It wasn't an exciting night.
Normally I could hear the rush of the emergencies outside of my room. Or I could pick up on the latest hospital gossip. Sometimes a patient without a brain would walk into my room and talk to me like I was a long lost family member before they were quickly snatched away.
Tonight, nothing. Absolute silence.
Silence. Fuck I hated silence. It seeped into my soul and speared my insides like a man-eating disease.
Fucking silence.
"Fuck, I hate silence!"
For a minute I believed I had spoken as I struggled inside of my body to do it again only to realize that it was not my voice that spoke.
Of course it wasn't.
"Seriously, coma boy, I can't stand it." She sighed, sitting down on the bed as she traced my face. "On nights like tonight I like to make up stories."
Whoopie-doo, bitch. On nights like tonight I like to pretend my body is finally shutting down. But who's complaining?
Me, I thought bitterly.
"You had two loving dads." She spoke making my mind shut up as I absorbed her words immediately, too starved for any type of action to resist. "Travis and Dave—really good people who always wanted a son." Her fingers swirled along my jaw, irritating me as the touch brought memories of my past back—memories of Bree. "They worshipped the ground you walked on." She whispered into my ear, and I could feel myself falling into her words leaving my memories behind—willing her words to be true.
But they weren't. Not even close.
She moved closer to me, her body curling into mine as she rested her head on my chest "One day, while you were playing football at your school, Dave got a call from the hospital. Travis had been in an accident." She spoke as a yawn interrupted her, "He was okay, but panicking, your dad called you. You pretended to not care, because you were that kind of person—distant and giving off the impression of someone with a cold heart. But you did care." She hummed as I listened to her easy breath.
I was jealous of it. She stopped and started whenever she pleased—sighed when she was in thought, breathed in deeply when she had a sudden idea. It was all so simple and I was all so jealous.
"You couldn't concentrate on football, you were too worried. But that day you were against a team called the Titans." She brought me back into the story, seeing myself on the field facing a whole team by myself. "They were huge—practically poster boys for steroids. You were tackled and you hit your head in the fall after your helmet broke." Her fingers tapped my nose. "And that's when you fell into your coma—Travis and Dave never getting to know how much you loved them back."
What a nice story, I scoffed in my head.
"Poor Travis and Dave. They must miss you. They must feel like they've failed you." Her usual loud irritating voice was quiet, her fingers stilling as they fell down to my chest. "They must miss you so much." Her breath softened as it brushed against my neck, tickling me as I waited in disbelief.
Did she really just fall asleep on a comatose patient?
What the fuck was wrong with her?
"I'm falling to sleep on a dead boy. God, I'm fucked." She mumbled sleepily; the urge to rip her to pieces overcoming me again with that word, "But I'm so tired and you're surprisingly comfy. Goodnight, dead boy."
Oh fucking hell.
YOU ARE READING
comatose
Short Story"What am I supposed to say? This was so much easier to do in my head. And really, what is there to say? You walked in the room. I changed. I fell. "For you, I mean. I fell for you. "-you know, that stuff you see in those crappy clichéd chick-flick...
