After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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When I wake, light is all I am met with.
I blink away my confusion as I stir groggily. I have since become used to the constant noise surrounding me. The beeping and whirring from the monitors and machines offers a steady rhythm that cuts through the stillness I still find eerie. The brightness of the room is what I find to be the most unsettling. The sunrays peeking through the curtains and bouncing off of the clean white walls does not match the mood in the air. I almost want to laugh at the irony. My mind must be as out of it as I am.
I sit up and eye her. Haven does not move, and though I know she won't it does not stop me from hoping. I hate hope, it is more deadly than anything. The meaning of the word is associated with such goodness when it is really nothing more than a dark, evil thing.
Her golden hair is splayed out on the white pillowcase like a halo, shimmering against all of the glare in the room. Her features are relaxed as if she is only sleeping–like she has just gone for a nap and could wake up at any moment. Except it has been a month now and she hasn't and this is worrying the doctors, and I keep holding on to the hope that she will, that she might, that the doctors are wrong and she isn't gone, just lost somewhere, that she will come back to me because she has to, because I can't lose her too.
I just can't.
I am crying and I don't even realize until a tear has fallen onto the back of my hand. I have become so used to this in the last few hours that I am unphased. I tear my gaze from Haven and to the heart monitor perched at her bedside. It is still steady, still strong. She's still here, I know it. I still feel her everywhere, and not just because the hope burning in my soul is so strong. Haven is a fighter. She is the strongest person I know. She wouldn't give up easily, and her heart is still beating and she is still here.
I shift in my chair and nearly jump at the crunching sound I am met with. I look down to find the letter Haven wrote still in my lap. The words scribbled across these pages have practically become a part of me, like an extra limb. I run a fingertip against the ink fondly. I have ruined her work with tear spatterings that have made some of the letters bleed, but the writing is still legible and that is all I care about. For now, this is the only piece of her I have.
"They let me sleep with you," I find myself murmuring. I must be mad, truly this time. Talking to the emptiness around me like I'll get a response. But I read that an unconscious person can sometimes still hear, that they can possibly be aware of their surroundings, and so I hope. I hope with all that I am that Haven can hear me and that maybe–just maybe–she will respond.
So I keep talking.
"Before they only let me visit, reluctantly. The rules say only immediate family can visit, but your Mom lets me. She's been sleeping with you. Well, she and your dad take turns. But I begged, and they finally let me. Nobody wants to leave you alone, and I know you would be rolling your eyes right now if you could." I hesitate for a moment, as if she is going to. She doesn't.
