Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I want to say his name, but I don’t. Instead, I run my finger gently down the slope of his cheek to his jaw. His eyes flick to mine, the whites showing suddenly like he’s afraid. No, not just afraid but panicked. He’s not breathing hard. He’s not showing any outward signs of distress other than what I just saw, and he’s not even soaked in sweat after that nightmare.
I stroke my hand over his cheek to his ear, where I brush the shell of it before tangling my fingers in his hair. I step toward him, using my body like a shield until I can reach up and put my other hand on his shoulder. He’s warm, thank goodness. Not stone at all. Just human.
I finally whisper his name, “Darius. It’s okay. Can you come back to bed?”
He acts like he doesn’t hear me. He’s rigid under my hold—not pliant and melting into me. But he doesn’t push me away, either. It’s like he hasn’t registered that I’m even here. Okay, so maybe this is sleepwalking.
“Darius?” I unwind my hand from his hair and touch his bottom lip gently with my thumb. He doesn’t react, so I trace the curve of it. “Hey. Let’s go sit down, okay?”
It’s like leading a zombie across the room when I take his hand, but at least he follows. At least he sits on the edge of the bed. I now realize that the sheets are twisted up and tangled. Maybe there was some thrashing going on.
“Do you want to tell me about it? What were you dreaming about?”
No response, though I didn’t exactly expect one.
I reach down deep through the layers of pain and helplessness. Through to what my sister said. None of us know how much time we have left or what’s going to happen to us. So many people say that, but not many people truly understand it. I know Heather does.
His hands are resting on his knees, and I run my fingers lightly over them. “What did you mean when you said you were collateral damage?”
His eyes flash with something. Some emotion. They finally flick to mine, and I let out a sigh of relief. He’s here. He’s in there, and he’s coming back. At least parts of him are, even if really slowly.
“Because I don’t think you’re collateral damage. I don’t think you’re any kind of damage. You’re not broken.” I don’t know why he might listen to me now, but I think maybe right now is when he needs to hear it most.
He’s had endless surgeries. So many. Doctors think they can fix him, but they never do.
He also probably has physical therapists that come after the surgeries to help him. They probably think they can fix him, too, but they don’t either.
What about his family? His friends? Did they think they could fix him? Did they stop thinking that? Stop trying? Did they stop coming here? Did they stop caring after he had to go away and hide from the world?
“I’m glad we met,” I whisper. “Maybe it wasn’t how I’d ever imagined meeting someone, but I am glad.” A shiver runs through him. “Are you cold? Do you need a T-shirt? A sweater? A blanket? A warm bath?”
He finally tilts his head and blinks again. It’s not much, but it’s a sign of life, and I’m so relieved. I keep going, running my fingers down the inside of his arm and tapping on his wrist gently so he can feel me.
“You’re not collateral damage. I know everything changed after the accident, and there’s been a lot of surgeries and pain. I know you feel…that you feel…that you probably feel trapped in your head. Like it’s a cage. I hate that you said no one would want you except for your money. That makes me so sad because it’s not true. For anyone who ever cut you off after the accident because they didn’t understand or because they didn’t want to, I’m sorry. And for all those hurt in the past, I’m sorry too.” I tap out two small taps on his wrist before closing my hand around his again.
“Ev…” He says my name like he wants to believe me.
I’m not trying to outdo him or trade my shit for his shit, but maybe he needs to hear this. Maybe I just need to finally say it. “My dad died, and I’ve never had nightmares about it. He abandoned us, and then he…well, he had a heart attack and left us with a mountain of debts to pay off. He didn’t leave us for long enough to have truly left us behind. He left us, and then he had a heart attack two weeks later. Nothing was sorted, and it all fell on my mom. On us. There were a lot of times when I felt like I was drowning. Like it might be easier to escape that way. I’d panic, and it was horrible. The worry would press down on me until I felt like I was suffocating, but all of that…it’s going to be nothing. Nothing if my sister doesn’t get better. If I lose her, I don’t know how I’m actually going to live again. To be alive. To breathe. Every day after would be like having the life choked out of me.”