headlights | joji

nine

           
DAY SIXTEEN.

The sadness in the room could almost be seen, it was thick and heavy, towering over the four of us like a shadow. It took Max and Ian around two hours to calm me down, it wasn't until I really listened to them, I realised that me being next to Joji would've just slowed the doctors down.

They were still in the room, though the blinds were open so I could witness everything they were doing. Dr Burnham was one of the few doctors continuing to work on Joji, as the others also stood around the bed, watching him just as I was.

They managed to get him breathing again, but it took several hours to stop his convulsions so it has been pure agony. My cries were no longer audible as I sat with my head rested lightly on Brenda's shoulder, only the wet trail of tears reminded me that I was in deep discontentment.

Brenda lifted her hand, and began to stroke my head gently. She would occasionally wipe a tear from my cheek, and lift her head to speak whispers to Max and Ian who sat opposite us. Though I was too zoned out to listen, it wasn't that I didn't care, it was just that I was much too preoccupied with my own thoughts and overwhelming emotion.

All our eyes were red and blotchy, bloodshot veins seeping through the whiteness and into the dark pupils. Max was somewhat dozing off, and Ian was wide awake, staring at the vast white walls of the hospital, an apparent look of concern written across his features.

Although it was Max who pulled me out of the room, earlier that night; showing a strong, brave façade, I could see that this situation was beginning to toll on him badly. His previous mindset of positivity, and belief that Joji was going to wake up was now leaving him. His posture was less straight, and his eyes seemed to have become sunken over the space of six hours.

Ian seemed to have realised too, his usual happy demeanour had become lonesome and quiet. His glasses were slightly tilted up on one side, due to his head leaning messily in his hand. His gaze was tranquil, calm, free from disturbance. Yet I knew behind his glazed over pupils lay grief and pain.

I couldn't see Brenda's face in my view, but I could feel from the rigid form of her body that she was plastered with unhappiness, her baby was in pain, and she couldn't do anything to help him.

I wanted to rid of their suffering, their aching; but my presence couldn't bring them the comfort and reassurance, they just want Joji to be okay, and that is all they'd need to feel gratified again.

I looked up as I heard a door open, the doctors who worked on Joji began filing out the room, each of them offering a look of guilt towards the four of us. The final person out the door was Dr Burnham, who didn't continue with the other doctors, instead he waved his hand with a smile, ushering us into Joji's hospital room.

I went through first, with the others close behind me. We all sat down, as Dr Burnham pulled up a chair and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked just as exhausted as we were.

"I've never been good at this sort of thing." His words were strained, which was unexpected.

That string of words made my stomach drop, although I'd later find out that I wouldn't want to know out what he was about to say, I asked anyway.

"What is it? He's going to be okay, right?" I swallowed the lump in my throat, fearing the next words.

"After we were able get him breathing again and calm his convulsions, myself and the other doctors realised that his body is in the same state was it was when he arrived here. Although he hasn't deteriorated, he hasn't gotten any better. Usually we see signs of consciousness within a week, or earlier. It's only very uncommon cases that don't show these signs." I interrupted him again, something that had become a habit of mine these past days.