𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

εξήνταπέντε ; 65

song of the chapter:
SUPERMARKET FLOWERS ; ed sheeran

Rafe's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at Margarita, her body so fragile and pale against the starkness of the white sheets. He felt like he was in a nightmare, one where every sound was muted and every movement felt heavy with dread. The smell of blood still clung to the air, a bitter reminder of what he had found. He couldn't shake the image of her bloody sleeves, the stark contrast against her skin, and the way her bones seemed to poke through like they were begging to be seen.

"Please, Margarita," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the beeping machines. "Stay with me. I need you to fight." He grasped her hand, feeling how cold it was in his own, how small and delicate. It was a sensation that sent a shockwave of panic through him.

He had always thought he was strong enough to handle anything, but this moment shattered that illusion. He felt helpless, watching her slip further away, the rise and fall of her chest growing shallower with each passing second. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He glanced at Sarah, who was pacing the room, her face twisted in concern. The two of them had called the ambulance in a frenzy, and now they were trapped in this sterile, white room, waiting for answers that felt impossibly far away. Every time the door opened, hope surged in his chest, only to be dashed by the sight of more nurses or doctors delivering updates that felt cold and clinical.

Rafe turned back to Margarita, brushing a stray hair from her face. "You have to come back to me," he murmured, desperation lacing his voice. "We have so much to talk about, so much to live for. Remember the sunsets? The beach? You promised me we'd watch every sunrise together." His voice trembled as he fought back tears, the weight of his emotions threatening to break him.

But Margarita remained still, her eyes closed, as if she were trapped in a dream where he couldn't reach her. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching into an unbearable silence. The monitors beeped steadily, a rhythmic reminder that she was still there, but it felt like she was slipping through his fingers like sand.

Rafe squeezed her hand tighter, wishing he could transfer his warmth into her, hoping to ignite the flicker of life that still lingered within her. He thought back to the way she had looked at him, how her eyes had sparkled with laughter and mischief. "You're stronger than this," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I know you are. You've fought so hard to be here. Don't let it end like this."

He thought about their conversations, the secrets they had shared on the balcony, the way she had opened up to him in ways he hadn't expected. He remembered the way her laughter felt like a warm embrace, how her presence made everything feel right, even when the world was falling apart.

"I love you, Margarita," he whispered, the words tumbling out of him like a prayer. The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

As he sat there, he felt a small flicker of warmth beneath his fingertips, a soft squeeze of her hand that sent shockwaves of hope coursing through him. His breath caught in his throat, and he leaned closer, searching her face for any sign that she could hear him.

"Margarita?" he called softly, his voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, open your eyes."

The seconds stretched on, feeling like an eternity, but finally, he saw it—a slight flutter of her eyelashes. Hope ignited in his chest, and he held his breath, willing her to come back to him, to fight through the darkness.

The room was suddenly filled with the sharp, urgent beeping of the monitor as it began to register Margarita's declining condition. Rafe's heart plummeted as he felt the warmth of hope slipping away. "No, no, no," he muttered under his breath, desperation clawing at his throat.

Nurses rushed in, their faces set with a mixture of focus and urgency. Rafe felt the grip of panic tighten around him, the world outside that room fading into an indistinct blur. He was swept aside, pulled from Margarita's side as the medical team descended upon her, voices rising in urgency as they called out commands, their hands moving quickly and efficiently.

"Get the crash cart!" one of them shouted. "We need to stabilize her!"

Rafe was shoved toward the door, the scene before him becoming a whirlwind of movement and sound. He fought against the tide of panic, desperate to catch a glimpse of Margarita, but the nurses formed a barrier, blocking his view.

"Please!" he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I need to stay with her!"

But the urgency in the room left no room for his emotions, and he was ushered out, the door swinging shut with a finality that felt like a death knell. He stood in the hallway, the sterile smell of antiseptic stinging his nostrils, and the distant sounds of frantic voices echoed around him.

"Rafe!" Sarah's voice cut through his daze, and he turned to see her rushing toward him, her face pale and drawn. 

"She... she was waking up, but then..." His voice faltered as he struggled to find the words, his chest tightening with every thought of what could be happening inside that room. "The monitor started beeping slower, and then the nurses came in..."

Tears filled Sarah's eyes as she grasped his hands, grounding him. "We have to stay strong for her," she urged, her voice trembling but firm. "She's a fighter. She can do this."

Rafe nodded, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the image of Margarita's pale face, the way she had looked just moments before—the fragility that felt like it could crumble at any second. The air felt thick with tension, each tick of the clock echoing the dread that hung heavy in his heart.

Time felt endless as they stood there, helpless, waiting for news. Each moment stretched into eternity, punctuated by the sounds of the medical staff moving through the hall, the muffled urgency of voices fading into the background. Rafe's thoughts spiraled, contemplating every possibility, every outcome he was afraid to imagine.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the door swung open. A doctor stepped out, his expression serious yet composed, a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded moments earlier.

"Are you family?" he asked, scanning their faces.

Rafe's heart raced, and he stepped forward. "I'm her boyfriend," he replied, his voice steady despite the tumult inside him. "What's happening? Is she okay?"

The doctor took a deep breath, glancing back at the room before meeting Rafe's gaze. "She is stable for now, but she's in critical condition. We had to intubate her to support her breathing. She needs immediate care, and we're doing everything we can."

"Can we see her?" Sarah asked, her voice breaking slightly.

"Not at the moment. We need to monitor her closely. But I can assure you we're doing our best," the doctor said, offering a reassuring nod.

Rafe felt his heart sink, but he clung to the hope that Margarita was still fighting, that she wasn't giving up. "Thank you," he managed to say, gratitude and fear intertwining in his chest.

The doctor turned to head back inside, and Rafe felt the weight of uncertainty settling heavily on his shoulders. He turned to Sarah, who was pale and shaking, and pulled her into a tight embrace. They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, both praying for Margarita, both hoping against hope that she would come back to them.

"Please," Rafe whispered into her hair, feeling the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over. "You have to come back to us, Margarita."

--- end of chapter