Present
My head rests on the crook of my arm on the bed while my other hand holds onto Sloane’s. It’s been a whole goddamn month since I woke up in this hospital, and while I was discharged last week, I haven’t left. Of course I haven’t, how can I leave when the love of my life is asleep in this bed?
No. I’m not fucking leaving until she does.
For each day that passes, I feel a little more hope leave my body as I succumb to the reality that Sloane may never wake up. We were told it should only be a couple of days, yet here we are five weeks later and still no sign of her waking up.
I lift my head up and watch as the tube inserted into her mouth breathes life into her. I can’t help but wonder if she knows what’s happening. Is she in pain? Has she also given up?
Just as I’m about to lay my head back down, I notice a twitch in her fingers. This has happened a couple of times, and the doctors tell me that it happens sometimes, but even that knowledge doesn’t stop the hope from bubbling up inside of me. And just when I’m about to lay my head back down, resigned to the fact that she’s not waking up, it happens again.
My spine straightens as I stare at her, waiting, hoping, praying for something to happen.
“Come on, baby,” I mutter. “Wake up for me. Come back to me.”
Just as I’m about to give up and call it all being my imagination playing tricks on me, her eyes flutter before screwing shut tightly. She convulses a little, and I realize she’s awake and trying to take a breath.
I shout for the doctor, not taking my eyes off her as I run my thumb down her cheek, relief filling me as her eyes open once more, filled with panic and terror.
“Shh, it’s okay, Sloane. Just stay calm and I’ll get you help, okay?” Her body loosens a little at my words, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re gonna be okay.”
One week later
I sit and stare at Sloane as she sleeps, something I’ve been doing every day since she woke up.
It still feels surreal that she even woke up at all. I can’t stop myself from staring as she sleeps peacefully in the hospital bed, working to convince myself that this is real. Every time I see her lying there, eyes closed, I’m shifted back to that time. I’m honestly not sure I’ll ever be able to rest without being transported back to that time.
I wish I could say things got easier when she woke up, but if anything, they only got harder.
While Sloane is breathing on her own, responding to pain and movement, responding to voices, she’s still not herself. She isn’t able to move her body fully yet, and she hasn’t been able to talk yet. She gets a frustrated, confused look in her eyes when she looks at me sometimes, and the doctors say she could be struggling with her memory.
Does she remember these past few months? Is that why she looks at me like that? Does she even want me here if she does remember? Does she blame me?
“You should go shower, I’m sure your dressings need changing and shit. My sister might kill you if she wakes up only for you to die on her.” A voice sounds behind me and I turn to see Finn leaning against the door jam, his arms crossed against his chest, a playful smirk on his lips.
He is right, though. I’ve thought about nothing but Sloane since she woke up, and once she fully recovers, I know she’ll kill me herself if she finds out I haven’t been taking care of myself.
I nod and stand slowly, still not able to move around like I used to yet, and he steps inside the room, giving me space to leave. I pause once I reach the door and turn back to him, a silent question in my eyes and he nods, knowing exactly what I need.
For him to keep an eye on her and let me know if anything changes. Though he knows I won’t be gone long, since I can’t bring myself to be away from her for more than a few minutes at a time.
To think, I may not have found Sloane again if my brother wasn’t the exact same, his wife being forced to call me to sit with her while he showered, only for Sloane to walk into the room at that exact moment.
And now we’re here, in a similar situation yet so fucking different.
Sloane needs some more things to be brought to the hospital, so I rush back to the apartment and quickly shower before packing another couple of bags for us both before heading straight back to the hospital.
The knot in my chest loosens the closer I get to Sloane’s room. That is, until I see two doctors exiting her room with inscrutable expressions on their faces. I rush inside, and what I find stops me in my tracks. Sloane is sat up in bed with Finn sitting in the chair I’ve been occupying, her lips moving as she speaks quietly to him, too quietly for me to hear.
Finn notices me first, standing immediately and heading towards me.
“I was just about to call you,” he murmurs. “I’ll give you both some time.” He glances back over at Sloane for a moment before leaving the room without another word. I approach her, taking a seat next to her.
“Hey,” I say softly, not knowing what the hell is going on.
“Why have you been here so often?” she asks with a rasp in her tone. My stomach sinks as one hundred different scenarios fill my mind of her not remembering the last few months, but she keeps talking. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Relief fills me and I take her hand in mine and bringing it to my lips, placing a kiss to her palm before resting our hands on the bed.
“How the fuck could I even rest for a moment when you’re in here?”
Her lips tip up in a smile, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she woke up. Usually, it would be like she was looking straight through me. She was confused and agitated, here but not really.
“Are you okay? Are you even supposed to be talking? What did the doctors say?” I rapid fire my questions and she laughs softy, squeezing my hand.
“I feel okay. Better than I have done. It was like I was seeing everything through someone else’s eyes and I couldn’t make my way out of it, but I feel okay now. The doctors said that it’s just a part of recovery and I should keep talking to get my body used to it or something.” She shakes her head, her raspy voice filling the air, and I lean over, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I mutter.
“Not your fault, Marco.”
“Still, I just wish none of this happened to you. You were supposed to be okay.”
“And I will be. It’ll take me some time to heal, but I’ll be okay. But will we? Will we be okay?”
“Me and you? We’ll never not be okay, Sloane. We can always get through anything together.”
