30. George
Chapter Thirty
George
I used to believe darkness was just that…something dark, but now? Now I feel like darkness has some weight to it, and it’s heavy to carry.
I can hear certain sounds, but it filters through in pieces—muffled, like I'm underwater.
I hear footsteps, some machines beeping.
Someone is breathing close to me. And then a voice.
“...you have to wake up. I'm not leaving.
Do you hear me? I came all this way, so you'd better not pull some dramatic soldier stunt and make me regret it.”
Mia?
Is she here? She came all the way here?
But how?
Why?
My chest tightens harder, or maybe that's the pain medication.
Hard to tell right now. Her voice keeps drifting in and out like a radio station losing signal.
“...you matter to me. I don't know if you know that.
I don't even know if you can hear me. But you...
you matter. You're not alone, okay? You're not.”
I want to answer.
I try.
But my body feels like it's made of sandbags.
My eyelids are glued shut, my tongue feels too thick to move. Fuck, I want to answer. Someone touches my hand. It’s gentle, and a trembling touch. I know it's her. Even unconscious, if that’s what I am, I know it's her.
I'd know the shape of her presence anywhere now.
Today, finally, when I force my eyes open, they work.
Everything is blurry at first. I see shapes without definition. I blink slowly, trying to make them up. The ceiling comes into focus. The harsh lights are way too flashy. I see a curtain, some medical equipment, and then…I see her.
She’s curled up in a chair beside my bed, her head resting against my mattress.
Her long brown hair spilled over her arm.
She looks exhausted but beautiful. In a way that makes something deep in me go weak.
She looks pale and tired. I blink again, the world still sharpening around me.
Her hand is resting over mine, fingers curled around the edge of the blanket like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
My throat works around air and pain, “Mia...”
It comes out as a rasp, barely a sound at all, but her head jerks up instantly. Her eyes. God, those green eyes.
“George?” She breathes my name like a question.
Like she's afraid the answer might be wrong.
I nod. She makes a sound, half sob, half laugh, and covers her mouth like her chest can't deal with everything happening inside it.
Tears stream down her face. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Oh my God, George.”
I swallow hard, every muscle trembling. “When they said...” I stop, swallow again. “When they said someone was here for me...”
Her breath catches. “I hoped it was you.”
Her eyes fill instantly, and a tear slips down her cheek.
She leans forward, hands on the mattress, like she's afraid to touch me wrong, afraid to hurt me, afraid this isn't real. “George,” she whispers again, her voice breaking. “You scared the hell out of me.” Her voice changed as she finished that sentence, like she’s lecturing me for being in the hospital. I don’t blame her.
I want to reach for her. I want to touch her face, trace her mouth, hold her hand properly—not like a half-limp casualty.
But my body isn't cooperating. So, I do what I can.
I curl two fingers around hers. She gasps softly at the contact.
Her whole body leans toward mine like she's been waiting days for this. Which I guess she has.
“How long?” I manage.
“Five days.” Her voice breaks at the end. “You've been out for five days.”
Five days. The weight of that hits me like a physical thing. For five days, she's been here. Waiting. Not knowing if I'd wake up. She looks down, as if she's embarrassed by her own emotions.
“Hey,” I rasp. “Look at me.”
She does, and everything I felt in those letters? Every thread, every pull, every inch of slow-burning, impossible connection? It detonates. Right here. Right now. In this sterile hospital room with machines beeping and fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
“Thank you for coming for me,” I say, unable to hide the awe in my voice.
She shakes her head, smiling through tears. “Of course. You think I was going to stay home and what? Just hope the universe handled it for me?”
A weak laugh escapes me. It hurts. Everything hurts. But her being here makes it all feel manageable. “I thought...” My breath stutters. “I thought I was dreaming. Hearing you, I mean.”
She squeezes my fingers carefully. “I was talking to you nonstop. You probably got sick of me.”
“Never.”
The word is soft but firm. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes softened. I swear, if my body were working properly, I would pull her into my chest and never let her go.
“You're even more beautiful than your pictures.”
She lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a sob. “You're drugged out of your mind. I can't trust anything you're saying.”
“It's true. Drugs or not.”
She covers her face with one hand again, overwhelmed. Then she drops it and looks at me with something raw and unguarded. “You matter to me too,” she whispers. “You scared me so badly, George. I didn't know if I'd get here in time.”
She crossed the world for me, without hesitation, without being asked, without obligation, just following what she felt over some words we exchanged on paper. “Mia,” I say softly, “I think you are the one who saved me.”
Her breath trembles, but she smiles. It's small, emotional, and full of everything we've been building between us.
The nurse enters quietly, checking my IV and monitors.
“Oh, he’s awake,” she says with a relieved smile.
“He looks fully responsive, and vitals look good.” She says as she checks the machines beside me.
Mia stands but doesn't let go of my hand.
As the nurse steps out, she sinks back into the chair, close enough that her knees brush the side of my bed.
I look at her the way a man looks at water after dying of thirst. She holds my gaze, cheeks pink, eyes shining.
“We've never met,” she whispers, half-smiling in disbelief.
I shake my head slowly. “I know.”
“But I feel like I know you.” Her eyes fill again.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “You do.”
“I'm not going anywhere, George.”
I nod, slow, aching, grateful. “Good,” I whisper. “Because I want you here. I want…you.”
Her fingers tighten gently around mine. And I let myself smile, even through the pain. Because in this moment, after five days of unconsciousness, five months of letters, thousands of miles, it all resolves into this… She’s here, and I get to finally meet her.