38. Simone #2
The medic glances at me, and something soft and caring washes over her expression—just this human response to watching someone else’s pain.
I wipe my face with my sleeve, and it does nothing. The tears come faster, and any attempt to stop them is pointless.
I try to talk to Lydia the whole way there, trying to force her to hold on. I tell her stupid things; I tell her I’m not mad; I tell her I love her, and I tell her over and over again that she’s going to be okay, even though I don’t know if that’s true or not.
We don’t know what damage has been done. We don’t know if the guy found her in time. We don’t know if the last conversation I ever had with her will be us fighting.
When we arrive, they wheel her in quickly as the doctors and nurses all talk over each other in clipped voices, yelling out codes and big words I don’t understand.
I’m guided into a waiting area that makes me feel trapped and helpless now, as I have to wait all alone until Lani gets here.
* * *
The days pass by excruciatingly slowly in the hospital, waiting for her to wake up.
I’ve never felt this useless in my life. All I can do is sit here and talk to my best friend, who may or may not be able to hear me—a girl who didn’t want to be here.
The longer I have to process everything, the more it hurts, the more I don’t understand how she ended up here. I mean…I know. I know what got her here. I hate it, but I know. I just don’t understand it.
I don’t want to do anything but rot away in this room with her.
If she goes…hell, God, you’re gonna have to take me too.
I haven’t been able to leave her—not once. Not when Lani begged me to come back to the dorm with her, not when Sarah and Mark arrived, not even when the nurses told me I needed to get some rest and go home for a little while, give myself a break.
I can’t leave. I can’t go anywhere until she wakes up.
I’m all alone in the room this morning while Sarah and Mark are out grabbing breakfast, and Lani is back at school finishing up her last class of the semester.
I scoot my chair closer to her bed, holding her hand and talking to her like I do every morning, like she’s listening to every word I’m saying.
I hear someone clear their throat and turn to see Mason at the door of the hospital room. It takes me a minute to process it’s him, and that he’s really here.
“What—what are you doing here?”
He’s wearing a hoodie, hands shoved in the pocket, eyes bloodshot like he hasn’t slept. When he steps closer, I smell the alcohol on him.
“You drove here?” I ask, cautiously.
He shakes his head. “No, I had Chase drive me. I—I just needed to see you. Check on you.”
As much as it hurts my heart to see him like this, I can’t seem to stop myself from standing up and running into his arms, needing the comfort…needing him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wanted to come that night, but I knew you had a lot going on. I wanted to give you the space with her, but…I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to know how you were doing.”
I just nod because I can’t get any words out with how emotional I feel.
He looks down at me. “How are you holding up?” he asks.
The sad answer is I’m not.
I’m not holding up at all. I’m being held together by fear and caffeine and whatever stubborn piece of love refuses to let me give up.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Mason looks over to Lydia, then back to me. “I’m here. If you need anything.”
The words hurt for some reason. Because I do need things, and I know he can’t actually give them to me.
I need Lydia to open her eyes.
I need the universe to stop hurting the people I love.
I need Mason to take care of himself.
I need him to be someone safe. Because I want him around more than I’d like to admit. And that scares me. Because caring about him right now feels more like stepping toward another cliff.
I can’t do this again. I can’t start caring about someone and watch them self-destruct, too. My heart can’t take another person who doesn’t want to be here.
I know they aren’t the same. At least that’s what my brain keeps trying to convince me. But for some reason, it feels similar.
I swallow hard and force myself to speak, even though my throat hurts from days of crying. “Thank you…for coming. For…being here.”
He nods and hugs me closer.
I have to take a breath and steady myself so I can do the thing I’ve always been awful at—setting boundaries.
I need space to think about things with him. Because we can say all we want that whatever is happening between us is platonic still, but my heart doesn’t feel that way, even if his does. And I need to protect mine.
“I need to focus on her,” I tell him softly. “I can’t…do anything else right now. I can’t be—” I swallow, trying to find the best non-pathetic and embarrassing words. “I can’t be pulled in a bunch of directions. Not while she’s like this.”
His face changes, almost like that hurt a little, but then it shifts more into understanding.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m not asking for anything from you.”
It hurts even though it shouldn’t. Even though I know it’s not what I need, I want him to want me.
Why can my heart and brain never agree on what we need?
“I’m going home for the summer,” I add. “If—when she wakes up…I’m gonna stay with her. We’re gonna try to get her into a program, rehab…something.”
Mason’s gaze holds mine. And for a second, he looks scared, like he’s losing me. Then he rights it back into place.
“Then…I’ll see you after summer break,” he says quietly.
I hate the thought of being away from him all summer.
He steps closer and cups my face carefully, and then kisses me. It isn’t heated like the first one. It isn’t hungry. It’s soft, and grounding, and reassuring that he’s here for me. Like he’ll be waiting. Like he’s telling me with his mouth what his words can’t say.
I kiss him back, needing the comfort, needing him…even if he isn’t mine. He feels like mine.
Eventually, I have to pull away because if I don’t, I’ll just crumble in his arms and ask him not to leave, like that’s even a possibility.
His forehead rests against mine. “I’ll see you,” he tells me quietly. “Okay?”
I nod and whisper back, “Okay.”
“I’m only a call or text away…if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
He kisses me one more time before walking out, and it leaves me more confused than before he walked into this room.