Garrix & Me (Martin Garrix Fanfiction)

Chapter 30

Third-Person Narration

13 Months Ago

The hospital walls are a dull blue color, matching the gloomy grey tiles layered on the floor.

Everything is too boring and too lackluster to house a boy like him, a nearby nurse thinks to herself.

The machine beside the white sheeted bed beeps in a slow rhythm, never changing. That's how his condition has been for the past month - always constant and unchanging.

But one Friday morning, where the sun decides to appear after hibernating through the Winter, the boy's left thumb fidgets with the soft white blanket covering his body. The woman seated next to his bed doesn't notice. It is only when his entire hand moves slightly to the right, that her eyes widen in bewilderment.

The woman gets off her chair immediately, grabbing the boy's hand. Her first instinct is to shake him awake, to try and coax a reaction out of his body. When the pupils beneath his eyelid move to the left and to the right again, hope flourishes in her aching chest.

She smiles brightly as tears drip onto the boy's arm. Her hand reaches to the small remote next to the bed and she presses the large red button.

Seconds later, nurses rush into the room; mostly prepared for bad news. Instead, they are greeted with the woman's wide smile and momentarily, each of them wonder if it is the same wrecked woman that has walked into this very room every single day for the past month; the same woman who lost the light in her eyes, the woman who cried day after day, desperation and hope never leaving her in peace.

Surely, if I were her, I would have given up on life, a nurse thinks to herself, this woman has been in and out of this hospital for the past six months. If my daughter had went through that and now my son through this, I wouldn't be strong enough, the nurse shivers.

A more qualified nurse tends to the boy. First she checks the machine, her first thought being that something has malfunctioned. Her movement to fetch a blood pressure band is halted when a small whine is heard. She stops and turns in shock to the twitching boy.

"He's come back!" the crying woman shouts. Her happiness is contagious and the other nurse's smile wide, relieved smiles.

Slowly but surely, the boy's pale eyelids flutter and then open, revealing hazel eyes that have been unseen and missed for a month of torture.

The woman does not stop crying, she can't. Tears of joy are new and unfamiliar to her and she cannot control them. Her hand grips the boy's long fingers as his eyes search the ceiling, blinking and adjusting to the harsh light.

She reaches over to stroke the boy's face, but it has been covered in bandages and plaster from the surgery. She lets her fingers trail over the rough, slightly blood stained material.

"Thank you, God," she whispers, her cracked lips trembling, "Thank you for bringing my son back to me."

Eventually, the boy's eyes move from the ceiling to the nurses and then to the woman. The look of confusion in them remains as he stares at the woman and her hand gripping his.

He tries to say something, but his voice comes out a sharp whisper.

The nurse immediately calls the doctor using the remote. She knows he's in, he always has been every time the woman came to see the boy.

Within minutes, the middle aged doctor walks into the room, an amused look on his face as he takes in the sight before him. The boy is trying to move to sit up but the nurse restrains him.