Shattered Asylum

Chapter 98

Grayson's POV

Hours. That's what it feels like. Hours of the same four white walls, the same clock ticking like it's mocking me. I don't even know how much time has passed. Ten minutes could be an hour, an hour could be ten. Time stopped when they wheeled her through those doors.

And I'm still here. Sitting. Waiting. Dying a little more every second without her.

I try to hold my head in my hands, but the silence is too heavy. My chest feels like it's caving in on itself. All I can hear is the echo of her voice in my head, like some cruel trick my memory's playing to keep me awake.

"Did you know lobsters taste with their feet?"

The words come back so clearly that for a split second, I almost smile. I can remember when she texted me that, probably thinking it would cheer me up. I picture her grinning at her screen, maybe even smiling to herself, so sure she'd just said something clever enough to stick with me.

I did chuckle at the time. And even now, sitting in this hell, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. A breath escapes me, almost like a laugh. But it dies just as fast. A tear slips down before I can stop it, sliding hot across my cheek.

Fuck, what I wouldn't give for one more ridiculous fact. One more eye roll. One more second.

The doors finally open. The doctor comes out, his expression already telling me what his words are going to say. Behind him, Arnaldo and Chiara follow, their faces grave, careful, as if they're bracing for my reaction.

He clears his throat. "Her heart is... holding on," he says slowly, like each word is glass. "But she's in a coma. We have her on a ventilator. She's unable to breathe on her own. " He hesitates. "Her body is very weak. There's significant trauma. Multiple broken ribs, a collapsed lung we've reinflated, internal bleeding. The time without oxygen... we're concerned about brain damage. We need to run more tests, but... it doesn't look good."

My heart drops through the floor.

He keeps talking, like he's walking me step by step into a pit I can't climb out of. "We'll do what we can, but I have to be honest with you all. You should probably... say your goodbyes."

The words slam into me, cold and sharp.

Goodbye.

I shake my head, barely able to form words. "No. No, she's... she's a fighter. You don't know her. She doesn't just give up."

Arnaldo places a hand on my shoulder. Heavy. Meant to be steadying. All it does is make me want to shrug it off and put my fist in his face.

This is his fault.

The doctor nods politely, professionally, but I see the finality in his eyes. He leaves us with the silence.

That's when I hear them. Arnaldo and Chiara, low voices, careful tones they probably think I won't catch.

"...the ventilator," Chiara whispers. "They can't keep her on it forever."

"Not if there's no chance," Arnaldo replies, voice gruff, tired.

It's like the air leaves the room. My body goes rigid, rage crawling up my throat. No chance? No chance? That's my entire life in there, lying on a bed she doesn't deserve to be in, and they're already talking about pulling plugs?

I want to scream at them, tear into them, but I can't find my voice. The only thing I manage is a whisper, cracked and hoarse. "Don't you dare."

They stop. Look at me. But I don't care. I'm already moving, already pushing past them to get to her.

When I finally step inside, the sight of her nearly knocks me to my knees. She looks small, too small, under all the tubes and wires. Machines breathe for her, keep her heart steady, but it doesn't look like her. Not really.

I sit down beside her, take her hand gently in mine. It's cool, but still hers. Still her skin, her touch, her presence.

"I don't want you to go," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I can't-" My throat locks up, and I have to close my eyes, breathe through the burn in my chest. "But if you need to... if you can't keep fighting... you don't have to stay for me."

The words slice me open even as I say them. Because I don't mean them. Not really. I want her here, with me, alive, laughing, sending me stupid texts in the middle of the night. But I love her too much to chain her to this pain.

A tear falls onto her hand, sliding down her pale skin. I tighten my grip, as if I can anchor her here with me, hold her spirit down with the weight of my touch.

"I'll never be ready," I say, the words trembling out of me. "Not in a million years. But if you go... you're taking the last good part of me with you."

The monitor beeps steadily beside us, cruel in its rhythm. I lay my head down on the edge of the bed, her hand pressed against my forehead, and let the sobs come, unguarded and raw.

No one interrupts me. Not Arnaldo. Not Chiara. Not the doctors.

It's just me and her. And the ticking clock that doesn't care it's running out of time.

Word Count:905