotted cuts. The sound of the stat machine played his heartbeat like a song. Beep, beep, beep, the slow rhythm that only came with unconsciousness.

He stirred, turning his head a little to the left. His heartbeat began to rise.

Beep beep beep beep

His breathing quickened, becoming louder, heavier.

Beep beep beep beepbeepbeep

His pulse kept rising, and his brow became red and soaked with sweat. This all occurred in only a few seconds, and soon he was convulsing, his head jerking back and forth on the pillow.

I jumped up, not knowing what to do. I began to run and find a nurse, flustered and scared. But something held me back.

Jaime's hand was still intertwined in mine, squeezing hard. I tried to pry his hand away from mine, but his fingers wouldn't budge. I knew he was still unconscious, still trapped in a traumatic dream in his head.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. He was still, and his pulse slowed. His breathing became longer, more relaxed. His grip on my hand loosened, and his eyes popped open.

He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, then noticed me at his side. His expressionless gaze turned to me, then to our hands, then back to me. He firmly removed his hand from mine, not breaking eye contact.

"Get out." He said, his voice barely a whisper. I felt tears start to well up in my eyes.

"Jaime, I'm so-"

"Get. Out." He said, again, this time a hoarse croak. A stray tear rolled down my cheek as I stood, humiliated. His stare followed me out the room.