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38

On the day that I was due to be released, I was woken by the other person in the room. I knew it wasn't that early in the morning, so I shuffled on my side to face his bed. He was standing at the window sill, mumbling about the street below.

Over the past few days I had managed to start walking again, although it hurt every time I moved my feet. They told me over time it was going to get better and easier, but for now I had to try my hardest to push through the pain.

I ignored whatever commotion he was talking about when the nurse entered the room for the first time this morning.

"Are you ready to be released?" she asked, "We're going to send you home in wheelchair this afternoon."

As I nodded my head, I noticed that the man on the other side of the room quickly turned around to face me in the bed. Perhaps it was news to him that I was being released which was likely; he had been asleep for most of the discussion on the most appropriate release time. The nurses here were also aware of the high possibility of being greeted with paparazzi on the way out, so they willingly were going to let me out the rear exit.

When the nurse left I turned my head to study the man at the window. Although we had spoken briefly over the past few weeks I didn't know his name. His voice was damaged from the smoke inhalation but it had begun to get better over the past week. The only story I knew, was that I was the one who saved him from the burning building. He thanked me nearly every day for saving his life.

Occasionally, he'd come and sit on the edge of my hospital bed and we'd talk about the finer things in life. I often complained that Tate never came in to visit me, and he'd often tell me that Tate wasn't worth my time. I feel like I could have quite grown to know him better if only I'd been given more time with him.

I turned over to nap again.

*************************

When I woke up, the nurse had already wheeled a wheelchair into the space in-between my bed and the opposite one. My file was completed and the only thing I had to do now was be released.

I climbed slowly out of my bed and shifted into the wheelchair. The man climbed out of his bed and frailly made his way over to me. His face was still covered with a thin dressed bandage that was covering the minor burns.

"I guess this is goodbye," he sighed. He was standing over me in the wheelchair, his height twice the size of mine currently. When I smiled it didn't feel forced. Although I hardly wanted to leave the safe haven within the hospital walls, I was keen to breathe fresh air for the first time in a few weeks.

With his hand that wasn't burnt, he gestured to shake my hand. I reached for his and as soon as our hands touched something within me sparked. His hand felt known to me, or somewhat familiar.

It certainly wasn't the first time I'd touched this mans hand. Perhaps he was a fan who I'd returned a phone to after a selfie. Perhaps once in my life I'd crossed paths with him before.

A nurse arrived and called him over to go for his afternoon walk around the hospital, so I sat and waited in my room to be collected by Tate – or whoever was picking me up. He was my emergency contact anyways.

I waited for possibly hours in the chair. Every time I told myself to get back into bed – I imagined someone coming in to collect me and then I'd have to climb back out into the chair.

So I practiced.

I practiced wheeling around the room and testing how fast I could wheel the chair from one side of the room to the other. I was having fun by myself for the matter, until I accidentally knocked the edge of the other bed and the plastic container full of medical forms collapsed onto the floor ahead of me. I tried multiple angles to pick them up from the floor but nothing worked.

I started panicking and wondered if he was going to re-enter the room from his afternoon walk at any moment. I didn't want him to think I was snooping on his medical forms while he was gone. I threw myself onto the floor to collect the forms and then sat back in the wheelchair to put them in a neat pile back in the container.

I recalled what my container looked like, and sifted through the forms to the one that was supposed to be on top. The first sheet was always the one that contained the identity of someone and their reason for being omitted. I tried my hardest to not look at what the other forms said.

When I had them in the right order, my eyes skimmed over the cover sheet of all of his details. I was curious to see what his name was as I hadn't heard anyone mention it.

JOHN DOE was crossed out and then two words followed. T. Dawson.

No.

There was no way.

"Mae, your boyfriend is here to collect you," the nurse announced from behind me in an abrupt moment. My heart stopped as I shoved the contained back onto the ledge on the end of the bed. I spun around on the chair and faintly smiled at the sight of Tate.

I'm just seeing things. Surely.

He collected the two handles on the back of the wheelchair and began pushing me down the hallway as we followed the nurse to the elevator.

I needed answers.

She clicked the button and we rode down to the first floor where we turned towards the back exit. In a blur I noticed she had my folders tucked under her arm.

No. It couldn't be.

In a quick flash of moment, there he was. At the other end of the cafeteria he stumbled to grab a tray, alongside a nurse who was assisting him with the movement of his hand. My eyes locked on his for the split second and my heart was in havoc.

How could I not tell?

How did I not recognize his eyes?

We turned the corner to the rear exit and the fresh air hit my face after the automatic door opened before me.

More importantly, why didn't he tell me I was the one that saved his life?