Lost In Love (vol. 1)

Holding On, Barely Breathing

"I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting till the war's won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have."

- Angel With A Shotgun, CAB

The room felt cold to Nate, as it had yesterday. Death still hovered nearby, waiting to grab what wasn't his to take yet. Nate could almost see him lurking in the corner, near Kyle's bed, his heavy hooded cloak concealing his face, his hands clasped in front of him beneath the thick sleeves of his shroud.

Keep your fucking hands off him, Nate hissed silently. You're too early, way too early.

He could feel the thing smile at him, almost smirk as if to imply Nate was a silly, insignificant mortal to think he had a say in the matter.

Fuck you, Nate's jaw ground tight. You're not getting him. You're not fucking taking him!

He jumped a little when Janice touched his back. He realized he was just standing there inside the doorway, unmoving, staring at Kyle's still form. Like Janice, he felt as if he were observing a stranger, an impostor trying to trick them into believing he was their beloved Kyle. But how could this be Kyle? How – when Kyle was so full of life, so ready to go anywhere, do anything. He was was a crazy, wild little shit. He wasn't...this.

Nate pressed his lips between his teeth and bit down, struggling against the tears. Still, they came, filling up slowly then slipping free one at a time, trickling down his cheeks. He wanted to run away again, get as far away from this fake Kyle as he could. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be his baby.

He drew in a shaky breath that hitched through his chest then exhaled with a shudder. Janice rubbed his back soothingly, as if to calm him. But how could be be calm? He wanted to scream, punch walls, punch the fucking doctor for telling them the one person who meant the most to them in this entire fucking world – was as good as dead.

The scene before him was something out of a horror movie; tubes running into Kyle, out of him. I.V.'s pumping in fluids, drugs, whatever it took to keep his blood oxygenated and healthy. A ventilator breathing for him through a hard plastic face mask fastened over his mouth and nose. His head shaved and wrapped in bandage. His skin pale as if life had already abandoned him.

Nate's hand slowly rose to his face, covered his mouth, as his brow pinched hard and more tears pushed out, coursing down over his hand. A painful sob exploded in his chest and he dropped his hand, exhaling hard on another sob. He gripped his hips and sucked in another labored breath. He could hear Janice's soft cries, feel her hand on his back, her fingertips pressing into his muscles as her own pain gripped her tighter.

By sheer force of will, Nate took a step towards the bed, nearly froze, but managed another. He felt like a cripple just learning to walk again, his legs didn't want to work, his knees stiff, jerking, unstable as if they might give out at any moment. His thigh muscles trembled and shook, and a numbness was spreading down through his calves into his feet. But he forced his feet forward, one slow laboring step at a time until he was standing beside Kyle's bed.

A low scrape on the hard floor broke his trance as Janice drew up a chair next to the bed. "Sit down, sweetheart." She whispered. "Before you fall down."

Nate sank heavily onto the chair, thankful to be off his unsteady legs. Kyle's hand lay limply just a few inches away. He wanted to hold his hand...but feared the coldness of skin. His eyes closed briefly and images of that night at cabin came back in a rush; Kyle's warms hands all over his body, his touch like fire, igniting Nate's body, heart and mind. His fingertips like tiny red hot coals searing his skin...