Twenty-Two #3
Thomas narrows his eyes to slits, bringing his face close to mine. “There are a million different ways I could hurt you without ever laying a finger on you. So, for your own sake, go away.”
“Sorry, Thomas, but I’m not going to let you do it this time.
I’m not going to let you push me away again…
get rid of me. I will not allow you to get in this car and go do something that will cost you your life.
So you can just forget about that. You brought me all the way here.
You wanted me with you because, deep down, you were afraid that you were going to need someone’s help.
So insult me if you want. Try to scare me.
Punch the car, yell, and curse all you like; I can handle it.
I can handle the worst of you. But know that I’m not moving from this spot, and neither are you.
” I take a deep breath and loosen the fists I didn’t even realize I had clenched at my sides.
I watch his chest rise and fall in agitated pants.
We stare at each other in a silence heavy with tension.
It’s like we’re in a competition to see who can be the most ballsy and immovable.
First one to give in loses. But we are stubborn and proud in the exact same way.
And there won’t be a winner or a loser in this competition.
Just two broken people trying, in their own ways, to fix each other.
After a few seconds that nonetheless feel endless, Thomas grinds his teeth. He slowly draws closer to my face, saying, “You’re a fool.”
I blink several times, surprised not by the insult but rather by the tone of his voice, which isn’t dripping with venom the way it usually does when he gets angry.
Instead, what I’m actually hearing is a hidden well of gratitude.
I lift my chin and square my shoulders proudly.
“If my foolishness keeps you from getting into this car, then I’m happy to be a fool. ”
Thomas gives up in the face of my determination.
He shuts his eyes and places his hands down on the car on either side of my head, trapping me between him and the metal.
Then he hangs his head in exhaustion. “I thought…I thought that getting out of here would appease some of his anger. That me being gone might help him calm down in some way. Instead, all I did was give him the freedom to do it without anyone getting in the way. Because I wasn’t there to defend her, to keep him from hurting her again.
I ran away and left her here alone to face a beast that couldn’t be tamed. ”
“It’s not your fault, Thomas.” My voice is just a whisper.
He breathes deeply, and I can see that he’s slowly coming back to himself. “I screwed up in there.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I lost control and put you in the position of having to suffer this part of me again.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I murmur again under my breath, holding his face in my hands to reassure him. “You can make it right. Let’s go back inside and talk to her…”
He shakes his head and then rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t want to go back in there. I want to go find him.”
“Thomas, please…”
He backs away from me and sits down on the ground, leaning back against the wheel of the car with one leg extended out before him, the other bent up. He takes the pack of Marlboros out of his jacket and puts one in his mouth. He allows himself a few drags before speaking again.
“Maybe my uncle wasn’t completely wrong. Maybe, if I talked to him, if I faced him once and for all, I could get out from under this weight that is pressing down on my chest, constantly crushing me…”
“You really want to talk to him?” I take a seat next to him, skeptical.
He nods and keeps his eyes fixed on the house as he exhales cigarette smoke. “I want to tell him what a giant piece of shit he is and has always been, and shout in his fucking face what a complete and total failure he was. I want to do it now when he can’t fight back, when he can’t escape.”
I consider this for a few seconds. “If that will give you some peace, I can let you do it, but only on one condition: I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He gives a frustrated sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t need a babysitter, Ness.”
“I don’t trust the person you become when you’re angry, Thomas. And that man always seems to bring out the worst in you. There’s no way I’m letting you go alone.”
We stare fixedly at one another for a moment until, with a wave of his hand, he surrenders. “Whatever you want.”
While Thomas calls his uncle to get the name of the hospital, I text Leila to tell her everything that happened and try to reassure her.
***
As soon as we arrive at the hospital, the sterile, chemical smell overwhelms me, leaving behind an oppressive sensation. I rub my arms, trying to get rid of the gooseflesh.
Thomas heads straight for reception, where we find a nurse occupied on the phone. “I’m looking for Joe Collins. I know he was admitted here a few days ago,” Thomas says as soon as the woman hangs up.
“And you are?” she asks, pushing her circular glasses down to the tip of her nose.
“His son,” he answers through gritted teeth.
“Just a minute.” The nurse starts typing something on her keyboard, glancing over at the monitor, and after a few seconds, she informs us, “Mr. Collins is in the ICU, in the east wing. Continue along corridor B, and then take a right.”
We follow the nurse’s directions until we reach a large waiting room with muted green walls, lit by irritating fluorescent lights.
Some doctors in scrubs enter and exit through a sliding door.
A nurse carrying some medical records asks us what we’re doing there.
