taste | e.d

twenty-one

Kendall Rose

Ever since the last time I talked to Ethan, I haven't been able to stop this jittery feeling in my body.

I had a mental breakdown the morning after, leaving me in a sour mood all the time and unwilling to speak.

I haven't spoken a word in five weeks.

My nurse Julia—a pretty and thin woman with long red hair who looked like she belonged in a movie—told me I probably would've been able to go home that day if I hadn't chosen to pick up the phone.

I wanted to say I was desperate, that it wouldn't happen again, but I just didn't feel like speaking anymore. Every time I opened my mouth I'd mess something up.

The doctors thought something was wrong in my brain. Julia had to ward them off and told them to give me some space, that the multiple tests and scans weren't helping me get any better.

Sometimes I cry out of nowhere, for no reason at all. Silent tears drip down my face while I stare off at something. I'm allowed to wander the halls as long as I don't interfere with the other patients. Sometimes I cry because I miss the freedom of being able to live my life and work in the bookstore and spend time with Shannon.

But deep inside me I know the real reason I always cry is Ethan.

•••

There have been several times where I have seen medics come rushing in, rolling an injured patient through the crowd.

It happens again today, and one guy is sitting on the person's lap, performing chest compressions.

Curious, I try to stand on my toes to look over everyone that watches. The person's skin is pale, and they have a tube leading into their mouth with a pouch on the other end, a hand squeezing it steadily so that it pumps air into their lungs.

Then I see the nearly perfect shape of their dark eyebrow. The unmistakable freckle on their cheek.

And I start screaming.

I push through the crowd, trying to get to him, and then I freeze.

This is a dream.

It has to be dream.

There is a blue streak in his hair, and when I look closer, I see the skin under his nose red with blood.

He didn't have the streak last time I saw him. It's just my imagination.

It's just my head.

But when someone pushes me, I snap.

I keep shoving towards him, people giving me looks, some just moving out of the way. A few nurses start rushing to me, but I weave through them, desperate to get to him.

"That doesn't look good," someone says behind me.

No.

"Ethan!" I cry. "Ethan, no!"

A nurse grabs me by the waist and restrains me from moving any further.

"No!" I yell. "Help him! He can't die!"

I claw at the hands holding me, feeling the same way I did when they tried to save my sister. Helpless.