What I Couldn't Tell Him

47 - High as a Fr*cking Kite

JAIMIE PERRON

Alden's voice slices through the room like a blade; either because everybody is scared of him, or because I have zoned in on his voice. He takes my hand tightly and it becomes my lifeline, anchoring me to the room.

"What happened?" He asks somebody, pressing my hand between his. His palms are sweating but I don't care, I need him to hold me if I am about to die.

"I just left and I came back as soon as possible." Brooklyn answers. I need him to ask the question. What is happening to me?

The doctors push around. The sheets are lifted, my arm taken from Alden's grasp, my wrist stings, and they shout at him to move.

"Wait! Let me stay. She needs someone she knows!" Despite his protests, he is tossed aside like a doll from a pram.

He won't cry. He will pace like a wild animal, but he won't cry. I don't know if it's pride or bravado, or he literally has no tear ducts. I can't hear his pacing over the chaos anyway.

Brooklyn is likely comforting him, pulling him out of the way of more frantic people. Nobody is answering my question.

More pain. I didn't realise how numb everything has been. It is like a riptide, all accumulating in my head until I forget that I am surrounded by people, and just drown in the surging water and it stings so much. I am almost certain that this is death. Almost, because I can't seem to kill the hope.

Then the pain is chased away, like dust from an attic. I feel something else. I have been dreaming about it for a long time. It is better than I remember, even more refreshing than my fantasies.

Control. Feeling. Power.

"Did you see that?"

"She moved!"

"What happened? Her finger?"

"Can you do it again, sweetheart?"

"F*cking hell."

The last one was a warm exhale. Alden fought his way back towards me and places a hand next to mine, fingertips brushing barely.

"Hey, just one more time, okay? You can do it."

I try again. So much effort for something so light. Every millimetre is made of lead. My diminished muscles fight me. I feel it move like a plane taking off.

He exhales loudly, in unmasked relief. The doctors cheer, and Charles' voice is unmistakably loud. More pain follows, but it doesn't matter. I wonder vaguely if this is a dream or a hallucination from the drugs. When he touches me, he reminds me that it is not.

He takes both my hands and brushes my knuckles with his lips. He holds them as the doctors shuffle about, unclipping this, monitoring that.

"Excuse me. Can you step away?"

They become increasingly agitated, still busy. They push my bed and he hisses when the frame bangs into his leg. The doctor apologises repeatedly.

"Final tests now. We can leave you to rest Jaimie." James' voice filters through and Alden squeezes my hand. He is gentle. I wonder how I look. He said beautiful, be he was probably biased and it was weeks ago. I have deteriorated, surely.

James shifts my head on my pillows, "Have a rest."

Alden sighs and his warmth bleeds into my fingers. I could hold him there forever. There are too many things that I want to forget about. I wish that I could.

"F*ck." He sighs and I hear the smile in his voice, "I almost lost you, didn't I?"

I force my eyelid open. My eyelashes form an interlocking blur across the tiny amount of sight I have. Its so bright. I let it drop. I can't do much of anything for very long. In the small burst of springtime light that my condition afforded me, I caught a glimpse of his face; sharp and strong and more handsome than I remeber.