SOUL

she wakes up

The hospital room was unnervingly quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic beeping of the machines keeping Mary tethered to life. Leo sat slumped in the stiff plastic chair beside her bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He hadn't moved in hours. Time had lost all meaning since they had brought her in—barely alive, her pulse weak, her body cold, and so much blood.

The doctors had done all they could. She was still here, still breathing, but just barely. They had told him it was a miracle she had survived at all, but that wasn't enough. She wasn't awake. She was locked in the coma, and all he could do was sit by her side, helpless and shattered.

Leo lifted his head slowly, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale and drawn. He looked at Mary—lying so still, tubes and wires connected to her like lifelines. Her skin was paler than he remembered, almost translucent against the stark white sheets. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow, and though the cuts and bruises on her face had started to heal, they were a brutal reminder of the nightmare she had endured.

He reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took hers. Her fingers felt fragile in his grip, like if he held too tightly, they would break. But he couldn't let go. He was afraid to. If he let go, it would feel like he was letting her slip away completely.

His thumb brushed softly over her knuckles as he leaned closer, his eyes locked on her face, searching for any sign of movement, any flicker of life. But there was nothing. The only indication she was still with him was the steady beep of the machines, the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

The doctors had warned him it could be days, weeks.

"I need you, Mary," he whispered, his voice breaking as fresh tears welled up in his eyes. "I've needed you from the start. I was too stupid to see it, but I see it now. I see everything now."

His grip on her hand tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. The overwhelming guilt tore at him every second. He had failed her. He hadn't protected her, hadn't believed her when she needed him to the most. He had let her go alone.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, his shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs. "I should've been there. I should've... I should've listened to you from the beginning. God, I was so stupid."

His tears dripped onto the hospital bed, mixing with the pale fabric of the sheets. He was drowning in the weight of it all—guilt, fear, love. The helplessness gnawed at him, clawing at his insides.

He lifted his head, looking at her again, wishing he could trade places with her, wishing he could take away her pain. He had never felt so powerless in his life. This was worse than anything he had ever faced—watching her lie there, broken, unable to do anything but cling to a fragile hope that she might wake up.

He wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand, his heart aching as he looked at her peaceful face. He could still see the woman she was beneath the bruises and the bandages—the strength, the fire that had always been there, even when the world tried to break her.

The door to the room opened softly, and Harris stepped in, his face solemn. He had been checking in on Leo for the past few days, worried about him, but every time Leo just shook his head. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want anyone else there.

Harris lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the scene before him. "Leo..." he began quietly.

"I'm not leaving," Leo cut him off, his voice firm despite the exhaustion pulling at him. His eyes never left Mary's face. "I'm not going anywhere."

Harris nodded, understanding, and stepped back out, leaving Leo alone with her again.

The hours blurred together as Leo sat there, unmoving. His body ached, his eyes burned from the constant stream of tears, but he didn't care. He wouldn't leave her. He wouldn't stop fighting for her, even if she couldn't fight for herself right now.