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I try to cradle her head as though it’s a fragile moth’s wing. The rain baptizes us—cleansing, but drowning. Her breath becomes a delicate thread. I want to tell her: “I’ve loved you since the first raindrop.” But words are inadequate, like trying to catch smoke.
The sirens wail—a chorus of urgency. Rescuers descend from every direction. Their hands strong, their faces masked. They’ll cut her legs free, mend her brokenness. But will they mend mine?
As they lift her, I watch, realizing for the second time in my life that there is nothing I can do. Matthew died in my arms, blood coating us both. It almost seems tragically poetic that I held his sister in the same position. But I won’t give up hope. I can’t. She is my lifeline to this universe and without her, I’ll jump from the precipice.
Losing her would be the final nail in my coffin, two graves needing to be prepared. The lovers who couldn’t be separated even in death, they will say. The lovers, bound by fate and circumstance, stand at the edge of eternity. They’ll say we were twin souls—two halves of a fractured whole.
Chapter 21
Samuel
The fluorescent lights flicker, projecting a Morse code of uncertainty. I pace like a caged animal—my shoes squeaking on the linoleum. The waiting room is like purgatory, holding my breath.
The door swings open. My heart leaps. Is it her? Is it the doctor? But it’s just a nurse, clipboard in hand. She glances at me with sympathy in her eyes. How does she do this job? How can she stay so strong when she’s surrounded by chaos, never knowing how it will end?
I want to scream: “Tell me!” But I swallow the words.
Back and forth, back and forth.
The chairs are hard and unforgiving, witnesses to my restlessness. Other families sit—each with their own story, their own prayers. It’s as if we’re bound by fear like a silent fraternity.
The door opens again. My pulse races. This time, it’s a stretcher—a patient wheeled in. Not her. Not Marcy. But someone else’s loved one. I close my eyes and send them a silent prayer.
The clock mocks me. The never ending ticking has synced with my heartbeats. Minutes stretch into hours. The walls—sterile and indifferent—absorb our collective anxiety. The scent of disinfectant mingles with the unmistakable tang of fear.
Once I arrived, it was too late to see her. I cursed and tried to throw my money around, anything for me to see her. I’d spend my entire fortune to see those emerald eyes shine up at me again.
She’d been rushed back into emergency surgery. Thankfully I had the forethought years ago to put my name as her next of kin contact or they wouldn’t speak with me at all. The tiny silver lining from my stalking days, not that we would need that had I not been a coward.
That's how we got here in the first place. I grip my hair pulling the strands needing the pain to be refocused from my heart.
I want to trade places, to be the one suspended upside down. Me, it always should have been me. The thought takes hold of my mind and doesn’t release once its claws have been dug in.
Marcy, the girl who danced in the rain, who traced the tattoos on my skin—now lies on an operating table, her life hanging in the balance. I grapple with the fragility of existence, the intricate dance of fate, and the profound impact people have on our lives. Marcy now rests in the hands of skilled surgeons, their actions guided by science and compassion. Hopeless and alone, all I can do is wait. Wait for the doors to open with news.
If Marcy returns, a promise echoes across time—a vow etched in the fabric of my soul. If Marcy’s eyes flutter open, if her heartbeat steadies, I’ll be there forevermore, a steadfast partner, a man shaped by love’s crucible.
My promises are whispered under the fluorescent lighting, rippling across all existence. I vow to be more in every way. More of anything she needs. I’ll be the shelter in her storms, the laughter in her quiet hours, the hand that steadies her steps. I’ll learn the art of patience, the grace of forgiveness for myself and others, and the alchemy of shared dreams. I’ll make this right, even if I die trying.
Chapter 22
Marcy
“Marcy, wake up sleepyhead. Oh, come on, sunshine,” he chuckles. That voice. It’s so familiar but I can’t place it. My eyes flutter open even though I feel like I could sleep for a lifetime and it wouldn't be enough.
“There she is,” he croons, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. It’s so bright, white coats everything as if the scene hasn’t been painted yet. I turn my gaze to the voice and that’s when I see him.
Matty.
My Matty.
My arms fly around him, a desperate embrace—a collision of longing and vulnerability. His warmth seeps into my soul, a slow infusion of hope. It’s as if he carries sunlight in his veins, stitching together the fractures left by life’s relentless hammer. He pulls me into his arms, smelling my hair like he always used to.
“I’ve missed you so much, sunshine,” he whispers as my tears coat us both. I can't make words, I can only hold onto him like my life depends on it.
He pulls back enough to wipe the tears from my cheeks. His beautiful green eyes shine down on me, a sight I’d thought was lost forever. His bright red hair shines above me like a halo. My fingers trace the familiar ridges like a delicate dance across time. Each contour, each line etched into his skin, becomes a memory I’ll carry like a secret talisman. The warmth beneath my touch, the way his jaw curves, the flutter of his eyelashes—they’re all part of this fragile tapestry I’m scared will evaporate before me.
“H-how is this possible?” I whisper.
