His Paper Heart ✓

•35|His Little Ariel

I have been in the hospital one too many times. I've practically coiled my fingers around death's cold, unforgiving hand, feeling for a moment that it is where I belong and eventually, letting go of the ruthless monster but, nothing prepared me for this moment.

"My darling Gray, you know me," I begin, feeling a lump in my throat and a tremble in my chin. "I cry often, during the happiest moments in movies or the saddest lyrics in songs on the radio. Sometimes I cry in church because God feels so close, it's breathtaking. I tell you the things that hurt me and the things that don't. The things that make me insecure—like my heart and the things that make me happy, like our favorite food—tacos and beautiful sunsets. You know my heart regardless of how much I disrespect it and I love you to the end of the universe. I love every crack in your skin and every freckle of light in your eyes. I love the way your eyelashes sweep gently on your cheeks when you blink and the way your lips curve when you say my name. When you call me Little Ariel. It would be unfair to leave me all alone. This is the seventh letter I've written. The seventh time should be the charm. Love Genevieve," I conclude and exhale deeply.

After staring at him for a minute or two, my heart breaks again as I stand, folding the paper and putting it in my pocket.

I sit back in the couch and exhale. A week ago was probably one of the toughest nights of my life. Watching Gray's chest rise and fall slowly, I now understand how he feels when I have an attack. The fear and the anguish, the anger of losing the person you love. He hasn't woken up since his surgery ended but the doctors assure us all that he will recover. We should be hopeful.

It has been exactly one week. Seven whole days of watching him on the bed, unconscious. They had to put him in an induced coma for him to heal properly. The doctors couldn't risk letting him strain his organs. They pulled him out of the coma yesterday morning and now we're all waiting for him to wake up.

I hear him hum softly and I quickly stand up from the couch then walk to his bed. His eyes are still closed. I brush my fingers on his cheeks and exhale. It has been like this since yesterday. I hear him but the doctors say there's no brain activity yet.

"It's time for his checkup," Doctor Tony says, entering with Gray's mom.

"Is everything okay, Genevieve?" Mrs. Black asks me.

"I hear him," I whisper.

"Come here," Mrs. Black calls me. With a deep sigh, I walk to her. "Genevieve, I know you miss him and I know it's hard seeing him like this but Tony will make sure he wakes up soon. Your brothers are outside, go join them alright?"

"Okay." I walk to the door. I'm conflicted. I don't know if I'm going crazy or not but I swear, I just heard his soft humming again. I heave another sigh and shut my eyes for a long while. What Darlene said a week ago is what I've been carrying in my heart all this while. "Fear not," I whisper to myself.

I grab the cold doorknob in my hand, putting the other hand in my pocket, then suddenly:

"Mom."

I gasp when his husky, tired voice reaches my ears. Every breath leaves my lungs as I hear nothing else but my loud heart hitting against my chest. I turn on my heels quickly and see him there, mobile, his eyes flattering open. He coughs a little and groans at the pain in his chest.

"Ow," he cries.

"Baby." his mother chuckles, yet you can hear her still sobbing as she sits on the bed and kisses her son's forehead. "You're awake." she sniffs.

"You're crying on my forehead," he says weakly, earning a laugh from the woman. "Every where hurts. . ."

"What do expect, you got shot." Doctor Tony smiles.