paper rings (l.h.)

60

Luke had managed to fall asleep with his head rested on Mary's chest, her hands instinctively running continuous lines down his scalp. His hair would be a mess once he woke up, she can already picture him frustrated in the mirror — but Mary had a feeling that neither of them would be paying very much attention to their appearances today.

But Mary wasn't oblivious to the fact that the hospital gown Luke's head rested on was damp, specifically beneath his eyes. He had cried. He had cried and said nothing, tried to hide it as she herself drifted in and out of sleep. She couldn't imagine what Luke was feeling. The pain that the boy had  to have gone through, watching his Father drift to eternal sleep while his Mother was already gone. She wasn't really a mother. Not really. She was the woman who birthed him, but she was never a Mom.

Mary was ready to leave. Ready to leave this town, this hospital, this side of the country and move somewhere far away from any coast. Far away from hurricanes and flooding and terrible Mothers, potential Mother-In-Law.

She couldn't sleep. Couldn't close her eyes long enough to help time pass by. Her back ached from being stuck in this position for a full day, yet she couldn't bring herself to shift beneath Luke and risk waking him up from his slumber. Her novel was her only company, one hand holding it open and the other pushing Luke's curls from his forehead. His arms wrapped around her torso, she was warm. She wasn't shivering like she was when she first woke up.

Luke, even in his sleep, minded where he moved and how he shifted around her. The only light in this room was from the faint glow of the lamp above their head and the glow of the lonely hallways through the door out.

The door was left open after the last nurse checked on them, and she didn't respond or acknowledge the man who held onto her like a stuffed animal. She was glad. She wasn't in the mood for teasing. Wasn't in the mood for anything that anyone could say that would hurt the boy who had already been wounded so many times by the world around him. She was not a mean person, she would rather walk away from a fight than swing — but somehow, when the idea of a sad and suffering Luke Hemmings crossed her mind, she was ready to burn cities down.

She wasn't sure where these feelings came from, but knew they were always there. Felt a strong urge to protect as much as she felt the need to be protected. Luke's gentle breaths along her chest reminded her that he needed to be held sometimes, too.

The open door made it easier for guests, welcome or otherwise, to enter without her noticing. So when Dr. Hemmings appeared at her side, she watched as the woman clicked her tongue. Her face set in deep calculation as she scoffed. "You shouldn't be reading with a concussion," she said quietly, after taking a second or two to glance at the sleeping boy in front of them. "You should be asleep. It's nearly two AM."

"I can't sleep," Mary sleepily responds, placing her bookmark between the pages and watching as she marks down my numbers into that iPad of hers. "My headache gets worse when I lay my head down or close my eyes," she glances at Dr. Hemmings, hoping for, if anything, a quick potion that'd stop the ringing in her ears, or throbbing in her face.

Her eyes now are glued to Luke, his lashes fluttering as he reacts to whatever dreamscape his emotional exhaustion had brought him to. Before she walked in, long after Luke's gentle snoring had begun, Luke would hum in his sleep. Not tunes, nothing recognizable. But his voice was so soft, so beautiful. She could stay up every night just to watch him sleep. Watch his chest move, feel his body as it twitches and shifts atop her. But at this moment, both Dr. Hemmings and Mary could acknowledge the beauty in front of us.

There was no hiding the pain on her face as he slept. Mary knew that look. Knew it from all those years her Mother spent looking at her the same way. She often felt it, she had gotten so used to the look of true regret that she could feel eyes on her back and know in her soul they were giving her those same eyes.