Hold On I Still Need You

-I'm Holding On-

Sophie's POV:

Blinking awake to the soft light filtering through the curtains, I looked around the room and there he was—Keefe, steadfast as ever, sitting next to me in a worn armchair beside my bed. His hand gently held mine, his ice blue eyes sharp yet soft, watched over me, a sentinel in my time of vulnerability. He hadn't left my side for days, and while his presence was a soothing balm to my weary soul, it also sparked a tinge of frustration. Did he not see how his unyielding vigilance only highlighted my fragility?

He also looked quite exhausted himself. 

"Morning," he murmured, his voice a blend of concern and forced cheer.

I managed to smile, pushing myself up slowly with shaky arms. "Morning," I replied, trying to mask the exhaustion that laced my words. My body betrayed me, weakness evident in every movement, but I couldn't let him see. I had to be strong—for him, for me. My mind waged a war against the limitations of my body, a silent battle that defined our every interaction.

But I don't understand how he does it—how he stays by my side so tirelessly, without a single complaint. Now that I think about it he hasn't complained once. Every time I wake up, Keefe is there with a tray of food, his easy smile trying to mask the worry behind his eyes. He makes me laugh when I want to curl up and cry, and he's always there when I need it most. Helping me with stuff I can't do on my own right now.

It's almost like he's forgotten the meaning of the word "rest." I don't deserve this, I don't deserve him either. All I think about is how much I am a burden to him. He has his own life to live, his own dreams and passions to pursue—things that I've been holding him back from. The thought gnaws at me, and I want to push him away, even though I can't. All I want to do is lean into him.

But Keefe doesn't push back, he doesn't ask questions, and doesn't pressure me to talk. He just sits there, patiently waiting for me to come around. And when he does speak, it's always with some witty comment or playful teasing that makes me smile, even when I don't feel like it. His humor is his shield, but I know it's just a mask for the worry he hides.

I want to tell him how much his presence means to me, how much he means to me—but I can't. Not when I feel like I'm nothing more than an anchor weighing him down. I don't know how to untangle all these feelings, but with every little gesture, I feel the walls around my heart start to crumble. I just hope I don't ruin everything before I figure it out.

I tell myself I can keep going. I have to. But with each day, it feels harder to do the simplest things—getting out of bed, brushing my hair, even just holding a conversation without feeling like I might collapse. My body is failing me, and I hate that no matter how hard I push, it only gets worse. I hate weakness. I hate how I have to admit to myself that I can't do this alone, but I refuse to show anyone. 

Not Keefe, not anyone. I can't let them see how much I'm struggling. I hide the exhaustion behind a smile, behind an attitude that says, "I'm fine." But I'm not. Every step feels like it takes more energy than I have, and I can see it in Keefe's eyes. I know he notices, but he doesn't say anything. He just gently tells me to rest, to take it easy, but how can I? How can I rest when all I feel is the overwhelming pressure of not wanting to let him down? I can't admit I'm falling apart. Not to him. Not to anyone.

I try to smile as Keefe looks at me, concern fills in his eyes, but it feels like the weight of the world is crushing me. "Foster" he says gently, his voice softer than usual. "You need to rest. Please, just take it easy for a while."

I shake my head, the urge to push him away bubbling up inside me. "I'm fine," I say quickly, trying to brush it off. "I don't need to rest. I can handle it."