the fire between us

chapter 49

⚠️ Content Warning: This narrative contains intense themes, including a car accident, panic attacks, anxiety, and physical injuries. Readers who may be sensitive to topics related to trauma, emergency situations, or mental health distress should proceed with caution. Please take care of your well-being, and feel free to pause or step away if needed. Your mental health is important. ⚠️

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A week passes in a quiet haze. Each day feels like a blur, with Marcus and his family offering comfort and warmth, but my mind is never fully at ease. The weight of Martinus's condition lingers in the background, a silent, ever-present worry that refuses to let go.

One evening, as we're finishing dinner, the phone rings. Marcus's dad answers, his expression serious as he listens intently. My heart leaps into my throat, and I stop mid-conversation, instinctively sensing what's coming. When Marcus's dad finally hangs up, he turns to us, his face soft but heavy with the news we've been waiting for.

"They're allowing visitors now," he says quietly, looking directly at me. "Martinus is still in a coma, but if you want to see him, you can."

The words hang in the air, both a relief and a reminder of how fragile everything feels right now. I glance over at Marcus, whose brow furrows as he absorbs the news. His jaw tightens, and I can see the conflict in his eyes—relief at finally being able to see his brother, but also fear of what he might find.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I want to see him," I say, my voice soft but resolute. Marcus nods, his gaze meeting mine, and for a moment, there's an unspoken understanding between us. We'll face this together.

The drive to the hospital is a quiet one. Neither of us speaks much, lost in our thoughts. The closer we get, the more the anxiety creeps back in, the memories of the accident tugging at the edges of my mind. I try to push them away, focusing instead on Martinus—on seeing him, on being there for him, even if he can't hear me.

When we finally arrive, the hospital feels just as it did last time—sterile and too calm, like it's disconnected from the gravity of the situation. Marcus's hand finds mine as we walk through the familiar halls, and I grip it tightly, drawing strength from his presence.

At last, we reach Martinus's room. The door is slightly ajar, and I can see the faint glow of the machines monitoring his condition. My stomach churns with nervous anticipation, but I force myself to take that final step inside.

There he is—Martinus, lying motionless on the bed, his face pale and serene, as if he's simply sleeping. The beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, a steady rhythm that feels both reassuring and heartbreaking. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to process seeing him like this, but Marcus squeezes my hand, silently urging me forward.

We walk closer, and I take in every detail—the way his chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the tubes connected to him, the faint bruises still lingering from the accident. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away, determined to stay strong for him.

"Hey, Martinus," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "We're here."

Marcus sits down in the chair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving his brother. He reaches out, gently placing his hand over Martinus's, his jaw clenched tight with emotion. I can see the struggle on his face—the pain, the guilt, the fear—but he doesn't say a word.

I stay by Marcus's side, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. Just being here, with Martinus, feels like a small victory, even if he can't respond. I don't know how long we sit there, but time seems to slow, the world outside the room fading away.