Unexpected // sm

Chapter 62

Three hours later, I was drifting asleep. My head was resting on the side of Shawn's bed, a neat pool from my crying was still moist. Our fingers were lightly intertwined. They were cold, a feeling I had never felt from his hands. I wanted to use everything I had to make them warm. To make it feel like he was still with me. I had never seen him so quiet, so motionless. No matter how much I hated to compare it, but I felt like I was sitting in front of a corpse. I knew these weren't thoughts I needed right now. But hope was slipping from me along with the hours. His parents were at a hotel nearby. They wanted to be alone when they made the decision. I felt like everything was happening far too fast. My head was spinning.

Just moments ago I was on the phone with him, trying to calm him down. I could swear it. I couldn't believe someone could be hurt so quickly. That something could escalate so terribly so quickly. I was literally flabbergasted at what I had witnessed today. The worst part was that the future was unknown. Sure, I'm not saying I wish he was gone on impact. But there would be no chance. I would have no time to worry or think. I would know where he was and how he was doing. But sitting here in this hospital room, my stomach was turning. How was I supposed to act like everything would be okay when not even the doctors could know? One had came in about an hour ago and explained more to me.

I guess when he was crossing the street, he ran right in front of a semi truck. When he was hit, he landed on his side, where his neck was nearly broken. Instead, something happened in his head which hurt his brain. They can't tell if he's still thinking, if there's still something up there. I think there is something though, otherwise they wouldn't be keeping him alive. I don't understand most of the actual facts, and I don't think the doctors want to explain. All I know is he may not wake up, and the ultimate decision is for his parents to decipher.

I was trying to be positive. I really was. I think that it didn't matter if I had hope. It would play out any way it would. But I wouldn't be able to change that. And as I gripped his hand harder, I tried to stare past his eyelids. I just wanted him to look at me, to say something. I could almost hear what he would say right now.

"Don't worry Kenna, no crying. I'm okay. You're still stuck with me." I laughed lightly, praying for him to call me Kenna just one more time. But I had to think he would be okay. I mean, what else was I holding onto? It'd be one thing to wake up. But I wanted him to be okay. Not perfect. That was just something of a dream at this point.

The last time I ever had feelings so strong for him was when we fought in his hotel room in California. I was screaming, threatening, but I was finally out of my shell and I said more than I had in three months. The way he looked at me. The way he wiped off my tears. I felt something deep inside that hadn't been there for the longest time. I had my happiness back in a way I thought I would never see again. Now I wanted to just hear him. To feel him squeeze my hand, just something. One bit of reassurance was all I was really asking for.

His hand seemed to twitch. Maybe it was me. But I felt like he heard my prayers. I felt a surge of something, something weird. I knew he was in there. He wanted to tell me he was okay. I knew he was in there. That's what he was doing, trying to tell me he was okay. It couldn't have been my imagination, maybe it was though. But suddenly I knew he was in there. I wish I knew for how long though.

I woke up to the rush of nurses checking machines that looked like foreign robots. They didn't try to move me, worked around me. They weren't hurrying along, so I knew they were just checking in. One smiled at me, and patted my hand kindly. They left soon, but not before opening the curtains slightly along a skinny window. It was light out, probably about nine in the morning. I faintly smiled. He had made it for twenty-four hours. That was something to celebrate, considering the way I thought it might play out.

I hovered over his body, light trailing my fingers across his forehead. I knew that the doctors didn't want people touching him, but I had to. I had such a heavy urge to brush his hair away from his eyes. It was slicked with sweat, stuck lightly to his forehead. I smiled, knowing he hates the feeling of sweat on his body. I wanted to hug him, to bring him close to me, to remind myself that his heart was still beating, with the same beat I was so familiar with. His body looked too pale and frail for me to touch, so I kept my body separate from his. But I kissed his forehead, my chapped lips pressed lightly to his sticky forehead. I sat back down on the chair. My legs felt wobbly, and I didn't want to risk falling on top of him.

I pressed his hand to my cheek, craving the feeling of him brushing my tears away. I was crying again, but I didn't know what the trigger was. I think sitting in here with him was driving me mad. But I couldn't leave him, not like this. I just couldn't. I needed to be here in case, well in case, something, happened.