"I've realized that..." he started, then took a shaky breath. "Earlier today, when Stanley pulled you aside... seeing you two so close and secretive, I hated it." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't like how others make you smile..." He traile...
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°•°Eddie's POV°•°
The house on Neibolt Street was just… gone. Vanished back into the earth, or into memory, or into whatever nightmare it had crawled out of. We’d gotten out. All of us. Alive.
They’d rushed Vanessa and me to the hospital, a blur of sirens and pain and frantic voices. The others had gone to the quarry to wash away the filth, to try and scrub the terror from their skin with something that felt like a victory. But it’s been six days. Six long, silent days, and the woman in the bed next to mine hasn’t opened her eyes.
The doctors said it was the blood loss, the exhaustion. They said her body was just demanding the rest her mind had never allowed it. They said she just needs time. So I’ve given her all of mine. They put us in the same room, a small mercy I cling to like a lifeline. I can watch the steady, gentle rise and fall of her chest. I can be here the second she comes back to me.
When she collapsed… God. The sound she made hitting the ground. I thought my heart had stopped right along with hers. The one person who has always, always been my anchor, my unwavering support without a single complaint… A world without her isn’t a world I know how to live in. It’s just a set of empty rooms.
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, just watching her. The afternoon sun slants through the blinds, painting gold stripes across her blanket. She looks so peaceful, her features soft in repose. She’s always been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I reach out, my fingers—trembling slightly—gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin is so soft. I just need to feel that she’s real. That she’s here.
I’m so lost in her, in the simple, sacred act of watching her breathe, that I don’t hear the door open.
“Dude, she’s not gonna disappear.”
I startle, pulling my hand back as if burned. Richie is leaning against the doorframe, a familiar, lopsided grin on his face.
“I know that,” I say, my voice a little rough. I shift back to sit on my own bed, trying to reclaim some dignity.
“You were staring at her like some creepy stalker,” he points out, ambling in and dropping into the chair by my bedside.
“Well, smartass, she’s my wife,” I tell him, a flicker of genuine annoyance cutting through the worry. “I can look at her as much as I want to, and however I please.”
“I guess that’s true,” he concedes, his eyes doing a slow scan of the sterile room. There’s a comfortable silence for a moment before he looks back at me, a spark of genuine curiosity in his eyes. “So, I’m curious about something. Why don’t you guys have any kids?”
The question is so blunt, so unexpected, that my brain short-circuits. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Just as I’m about to form some kind of strangled response, a voice, weak but unmistakable, cuts through the air from the other bed.
