For Worse or For Better (Shawn Mendes)

Visiting Hours

Because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don't apply to you.
—Good Will Hunting
(This ones a movie quote but I love it so much, I had to use it. If you have never seen Good Will Hunting with the amazingly talented Matt Damon, go watch it ASAP!)

After school, Typer drops me off at the hospital so that I can visit Shawn. I explained everything to him earlier, and he offers to pick me up at eight.

But I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and something tells me to reject his offer.

"Thanks Tyler, but I'll give Zac a call. He'll pick me up."

Tyler nods and says, "See you tomorrow at school?"

I grin at him. "I'm lookin' forward to it."

He winks at me and speeds off, a trail of dust following in his tracks.

I make my way into the hospital, and up to the front desk.

"Shawn Mendes, please."

The lady gives me a room number and then says, "His little sister went to her grandmother's house. Rixon Reilly took her home. He was the police officer that came to the kids' house to make sure everything was okay."

I picture the young man, about 25, who Aliyah was talking to. Perfect, she's safe. One less thing I have to worry about.

"Thank you," I mutter and find my way to Shawn's room, 317.

I gently kick open the door and sit in a chair next to Shawn's bed.

He looks peaceful, lying there, asleep. His eyes are shut, but they tremble, as if he's dreaming and can't keep them closed all the way. I can see them darting back and forth under his eye lids and his long lashes brush his cheeks.

His hands are folded on his stomach, which makes him look eerily like someone lying in an open casket.

His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths and I take one of his hands and clasp it in two of my own.

His skin is soft to the touch and ice cold, sending shivers down my spine.

"Tyler and I made up, Shawn," I whisper, though I know he can't hear me. "That's what best friends are for. They understand you better than anyone else. Except for you, of course. You probably know me better than I know myself."

I laugh lightly, trying to soften the dark mood of my conversation with Shawn's motionless body. "I'm so glad you're in my life and I don't want that to change right now. Frankly, I can't afford to lose you. I keep you alive and you keep me happy. I need you to wake up, Shawn.

"I'll take care of Aaliyah while you heal, but after that, we have to talk about your father. I can't stand to see you get beat up anymore. He's not a stable man and something has to be done. You're not safe and as much as you try, Aaliyah isn't safe either.

"I need you to be safe, Shawn. You're the most amazing guy and no one knows that but me. And that makes me feel incredibly special because I have a secret connection to you. I know you like no one else does and that makes me feel extraordinary. You make me feel extraordinary, Shawn Mendes."

I look at his perfect face; it looks so serene as he sleeps, or whatever this is.

Hopefully sleep. Of course he's sleeping, I tell myself. He'll wake up soon and everything will go back to normal.

But as I continue to talk quietly to Shawn, well-myself-the reality in that statement slowly fades away.

****

At 7:59, I'm still sitting next to Shawn's bed, my head rested on the edge of his pillow, my eyes looking out he open doorway.

Nurses walk up and down the hallway outside Shawn's room, telling people that visiting hours are over.

I find myself dreading the moment when they reach Shawn's room.

I find myself dreading the words "Honey, it's time to go home."

I find myself dreading the tone of voice they use; like I'm a five year old child who needs babysitting.

I find myself dreading the time when I have to leave Shawn, bringing myself further and further from where he stays in his restful slumber.

I hear footsteps getting closer and closer and then a nurse in a blue doctor's uniform walks in, holding a clipboard, her eyes scanning the papers.

"Shawn Mendes," she mutters. When she looks up and catches my eyes, she holds my stare.

And instantly, the dread floods out of my stomach.

Because as she leaves, I realize she knows that visiting hours clearly don't apply to me.