He was sitting in the waiting room, and that's exactly what he was doing; waiting. He tapped his foot and tried to appear calm. He wasn't going to break down; he knew that wouldn't help anything. All he could do was pray. He thought back to what had happened.
They had been walking to the movie theater to celebrate the end of their junior year. They were walking along, and she was laughing. He could still see her. They had been together for more than a year, and they were completely and absolutely in love. He pulled her to him and kissed her, his back to the road. She pulled back for a moment to smile at him, but then her eyes went wide and she pushed him aside before he realized what was happening. That's when the car hit her. That moment played over and over in his head as he tried to figure out what he could have done. There must have been something he could have done. But it was too late now. There was nothing he could do but wait.
He was disrupted from his thoughts as he realized someone was talking to him.
"Sir, you should probably come with me." He stood up without a word, but knew that his face was saying more than words ever could. Her family was gone on a trip, but they had called to give him permission to see her. The fact that they had to worried him more than he was willing to let on.
He had to fight not to gasp when he saw her; she looked even worse than she had before. Her raven black hair appeared even darker when compared to her face, which appeared to be drained of color. Her breathing was labored, and even he could see that the monitor was showing an irregular heartbeat. Her eyes were closed and he could see that she was unconscious. He looked at the doctor who was standing solemnly next to the door. He shook his head and looked down, and that was all he had to do to get across what needed to be said. He left a moment later, presumable to give him time to say goodbye.
He fell to his knees the moment the door closed. He grabbed her hand, and realized that there was an IV sticking out of it. He didn't care; she wouldn't need it much longer anyways. He meant to only let a single sob escape, but once he started, he couldn't stop. He started rocking back and forth, clutching onto her hand for dear life; but it wasn't his life that he was worried about.
"What do I do?" He whispered through sobs. "I can't do this. It's my fault. My fault!" He stopped talking then. He just held her hand. He gave up on trying not to mess with he machinery. He crawled into the bed next to her and stroked her hair and held her. He did that for what felt like forever when he heard alarms blaring. He got out of the way of the doctors and nurses so they could get to her, but he refused to let go of her hand. He hardly heard the doctor tell him that she was gone as he walked away into his own version of Hell, with tears streaming down his face.
