𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 |𝟏𝟖+|

50

Miguel Raffetò POV

A whole week had passed and Etta was still in a coma.

The doctors tried bringing her out of it the other day, but she didn't respond. And whilst they say her body is healing correctly, my baby remains unconscious.

Apparently that's a common occurrence. Comas are unpredictable, you never know how long someone's body needs to get better. It could be weeks, could be months, in some cases, it could even be years.

It hurts to think that could happen to my E, but god forbid it came to that then you can bet your ass I'll be right here holding her hand.

"Hey Guel." Pollie and Meg walked in. The two had struck up a bond upon this incident occurring.

I picked my head up with where it rested on my fist, my eyes straining to pull away from watching Etta. She was all I ever looked at. All I ever wanted to look at.

"Hey guys." I said, my throat hoarse. I can't remember the last time I moved to get a drink. The last time I pissed must've been a few hours ago.

Pollie guessed as much and tossed me a bottle of water. "Drink."

I nodded in thanks, unscrewing the cap and chugging the cool liquid down as Meg pulled a paper bag out of her tote.

"Now eat." She said, but I shook my head.

"No thank you, I'm good."

I didn't have to be staring at my E again to know that those two women were sharing some sort of knowing look.

"Miguel. You need to eat. You're burning yourself into the ground. When was the last time you had a full meal? When was the last time you truly slept?"

I shook my head, attempting to block Pollie's mothering voice out as I reached forward to tuck a fallen strand out of Etta's hair.

"Guel please. Me and Meg can sit with her for a bit, please just go home and shower." I spared a glance over my shoulder at her then.

I'd left the hospital once since what happened, happened. I went to my apartment, the last place my beautiful E was before she got hit.

It was completely trashed. But I couldn't find it in me to care. All I cared about was Etta getting better and hearing snippets of information on how close they are to finding these fuckers who put her in this bed.

So no, I hadn't been back to my apartment and I never wanted to again. Romeo organised for someone to go in and clear my stuff since I told my friends I wanted the place sold.

They were hesitant and worried I was making a rash decision but they didn't understand that my home wasn't a place. It was a person.

The second thing closest to home was Etta's place. The memories we've made there are what burn through my mind.

The memories of our growth together is what I talk to her about. And whilst she doesn't talk back, I like to think that she's listening.

Rome and Pollie offered their spare room for me and I only said yes to get them off my back. Not that I've used the room yet, but still.