Jack Gilinsky Imagines

My Home

                My heart stops. Tears prick my eyes before I even know what's happening.

                His body curls from the force of the impact, and his helmet goes flying. He starts falling, down and down and down until he hits the ground so hard his head bounces off the turf, and then no movement.

                I swear I hear someone sobbing, and I think it might be me.

                Without thinking, I rush to the front of the fence, the sound of my black converse slapping the concrete echoing in the stark silence. My heart kickstarts again when I see him move to roll over to his side, but then to my horror, he vomits, spewing spaghetti onto the football field right next to his head. That's when I know its bad. It's really bad.

               The paramedics finally get to him, and one checks his vitals while the other starts cutting away at his jersey and his shoulder pads so they can secure the neck brace. My hands are shaking, so I grip the top of the picket fence that separates the fans from the field so hard my knuckles turn as white as bone.

                I'm shaking – not because I'm cold – by the time Quinn, my other best friend, puts her arm around my shoulder. She's the same height as me, but I feel so small underneath the weight of her arm.

                I know she can feel my body trembling from where she stands at my right side, and her head turns towards me. "Come on." She urges, steering us towards the metal stairs that lead to the parking lot.

                My brain is fuzzy. Nothing is registering in any of my five senses as Quinn leads me towards her car except the sound of the sickening crack of Jack's head that's replaying in my head like a broken record.

                Quinn straps my numb body in the car, and when she gets in on the other side and starts the car, the music turns on to some stupid song about a stupid boy and a stupid girl.

                I turn it off, and Quinn throws me a sympathetic look, which I just ignore.

                It's about a fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, and I spend most of that trying to convince myself that he's fine, but I'm failing. Miserably. Quinn is trying to assess me, but I'm a clean canvas. I must have gone into shock, and I have a feeling that until I see the hospital, I can keep imagining that he's at home, messing around with his sister, the crooked smile that I love so much etched onto his face.

                I hold onto that Jack, because the Jack I'm about to see is going to be vastly different when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

                That's when I start to cry. Right there, at the last red light before the hospital, with Quinn looking helpless in the driver's seat. I cry like my life depends on it. I cry because the boy I love could be in the coma for the rest of his life, never opening his eyes and never smiling that beautiful smile. His siblings are going to grow up without an older brother, and his mother ... oh gods, Katherine.

                She must be a complete wreck right now.

                Quinn turns into the hospital parking lot and before she can even put the car in park, I'm out the door and sprinting into the hospital, looking around wildly for Mrs. Gilinsky. I see her pacing at the end of the hall in front of a door, and I rush towards her, willing myself to stay strong for her.

               She's been the mother I've always wished for, just like I've been the daughter she's always wanted. I'm going to stay strong for her, just like she's always been strong for me.