Rhyan
The room is full of people… and somehow, I still feel alone. Simmy’s in the corner like a silent bodyguard. Mrs. Lynn clings to Chauncey’s hand, whispering thanks to God through quiet tears.
True’s cracking jokes. Bianca’s got her sunglasses on like she’s directing a Latto music video. Aisha and Amirya are whispering like it’s the finale of Love and Hip-Hop Atlanta. Every single one of them keeps glancing at me. Like I’m supposed to walk over there and cradle him.
I’m not.
Like I’m supposed to fall back into him like nothing ever broke.
But something did break.
Me.
And standing this close to him again… I can feel every fracture humming beneath my skin. He’s watching me. Those dark eyes locked in like he’s trying to pull me back into orbit just by looking at me.
It used to work.
Not today.
I clench my arms tighter, nails digging into my skin like anchors. I can’t let them see me shake. I can’t let him see me shake.
Because the truth is—I don’t know what I feel anymore. Part of me wants to run across the room and wrap myself around him just to prove he’s real.
The other part? Wants to walk out and never look back.
He’s alive.
And I’m still empty.
Bianca catches my eye, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something slick—but even she knows better. Even she can see how fragile I am beneath this armor. Everybody’s smiling like this is the reunion they prayed for.
They don’t realize… I’ve been saying goodbye in my head since the moment he opened his eyes. I glance at the door. Kosh’s voice echoes through me.
Don’t shrink when you walk back into that hospital.
So, I don’t.
I square my shoulders.
Stand tall.
Even as everything inside me quietly falls apart. The room is too loud.
Too bright.
Too full of people praying for a fairytale I don’t have the strength to rewrite. Simmy laughs at something True says. Bianca leans into Aisha, whispering as if she’s breaking news. Mrs. Lynn keeps patting Chauncey’s chest, as if she can force his heart to keep beating.
And him…Chauncey. He hasn’t said a word. But his eyes? They haven’t left me once.
They follow me like smoke.
Like bullets.
I can feel them sliding down my spine every time I breathe.
I can’t stay here.
Not like this.
Not when my hands are shaking under my sleeves…and my pulse is pounding like I’m the one hooked up to monitors.
So, I move.
Slow.
Controlled.
I grab my bag. Slide my MacBook in. Tuck my charger behind it. Zip it shut without a sound.
But he’s watching every move. As if he’s memorizing me. As if he already knows what I’m about to do. My fingers fumble—just for a second.
I catch it.
Mask back on.
Chin up.
“I’ll be back,” I say softly.
To nobody.
To everybody.
No one answers. But I feel every eye shift. I feel his stare burn. I walk to the door. Heels tapping against the floor. Heartbeat loud in my ears. And just before I step out—I look back. Chauncey’s sitting upright now.
Silent.
In the middle of all that noise, eyes locked on me, like a loaded gun. I close the door behind me.
Soft.
Careful.
And finally… I breathe.
The hospital coffee shop is tucked down a quiet hallway, as if it’s hiding from grief.
Soft jazz hums through the ceiling speakers.
The air smells of hazelnut syrup and sanitizer.
I ordered a vanilla latte just to feel human again.
I wrap my hands around the cup, as if it’s anchoring me to the earth.
The first sip burns. I welcome it. My chest finally starts to loosen… until I hear them. Low yet familiar voices. Simmy and Coop slide into the booth across from me as if they’ve done it a thousand times.
No asking.
No hesitation.
Just… there.
Simmy leans back, arms crossed. Coop folds into the corner seat, big frame tense, eyes quiet yet sharp.
“Aye, are you coming back?” Simmy asks.
Calm.
Too calm.
I take another sip.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Coop tilts his head. “Because you walked out like the building was on fire.”
I let out a breath.
“It is on fire.”
I paused for a beat.
“Y’all just used to the smoke.”
Simmy’s jaw tightens slightly. “We just need to know where your head is at, Rhy.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
Hollow.
“My head?”
I shake it.
“My head is stuck on the fact that the first thing out of Chauncey’s mouth—after a whole year—wasn’t ‘thank you’…” I look up at them. “Wasn’t even ‘hey.’” I drop my voice, mocking.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Coop lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
My throat tightens. “Like I didn’t sit by his bed every day.”
“Like I didn’t fight half this hospital just to keep bitches out of his room while he was fighting for his life.”
Simmy doesn’t say anything.
Just watches me.
“I should’ve felt relieved when he opened his eyes,” I say quietly. “But the second he spoke…” I shake my head. “It felt like I got shot all over again.”
Coop shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable. “He hurt, Rhy,” he says. “Mad you weren’t here. Mad you were.”
“I know.”
I nod slowly.
“And I don’t even blame him.”
A pause.
“But I don’t have it in me to bleed for him and get cut at the same time.”
That statement alone lands heavily.
Simmy nods once.
Slow.
Like he’s been waiting on that truth.
“You don’t owe him your wounds,” he says quietly.
“Just your truth.”
I stare down into my cup. Like the answers at the bottom. I’ll go back upstairs. I won’t. But for the first time in a long time… I’m not running. I’m just… breathing.