Grayson's Body

Breathe

Chapter 38: Breathe

Breathe

[breeth]verb (used without object), breathed [breethd] /briðd/,

breath·ing.to take air, oxygen, etc., into the lungs and expel it; inhale and exhale; respire.

(in speech) to control the outgoing in producing voice and speech sounds.to pause, as for ; take rest:to move gently or blow lightly, as air.

verb (used with object), breathed [breethd] /briðd/, breath·ing.to inhale and exhale in respiration.to exhale

"Up with your turret
Aren't we just terrified?
Shale, screen your worry from what you won't ever find"

-"Roslyn," Bon Iver

She's looking at me intently as though I am a small child that needs to understand exactly what she's saying.

"Ethan," she repeats in a clear voice, "you've been in a coma since March."

Yeah, lady, I kind of got the jist.

"W-what?" I breathe out and let my hands curl around the loose white sheets of the hospital bed. My heart is thumping in my chest like that of a rabbit's: consistent, constant, a rhythm I can feel even in my throat. My mouth feels dry and I try to swallow again, but there isn't much saliva there. I'm thirsty.

Grayson's face, the car's interior scent of old leather and something foreign, something sweet, is leaving my mind. It's drifting away like smoke.

But he killed people, he had killed Chip, and Colin Gray, and probably more people that I even knew.

I had been in a psychiatric ward for months. I had felt everything, seen everything, hadn't I?

But Low Shoulder...

We were going to go stop Low Shoulder.

Had it all been some kind of coma induced dream?

It had all felt so real, so tangible. It's like I can still reach out and touch the sensation, touch the memory of it. It was all there.

What the hell.

The nurse, Jackie, is rubbing her fingers against the back of my hand in a soothing way as I lean my head back against the softness of the pillow under me. I look up at the ceiling: the whiteness of it is almost startling.

"It's okay, Ethan. You haven't suffered any long-term brain damage from the coma-"

A coma?!

A beam fell on me? At Melody Lane?

The doctor was coming in quickly. I can see him in my peripheral vision. Even he has a panicked look on his face; I imagine that not everyday his patient wakes up from an extensive six-month coma. I get my head up as he comes in. His hands are large and quick. I watch them as he quickly checks my I.V. bag and begins to set me up into a clear sitting position.

He's talking.

I lay my head back down on the soft pillow and close my eyes as it moves up. She's taking the tubing off my chest and setting it aside.

He's talking to me. He's telling me that everything is okay, he's telling me that I'm at Midrock Regional Hospital. He says, in quite a calm, soothing voice, despite his expression a few seconds ago that was clearly on his face, that he's going to run a few cognitive tests on me and then will get me to drink some water.