𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

III

Chapter Three: 

~ Return of the cutie patootie ~

The room was stark, the whiteness piercing my soul like a thousand icy shards. The smell of antiseptic washed over me, and the beeps of the machines were like a lullaby for the damned. And there he was.

Charles.

His eyes were closed, but the peacefulness that usually accompanied sleep was nowhere to be found.

I couldn't speak.

I took a few tentative steps closer to the bed. Thea and Sabrina looked at me. They knew I was hurting, but they didn't know the half of it.

I reached out to touch his hand, but stopped myself. It was covered in bandages, and I didn't want to cause him any more pain. The sight of him like this, so broken and vulnerable, was too much to bear.

My throat was tight, the words I wanted to say lodged firmly in my chest. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the machines the only sound in the otherwise silent room. I watched him, my heart in my mouth, willing him to open his eyes, to give me some sign that he was okay.

But he didn't.

I took a seat beside his bed, my eyes never leaving his face.

Thea got to her feet and left, giving my shoulder a small squeeze as she went. Max took a pace forward and cleared his throat quietly.

"Lifeje... C'mon." He whispered, his finding Sabrina's.

"No. I won't leave him. Not until his family gets here. I won't-" She began to protest but Max's eyes gestured to where I sat and she fell silent. "Okay..." She nodded.

Max's hand slipped around her waist. I could tell he was worried about her in a situation like this, with this much stress. She leaned on him a little as he placed a small kiss on her temple and guided her out of the room.

The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving me alone with him. The machines beeped a rhythm that I never wanted to get used to, and the sound of his breathing filled the space. I stared at him.

I reached out again, this time letting my fingers brush over the back of his hand. He was warm. That was something. It was the only thing I could focus on, the warmth of his skin under my touch. The room was cold, but he was alive.

For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that if I just sat here, frozen in time, the world outside would stop moving. His face was a canvas of bruises and burns, but I could still see him, the Charles I knew. The strong line of his jaw, the way his nose had a slight bump from where he'd broken it as a child, the way his lashes lay against his cheeks.

I just wished they would open.

"I'm so sorry."

I leaned closer to the bed, my hand trembling as I hovered it over his. "I didn't mean it."

"You're going to be okay," I continued, my voice growing stronger. "You have to be."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I knew he couldn't hear my but I didn't want to cry in front of him, even in this state. Actually, I hoped he could hear me. I hoped he could hear my voice and find some comfort in it. I hoped he knew.

I stared at his chest, watching the steady rise and fall. I felt crazy, talking to myself like this. But I had to believe that he could hear me, that somehow, my voice could cut through the fog in his mind and bring him back to me.