Gabe （7 Days Later）
I hold the drawing up, examining the details. It has been almost impossible to focus on anything aside from Jason, but I want this drawing finished before he wakes.
Never has finishing a drawing been harder.
Maybe because I’m adding a picture of me, which is definitely not my thing.
I fucking hate it, to be honest.
But it’s not for me. It’s for Jason, so it needs to be perfect.
“Why can’t I draw an arm today?”
The hand is off, too.
I look like I have a gnarly talon for an arm.
I erase it for the three thousandth time.
It’s not hugging Jason’s body the way it should, and I keep having to redraw Jason’s coat because of my tentacle arm.
Curse you, forearm!
I’m getting goofy. It’s been a week, and I think I’ve slept a total of ten hours that entire time, which is probably why I can’t freaking draw anymore, but I want to finish it so badly.
The feeding tube was removed yesterday, which is huge. Jason can’t remember anything and doesn’t recognize anyone yet.
Including me.
Thank God for Constance. She saw my face the first time Jason couldn’t place me, and immediately whispered, “This isn’t unusual. Don’t lose hope.”
As much as it hurt to see Jason’s blank face when he looked at me, the doctor said the fact that he’s tracking movements with his eyes is big progress.
“This fucking arm. Why?”
No matter how many times I redraw it, I just can’t get it.
“Jason, I want this to be perfect.”
Now that the neck brace is gone, Jason is sleeping on his right side, cuddling Smudge.
The way his body is turned, the left side visible, kind of matches his position in the picture.
Hmm…
It’s so tempting. Not just for the picture, but for me as well. I haven’t truly held him since the morning of the accident.
If I’m really careful…
I kick off my sneakers and slink into bed as carefully as I can. My body moves in slow motion as I lie behind Jason. It’s different—he’s usually the big spoon, but I like it.
I wrap my arm around him like in the picture but refuse to actually rest my arm on Jason because I don’t want to disturb him.
My arm shakes as it hovers just over his body, because I’ve wanted to hold him like this for days. Jason’s scent overpowers that minty, antiseptic smell, and all I want to do is rest beside him—
What am I doing?
This is so fucking dangerous. I could hurt him.
I rise from the bed, trying to be careful so as not to disturb him, but he stirs in his sleep and turns in my direction.
Fuck!
I freeze, panicking—thinking I did something terrible, but Jason’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at me.
Really looks at me.
“Hey,” I whisper.
His brows knit, and he searches my face, trying to place me.
He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it. Jason’s eyes narrow, and then he whispers, “Gabe?”
Oh, my god.
“Yeah. It’s me, babe,” I say softly. “It’s Gabe.”
“Where were you?” he asks.
It feels like a dream all over again. “I’ve been right here,” I tell him.
“Oh.” He smiles. “I was missing you.”
Tears well in my eyes. “I was missing you, too,” I say, pushing the words past the lump in my throat.
“I’m right here,” he replies and goes back to sleep.
I stand there.
Breathless.
Heart racing.
Tears falling.
As soon as I’m confident he’s asleep, I slide to the floor. I don’t want him to hear me, but I can’t stop the flood of relief that’s pouring out of me.
I lie on my back, pressing my hand over my mouth to muffle my bawling.
Thank you. Thank you.