Escape Route (Decode Sequel)

Chapter Six - Déjà vu.

Lennon.

The realisation that Harry may never wake up felt more real with every passing second. Nothing had changed, nothing had progressed in the following two days after the incident. The guilt I felt flooded my veins and was slowly taking over every thought I had. I’d find myself at times close to not breathing, thinking too hard, shaking and sweating uncontrollably. I managed to pull myself away from the hell like place, but I had a feeling I couldn’t take it much longer. Sooner or later the thoughts would eat me alive, inside out.  

The lack of sleep was wearing my body down. Every now and then when I used the bathroom, I’d catch a glimpse of my ghost like complexion, the dark shadows under my eyes intensifying the look. I’d chewed the skin around my nails so intensely my hands were permanently stained with dry blood and ripped skin. It stung but only when I thought it about, which wasn’t very often.  

I questioned every doctor or nurse that stepped through the door, begging for any news or any sign of anything new, but the answer was always the same. His condition remained the same and they didn’t know if anything would change anytime soon. I knew they were doing their job but to hear some words, any words of optimism really could have helped.  

I hadn’t changed my clothes, brushed my hair or teeth, let alone showered. I smelt bad and I looked even worse, but it didn’t compare to how I felt. I found myself retching over the sink in the small toilet joined to Harry’s room. I had barely eaten or drank and anything I did swallow never stayed down. I don’t know if it was because of the guilt, the reality of everything or I’d caught an illness passing through the corridors. It didn’t matter though because all I knew was when I was hunched over the basin, spitting stomach bile through my teeth, I was still alive and human, whereas Harry was alive, but he was almost anything but human. He was lifeless, depending on machines to live.  

I gargled water fresh from the tap in my mouth before spitting it out and shuddering at my reflection. I wiped away the residue from my mouth with the back of my hand. Paul was in the room when I walked back out. He gave me a sympathetic look as he held onto Harry’s arm. I slumped back in my chair where I had moulded my body shaped into over the days spent there. 

“His cuts are slowly healing.”

“It doesn’t matter. If he has brain damage, he may never wake up and heal properly.” 

“Lennon-“

“This is all my fault,” I cried out, bringing my hands to my face and my head into my lap. It didn’t take long for Paul to kneel down in front of me, his hands prying mine away from my tear coated face. I was shaking my head and hiccupping loudly as he tried to shush and calm me. 

“It’s not, you did your best.”

“I saw the car earlier, I should have told someone. He could still be alive!” 

“Hey hey, he’s still alive okay? And how were you to know that they were up to no good eh?” He rubbed my knee empathetically as I sniffled again. “It’s not your fault, I should be to blame, I should have seen this coming.” 

“Do you think he’ll ever wake up?” I asked with my scratchy, drained voice. The tears welling in my eyes again as I turned to look at Harry. Paul sighed and squeezed my knee.

“If he doesn’t wake up, how is he ever going to have one of your Chelsea buns again?”

“I don’t think some pastry is enough to lure someone out of coma.”

“One time when he was fifteen he fell out off a tree and knocked himself out, the only way we could wake up was by shoving a fresh cupcake under his nose. He woke up like nothing had happened. Never underestimate the power of fresh pastries.”