Burning Sensation

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ ғᴏᴜʀ

Eight months later

I sit in my usual spot on the fourth floor, opposite the vending machine and just a few steps away from Valerio's room.

My fingers absently toy with the cubic in my hand as I stare blankly at the vending machine, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The fluorescent lights overhead seem to hum in sync with my racing heart.

"Isa," a cheerful voice calls out, breaking the spell. I turn to see Darya, my unlikely friend from the hospital, wheeling her chair towards me. Her bright smile is a stark contrast to my own strained expression. "Stop doing that," she says, her tone playful.

I force a smile, feeling a bit of comfort in her presence. "Hey Darya," I greet, my voice a little softer than usual. "How are you feeling today?"

Darya shrugs, parking her chair beside me. "The usual. I'm good, but I'll definitely be better if Ethan doesn't result to such extreme measures. Why the fuck do I need a wheelchair?" Her eyes roll dramatically, and I chuckle softly, shaking my head.

I watch as she settles into her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Her boyfriend, Ethan, is always looking out for her, and it's clear they're deeply in love. Their relationship is the kind that makes you believe in fairy tales. Anytime I look at them, I'm reminded of Valerio and me. The way we used to be. The way I wish we still were.

Darya's gaze locks onto mine, her eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice soft while looking over at me with a look that rivals her age.

I sigh, my fingers absently playing with the cupid pendant Denis - Darya's brother - gave me. "Nothing really. Just the usual."

"Still no news?" she presses, her eyes never leaving mine.

I shake my head. "Nope."

The silence between us is solid before I speak up again. "They're considering taking him off life support."

Darya's body stiffens beside me, and I let out another sigh. "No, no, no," she starts, realizing I've noticed her reaction. "I don't think they're right, I was just—"

I cut her off, my voice barely above a whisper. "Am I a bad person for thinking that maybe they're right?"

Darya turns her chair to face me, taking my hands in her lap. Her touch is warm and comforting. "You've been positive for so long," she says gently. "You're a strong woman. You can't be expected to be perfect all the time."

Sometimes I forget that she's almost a decade younger than I am.

I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as I look at her. "I want to be positive," I whisper. "I want to believe he'll get better. But there's been no improvement for months. No activity in his brain..." I start to panic. "Is this how I'm going to lose him? He was mad at me before the accident? Is that what his last impression of me is going to be?"