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So patient. Everyone has been so patient with me, but holy fuck, it looks like I won’t die, and what should I do now?
What about what I’ve done?
My chest hurts. The monitors start beeping madly.
“Calm down, Ryan,” she says, and my father steps closer, asking what’s wrong.
Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact I did everything in my power to push the two people I want most away, the two people I’ve given my damaged heart to, and although my thoughts keep tripping over one another, I’m pretty damn sure they have no fucking reason to believe I deserve a do-over. I was an asshole to them.
Dammit, I really don’t deserve a future or a happy ending. But if they gave me a chance to apologize…I’d take that second chance with both hands and not let go.
***
Second chances will have to wait, though. I fall asleep halfway through the doc’s explanation of what the surgery entailed and what kind of medication I’ll be taking from now on.
I wake up to loud beeping, fighting with the dead in the lake, then realizing I’m alive.
So hard to believe.
A nurse rushes in to check on me, and I fall asleep again before she does more than ask me if I’m okay. I’m totally fucking wiped. Every little thing tires me out.
Like being rolled onto my side.
Like being given more water through the straw.
Like the doctor prodding something painful on my chest.
Sleep always beckons, the soft darkness, the dreams, sometimes frightening, sometimes peaceful. Sometimes I wake up with tears drying on my cheeks, but I can’t remember why.
Time stretches, loops, reality seeps into the dream.
None of it feels real, except the moments when the pain is so fucking bad, but even then it’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
Yeah, Doc, this was a piece of cake, a walk in the park. When breathing hurts so fucking bad you want to cut open your chest with a rusty knife, you know your life has hit a new low.
The doc says it will pass and gives me more painkillers. They make for some interesting psychedelic dreams where Brylee is cooking rainbows and Riddick is fishing storm clouds.
We eat the rainbows and clouds together. They taste of hope. Brylee gives some to her cat and the cat starts to float on the air. I laugh.
I miss them. And they’re walking away from me.
It’s getting colder.
“No, wait, Bry,” I whisper. “Rid? Don’t go.”
My hands are clenched in the sheets. There’s coolness on my cheeks. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Am I still asleep?
“We’re not going anywhere,” a voice says.
“Cold.” My teeth are chattering.
“You just need to rest.”
Someone is stroking my hair. It feels good. I decide it’s probably a dream and let myself sink down once more.
Even the dead have fallen quiet.
But maybe that’s a good sign.
