Cold Hard Courage

[19] - Damn

[Beatrice Eaton]

"How long has it been?" Will asks, looking up at me from his cell phone.
     I look down at my watch, raising an eyebrow at him.
     "8 hours since they released him from surgery." I say.
     He sighs, crossing his arms after tucking his phone into his back pocket.
     "Christina said we needed to wait 24 hours, Tris." He says.
     I nod, sighing out sharply. I know this schedule all too well. Being a nurse has ruined my optimism in these types of scenarios. Because, usually, they don't end how you want them to.
     "He's not gonna wake up. I just know he won't." I say, standing from my seat to exit the room.
     Will grabs my arm, stopping me before I can go too far.
    "You can't be so sure, Tris. You need to just wait him out." He says. "He waited for you. Wait for him."
     My chest feels empty inside. My chest feels hollow. You know that feeling like when you get into an argument with someone you love and they say something that hurts and your chest feels empty? As if your heart has disintegrated right there on the spot? That's how my chest feels.
     "Will, I don't think you understand. I came to terms with the fact that my husband was dead a month ago. Hell, we had a Funeral for him! We buried an empty casket somewhere in a beautiful field out in the middle of nowhere. We buried a casket that held what remained of his uniform. We buried his dog tags. We buried what little we had left of him because we didn't have a body. Now, we have a body. His body is running out of time. And, soon enough, it will stop like an old clock and will have to be buried away for forever. I don't want to get my hopes up just to break down again. I can't do that again. I've done it too much." I say.
     He nods, stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him. I stand alone with Tobias and his machines. The beep of his heart monitor keeps me hopeful, just barely. I approach him bed, sitting beside his arm, taking his hands into my own.
     "I've become a bitch since you disappeared. I've lost all of the fun, tender, happy moments and burned them to the ground because they reminded me of you. You once told me that you fought your demons alone. But, now, I have to fight mine alone too. I can't do it again. Please don't make me do it again." I say.
     I wipe tears from my face as they come, trying not to drip on him.
     "Damn you, you fool." I whisper, holding his hand so close to me.
     I want to release my steam. I want to yell out my anger at him for leaving me alone.
     "Damn you Tobias! Damn you for picking a fight and letting me walk away! Damn you for getting shot that night where we met. Damn you for stealing my heart soon after. Damn you for saving my life up at Willis Tower. Damn you for having compassion. Damn you for being so incredibly attractive that other women want you to sire their children. Damn you for Siring my baby. Damn you for leaving me here alone. Damn you for losing the fight so close to the end. Damn you for ending it too soon. Damn you for leaving me here alone." I say.
     The tears drip down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. I'm all alone and I had just finally thought I'd brought him back. I pull his hand back into mine, sighing out sharply.
     "I shouldn't yell at you, it's not your fault. You didn't have a choice. I just wish my last goodbye had t been so brief. I wish my last goodbye was more than just a kiss goodnight and an empty promise. There are so many things I wanted to tell you. So many new things I wanted to show you." I say.
     His hand is warm and soft, callused at the ball of his palm like always, but smooth and warm everywhere else. His left palm has a freckle at the base of his index finger, one of many things I remember about him. His left eye has a light blue patch that entices me every time I see it. His stubble isn't black like I had first imagined it was, instead, it is deep chocolaty brown. His eyes from far away look black, but up close, they're dark navy blue—a trait from his father. The only thing has father passed onto him. Tobias' hand twists in my own, his index finger twitching. I look down at it, watching it intently.
     "Tobias?" I ask, turning around to look back at his face.
     He's still unconscious, but he looks like he's fighting to wake up.
     "Tobias, love, please come home." I whisper, taking his hand in both of mine. "Please, honey, come back to me."
     His eyes twitch under his eyelids, going back and forth as if he's looking for something in his dreams. I stand, walking to the door.
     "Someone call Doctor Casen, Doctor Smith, and Chief Williams, now!" I exclaim, looking at the group of friends and family in the hall.
     I grab Graham from my mother, walking back into the room. I crouch beside Tobias, taking his hand in mine.
     "This is Graham, our son. He's three months old tomorrow. I think he would live to spend the day with you." I say, placing Graham's hand in Tobias'.
     Graham stares at Tobias, his dark blue eyes watching his father's chest rise and fall.
     "This is Daddy. He's loved you from the day he learned about you. You have been his pride and joy from then on." I say.
     Tobias inhales sharply, then starts to cough, clearing his throat for the first time in a month. Tears fill my eyes and it's just the three of us. His eyelids are heavy as he wakes, searching for something. I place my hand in his, watching him. He turns his head, opening his eyes more now. They're dark and tired—exhausted. But I couldn't be happier to see them.
     "Tobias, it's me." I say, a smile on my face as I do so. "You're home."
     He looks at Graham, wordless, his eyes, however, full of wonder.
     "This is Graham, our son." I say, lifting Graham's head to show him.
     His eyes are watery. He looks happy, a small smile tugging at his lips.
     "I brought them as soon as I could, what's going on?" My mother asks, running in with Justin and David.
     I take Tobias' hand, tears dripping down my cheeks as I do so.
     "He came back. He's back home." I whisper, my voice broken in my throat.
     My mother covers her mouth, tears threatening to spill over.
     "We've missed you, my love. More than words can say." I say, kissing his hand.

How long was I out?
One month.
And how long was I missing?
One month.
I've missed two months of you and Graham?
Yes, but that will all be made up for in the next eighteen years. He's going to love you.