Fear

31 • Coma

It was the longest two months of my life.

I thought I'd lost him. I thought I'd failed him and broken my promise to save him.

I spent every day by Tom's bedside, talking to him, holding his hand, praying to a God I didn't even believe in, hoping he might answer my prayers to let Tom wake up. The days stretched on endlessly, yet life in the institution seemed to carry on as usual without him.

One afternoon, about a week after the attack, Tyler came in and sat by my side as I held Tom's hand, listening to the monitor beeping monotonously in my ears.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the heavy silence. "Emily," he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "I'm sorry. I let things get out of control. Dylan... I should have stopped him a long time ago."

I glanced at him, my eyes filled with a mixture of anger and exhaustion. "Why didn't you?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Tyler sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Dylan was one of the only staff I had who was truly loyal. I thought I could control him, keep him in check. But I was wrong. I failed to protect my patients... especially Tom."

He looked at Tom's pale, motionless form, his expression filled with regret. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice cracking. "I never wanted this to happen."

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "Ty, I'm gonna say something now, and I want you to listen. When Tom wakes up... you have to let him go. He needs to go home, back to his family."

Tyler's eyes darkened with concern and he looked away. "No. It's too risky. He knows too much. If he tells-"

"Then we'll make sure he doesn't," I interrupted, my voice firm. "We'll make him sign an NDA or something. But we can't keep him here, especially now that Dylan's gone."

Tyler hesitated, then looked at me, exasperated. "Listen, Emily, I'm not trying to be difficult but... I don't even know where he came from. Dylan brought him here five years ago when the institution was in its infancy. Dylan claimed him as his own, and I couldn't interfere. I never asked about his background."

I stared at him, stunned. "So, there's no record of him? No way to find out where he belongs?"

"There might be," Tyler admitted reluctantly. "You could check the patient files in the records room. It might hold information about where Tom came from. But even with that information, getting him home without raising suspicion or being caught by the feds is incredibly difficult."

I felt a spark of hope. "But if we have his information, we can find a way, right? We have to try."

He sighed, clearly torn, then nodded slightly.

"He deserves a chance to be with his family. We can't let fear dictate our actions. We have to do the right thing."

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright. When he wakes up, we'll make arrangements. But it's on you to ensure he complies."

I nodded, smiled gratefully, and raised my hand to hold his, but he moved away before I could. When he left, I said nothing, knowing there was nothing I could say. I just looked down at Tom's pale face, willing him to wake up.

-

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a month. The beeping of the monitor became the background music to my life. I read to him, talked to him about everything and nothing, hoping my voice might reach him in whatever place he was trapped.

One evening, Sam came in to check on Tom's condition. He looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "You're doing everything you can, Emily," he said gently. "Sometimes, it just takes time."

I nodded, my fingers clutching the edge of the thin duvet. "I know. It's just... it's hard not knowing if or when he'll wake up."

Sam placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "He's a fighter, Emily. Just like you. Don't give up on him."

As Sam left, I squeezed Tom's hand, leaning in close. "You hear that, Tom? You've got to fight. You've got to wake up. I need you. We all need you."

-

Another week passed, each day blending into the next. One afternoon, I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the only sign that he was still with us. I closed my eyes and silently prayed once more.

As I sat there, I felt a faint twitch in my hand. My eyes snapped open, my heart pounding. I stared down at him with wide eyes.

"Tom?" I whispered, leaning closer. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was nothing, and I feared I'd imagined it. But then, his fingers twitched again, stronger this time. I gasped, tears springing to my eyes.

"Tom, please, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand again."

His grip tightened, and a weak, raspy sound escaped his lips. My heart soared as I leaned in closer. "It's okay, Tom. You're going to be okay."

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me, confusion and pain clouding his gaze. "Emily?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.

I nodded, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Yes, Tom. I'm here. I'm right here."

He closed his eyes again, but his grip on my hand remained strong. I pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, relief washing over me. Tom was back.

The road to recovery would be long and difficult, but I knew he was going to be okay. As I sat by his side, holding his hand, I felt hopeful for his future. We would find a way out of this place, and we would do it together. For now, all that mattered was that Tom was alive, and he was fighting.

-