Trust Me

Meghan

April's recovery process has everyone anticipating her consciousness at any moment and don't get me wrong, I wish she would hurry up already, but how do we pick up the conversation we left unfinished the night of the accident? It may have been a few weeks ago but I'm still asking myself the same old question: What am I supposed to tell her when she wakes up?

Do I tell her that Luke is gone for good? Do I act like he didn't storm out of the hospital, leaving her behind? Do I tell her that I bit his head off for it?

Surely we can't just forget that it ever happened and carry on with our lives. She will never forget him. He left his mark, emotionally and physically.

I'm back in my living room where I relive the night it all went wrong. I've spent so much time at the hospital lately that the room around me hardly feels like home anymore. 

Yesterday, when the other girls were at April's bedside after hearing about the sign of recovery, I realised how this has really become a secret life of hers. It's like Luke is... was her escape.

...

I haven't been to the hospital for a couple of days. I don't know if I'm ready for April's recovery since I've been back and forth between 'ice breakers' almost the whole week. 

So, April, I gather you know about Luke?

April, we need to talk about that night.

Can you believe you were in a coma for almost a month? So much can happen in that time.

I wonder how many missed calls and messages you have.

I've been seeing this black Range Rover around your house lately...

Luke's gone.

I'm sorry.

How am I supposed to do this? I'm not ready.

"April, wake up. But let me think first." I say to the lifeless corridor in front of me. I've stood in this exact spot and said the exact same thing too many times. The corridor remains undisturbed as usual.

I sigh and start my ever familiar journey down the white tunnel of disinfectant. 

I hear the rattle of squeaky wheels behind me and suddenly voices break out. The voices evolve into people as they come up behind me, scooting past me. Clean tennis shoes and crisp scrubs come into sight as the nurses speed walk in the direction I'm going, the tray of apparatus still clattering along with them.

I think nothing of it and continue on my solemn way.

As I approach April's room I walk slower and slower. The same voices become louder and louder. I stop and lean against the wall outside room 356 thinking that the doctors are doing their routine check up on April but then I hear it...

There is a sudden gasp that comes from the room followed by a horrific coughing fit. My eyes widen. 

That isn't the doctor or one of the nurses.

I straighten and turn towards the door that is standing wide open. A crowd of people are standing around her bed, tinkering with needles and reading charts, but I can see her in between the bodies. She's moving. 

I start moving so fast that my shoes slip on the pristine flooring. I stumble toward her bed and push past the people. There she is, lying on the bed, her face pale from the effort of coughing, but her eyes are open. Her eyes are open and staring up at the ceiling.

I lift my hands to my mouth as my mind empties itself of all my preparations. I stand there staring at her when eventually her head moves slowly and her gaze settles on me. Her eyes fill with tears and she starts crying. 

The nurses and doctors carry on with their medical concerns, paying no attention to us. Finally getting over my shock, I leap onto the bed beside April and give her the tightest hug that I can give.

We lie there, speechless, both gasping in between sobs, until...

"I'm sorry." 

I hear her voice for the first time in a month. It's fragile and I can hear the breaking of her heart as she says it. 

I am still at a loss of words and struggle to find anything remotely sensible to say. So I wait for my breath to come back and for the tears to stop. After a few minutes, we both lie still and I sit up to look at her. 

I open and close my mouth still searching... Searching for anything.

"H-hey..." I stammer.

"Hey?" she lets out a brief laugh.

"I- well... You-"

I leave the sentence unfinished.

But she seems to know what I'm thinking.

"I know." she breaks eye contact, "He was here and he spoke to me."

I can't help a sigh of relief that escapes my lips. 

I don't have to tell her.

"I wondered." I say, half to myself, "But I don't know if I'm ready for that conversation yet."

"Me neither."

I know she is lying but I'm grateful.

At that moment her parents come in, crying, laughing, rushing to her side. I tell her that I'll be back tomorrow and leave that hospital for the millionth time.