Untitled [DISCONTINUED]

IV

The steady beeping weaves its way through the fog in my mind, tapping into my consciousness and arousing it from its state of sleep. The sharp scent of sterilization awakens my sense of smell. It's the chill of the chords and the tightness of bands around my arms, though, that really brings me to the realization of where I am. The hospital.

My eyes slowly open, and my vision gradually settles into focus as I strain to look around. A few, faint memories come back of words exchanged, some my own, though I'm not sure how I was able to communicate while I was so far gone.

Once my eyes are completely focused, I see that the room is small and full of beeping machines and more monitors than a security room-or so it would seem-all displaying things unreadable to my medically uneducated mind. The heart monitor is really the only one I can understand, and it's the only one my eyes linger on. The beats seem.... Off. Irregular.

My eyes follow the spikes and dips, displaying their own unique dance. A dance that calls to the heart that once danced with the beat of mine, yet the beat has been lost; silenced against the will of its own. Our hearts wanted the song to go on forever, but that small piece of lead ended it before the final, beautiful chord that was meant to be played. Now, without the beat of his heart to harmonize with mine, the beats of my heart are abnormal, lacking proper rhythm without his beats to fill in and surround mine. Our song and dance died with him, leaving sad, sour notes captured inside my lonely chest.

A lonely tear to join the others trickles down my cheek ad drips into my hand. My pale, ugly, broken, useless hands. Hands that could not hold onto what I thought would me forever mine. The tears blur the shape of my hands, and I close my eyes instead, trying to remember the warmth of his hand in mine, but memories just aren't the same.

I sit silently, letting my thoughts flow, until they are interrupted my someone slightly behind me, clearing their throat. The sound startles me, and I pray that my jump was too small to notice.

I slowly lift my head up and wipe the rears off with the back of my hand. As I turn to look at the source of the noise, a pair of the softest, kindest, warmest brown eyes meet my cold, empty ones that reflect the darkness inside me. His dark hair is shaggy and messy, but it seems as if that's how it's always supposed to be. My eyes graze over the sharp, sculpted features of his face, which is unshaven, leaving a light shadow of hair to soften his obviously sharp, perfect jawline only a little bit.

"Ah, now she's awake," he says softly, smiling down at me, not just with his mouth, but his whole face. Especially his eyes.

I don't respond. I keep my blank stare on him. I want to respond and ask who he is, why I'm here, but I'm having such a difficult time convincing the words in my head to words from my mouth.

"How-uh, how you feeling?" he asks in the same gentle tone as he slides a chair up to the side of the bed and sits down.

I just shake my head and look down again, feeling more and more transparent the longer I hold his gaze. How can one's eyes be so captivating?

"Why am I here?" I finally force the words out in a barely audible, broken voice.

"You're here because you nearly froze to death. I found you sound asleep on top of the mountain. Why on earth were you up there in only a t-shirt and jeans sleeping on the cold, hard ground?"

I feel his gaze penetrating me; not in the way the Vendetta guy did, but still in a way that brings discomfort. His voice is soft and gentle, seemingly neutral, but I can still hear a tone that signifies that he may think I've lost my marbles. Considering what he told me, thought, I can't really blame him.

"I was burning a tree," I mumble, furrowing my brow and picking at my fingernails.

He sits there silently, and I keep my eyes down on my hands. I prefer staring at them much more than his eyes. My hands don't hold the capability to see right through me, and then some.