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Nathan called me last week, and I suppose that is what he wanted to share with me. I was so fucking stupid. I thought he was calling to give me an earful for not helping out, but our mutual friend told me he’s always been sad, asking why I hadn’t visited him yet and if I was okay.
My stomach churns. He’s worried about me even now, even after everything. Nathan hasn’t always been the brightest person. He’s too kind and soft for his own good, and that is why I’m turning pale at the thought of seeing him.
Taking a deep breath, I force my body to move forward. The lights inside the building blazed that seemed to pierce through my eyelids. Every step I took felt like walking through a tunnel of intense brightness, making me long for the soft natural light of the outdoors.
I go to the reception to confirm what room he’s in, then I take the elevator up to his floor.
When I reach his room and peek through the glass, I see him lying in bed. He’s put on a bit of weight from not moving around.
My heart constricts in my chest. It suddenly feels like the walls are closing in on me and they will squish me. My hands grow clammy and my fingers feel ashy as I reach for the door handle. But I don’t open the door, I just freeze.
“Hello, are you trying to open the door?” a nurse asks. She has a big smile on her face. “I’ll help you,” she assumes I am one of the patients here.
Nathan’s eyes meet mine the second she opens the door. I know I can’t run away or stall now that he’s seen me. I have to walk inside and fix things.
“Hey, man,” Nathan says, his eyes crinkling as if he’s truly excited to see me.
I know he is. Nathan is not the type of guy to pretend. He wouldn’t smile at me or give me that happy face if he wasn’t happy to see me.
I clear my throat. “Hey,” I reply, but my voice is barely above a whisper. I close the door behind me and walk to his bedside. “How are you…doing?”
It’s a stupid question, because I can see that he’s still recovering from the near-fatal injuries he sustained the night we got rescued, but I don’t know how else to start a conversation with him.
“What do you think, man? I’m fucked,” he jokes.
How can he joke at a time like this? Isn’t he mad at me? If not for being so useless that night, at least for ignoring his texts and calls.
“Yeah, you look like it.” I sit on a chair next to his bed.
There’s an awkward moment of silence between us. I wait for the accusations to come, but they never do.
“How have you been, Brandon?” Nathan asks coolly. “You weren’t answering any calls. I was really worried about you.”
I swallow hard, feeling a lump form in my throat at his words. He was worried about me while lying in a hospital bed, recovering from injuries he sustained because I failed to act when it mattered most. Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in its depths.
“I've been okay,” I finally manage to croak out, unable to meet his gaze. “Just dealing with some stuff.”
Nathan studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he reaches out a hand and places it on mine gently.
“You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, bro,” he says softly. “What happened out there wasn't your fault. We all did what we could.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. How can he be so forgiving, so understanding?
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I finally muster the courage to meet Nathan's gaze. His eyes are filled with warmth and kindness that I don't deserve, and I feel the weight of his forgiveness like a physical presence in the room.
“I froze, Nathan,” I whisper, the words barely audible. “I froze when you needed me. I should have, I should have been there for you. I should have saved you.”
Nathan reaches for my shoulder and gives me a reassuring squeeze.
“Brandon,” he says softly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that catches me off guard. “You were there for me when it mattered most before. We were all scared. I couldn’t save myself. It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t hold it against you.”
Tears stream down my face unchecked now, emotions raw and unbridled. I should have been stronger, braver. I should have been the one to protect him, to save him.
But as I look into Nathan's eyes, I realize the truth of his words: maybe he didn’t hate me or blame me for not being his savior. Maybe all he needed was for me to be his friend after everything, to stand by his side while he recovered. And I avoided him because of the guilt I felt.
Still, he’s forgiven me. He’s told me everything I needed to hear. And maybe, just maybe, I can learn to forgive myself too.
“I'm sorry, Nathan,” the words tumble out of my mouth, rushing now to be heard. “Sorry that I wasn’t there when you woke up.”