Thomas explains that he came to see his father, and she tells us that only immediate family members can go inside and for no longer than ten minutes because visiting hours ended an hour ago.
Thomas nods, but when she leaves, he just stands still, unsettled, watching the doors as they open and close.
All the boldness that has driven him this far now appears to be faltering.
I take his hand, entwining our fingers, and with my free hand, I touch his cheek.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
He turns to look at me. He bites his lip and then brings my hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles.
His eyes catch on the bracelet I’m still wearing around my wrist. He threads his fingers into my hair and pulls me to him, kissing me for a long moment.
With my hand on his chest, I can feel his heart beating as rapidly as mine.
He caresses my cheek slowly, and the cold steel of his rings makes me shiver. “I’m sure.”
He goes to the sliding door, where a nurse helps him dress from top to bottom in sterile protective gear. Then he pushes a red button to the side of the door, which lets him inside. I wait, a strange feeling of disorientation descending upon me the moment the doors close.
Everything’s going to be okay, Vanessa. It’ll all be okay.
I pace the room, my heart beating faster and faster as I take deep breaths to calm myself down.
I jump at every noise and go on alert every time the doctors and nurses enter or exit the ICU.
Each time, I try to peer through the doors.
I obsessively check my watch; the promised ten minutes have already passed.
I wonder what’s going on in there, what Thomas is feeling in the face of this dying monster who took away all his faith in humanity.
I’d like to be there in that room with him.
To lend him strength, to make him feel like he’s not alone.
I’d like to talk to his father myself, tell him that his violence nearly destroyed his son, but underneath all the rubble, Thomas’s heart is still good, and it beats for the people he loves.
It’s been twelve minutes now, and my palms are sweating when the doors of the ICU open to allow two large machines to go through.
I take the opportunity to look, and I spot Thomas and his father in the room beyond.
My view is restricted by a blue curtain, which covers his father’s body entirely.
But I can see that Thomas is leaning over.
It seems to me that he’s listening carefully to something his father is whispering in his ear.
Whatever it is, it can’t be good because Thomas’s eyes cut to me with a violence that freezes me in place.
He stares at me. And then the fury that I saw on his face just a moment ago gives way to an expression of disorientation.
Like he’s just been hit with the weight of a realization that he’s going to have to cope with for the rest of his life.
What is happening? I suddenly feel short of breath, and I don’t know why.
The doors close, leaving me without information once again.
But it isn’t much longer before Thomas emerges from the doors with heavy steps and a shadow darkening his eyes.
He tears his protective gear off furiously and throws it at a receptacle on his right, not caring if it goes in or not.
Then, he walks past me without a glance, as though I’m not even there.
“Hey, what happened?” I run to him in a panic, never taking my eyes off of him.
“I have to get out of here; I need a smoke,” he says urgently.
“Thomas, wait! What happened in there? What did you two say to each other?” I grab his shoulders, forcing him to stop and give me his attention, but this just seems to irritate him more. My heart is pounding frantically in my chest, and my breaths are getting shorter and shorter.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is so harsh that I immediately freeze up.
My face falls and I blink, taking a step back. “W-what are you saying? Of course I should be here, I’m here with you, for you.” I put a hand on his arm, but he pulls away as though repulsed by me.
The muscles in his jaw contract and his face hardens. “That is exactly the point. This is all wrong.”
All wrong?
My hands are shaking and my legs feel suddenly leaden; it feels like I’m not breathing anymore. “What are you talking about?” I answer a few moments later, my voice cracking.
But Thomas doesn’t have time to say anything else because a high-pitched sound from the direction of his father’s room makes both of us whirl around.
In less than a second, a whole cadre of doctors carrying a defibrillator and oxygen mask rushes in, snapping out orders.
Thomas instinctively approaches the doors, but a nurse stops him.
“You can’t be here right now.”
“It’s my father in there,” he answers, without a single emotion coloring his voice. He isn’t sad or relieved. Neither upset nor calm. He’s just…empty.
The nurse rests a hand on his shoulder and gives him a compassionate look. “I’m sorry. I guarantee that will do everything we can to save your father’s life, but you have to leave the ward right now.”
Thomas throws the nurse’s hand off his shoulder furiously and spits at her, “I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t do; I just want to know what’s happening.”
“Your father is suffering from acute bronchopneumonia. As soon as you left the room, he went into respiratory crisis—” The nurse stops when she’s called away to join the rest of the team.
Thomas and I stand there, paralyzed, our eyes glued to the closed door. But we can hear the beeps from the monitors out here, and they are becoming more insistent and closer together, mingling with the voices of the doctors. Until, finally, the beep turns into a steady tone.
And then everything stops.