If We Love Again

Chapter 33

My Anchor

I'm not perfect, but I swear, I'm perfect for you.

—Endlessly, The Cab

• • •

   

        AS SOON AS I GOT the news, I hurry over to the hospital where Earl is.

        I’m wearing a negligee overlapped by a bathrobe, my hair is messy and my eyes are bloodshot as rivulets of tears continue to shed. I’m a mess, but I don’t care about how I look right now. I just want to see Earl. I need to see him.

        Fortunately, traffic isn’t heavy tonight.

        Breathe, breathe. I tell myself. I’m wheezing, suffocating. As the minutes pass by, I’m getting more and more anxious.

        An image of his dead cold bloody body pops through my mind. Oh God, please let this be a nightmare. There’s so many possibilities rushing through my head. He could be in a coma or heavily injured or dead. Just by the thought of him dying brings me in a swamp of despair.

         I continue to weep. “C-Can y-you… please… hurry?” I tell the driver, pleading.

        The driver doesn’t protest about my request. He seems to understand the desperate situation I’m in right now. He revs up the engine and sets the car into the fastest speed.

         In normal circumstances, I would’ve been scared of getting caught by the cops because of exceeding the speed limit or getting into an accident, but right now, I feel more scared of the possibility of losing him.

  

• • •

  

         I ASK THE NURSE WHERE Earl’s been admitted, and they immediately whisk me to the emergency room.

         Smells of disinfectant, blood and death waft through the air. I have the urge to puke, but hold myself back. I’m in a mind over matter situation.

         I see a lot of fatally injured people bedridden and some are on the brink of death. The people in scrubs have taken care of them. The nurse said that Earl’s at the last row. I scamper forward, my footsteps getting heavier as I get nearer and nearer to where he is.

         I stand still, holding my breath as my eyes find him. I’m awash with relief when I see him sleeping peacefully on the bed, his chest heaving. He’s still alive, thank God. Bandages cover his head and he has slight gashes on his face. It seems like his left arm is fractured because he’s wearing an orthopedic cast.

         My eyes fill with tears. I rush to his side, crouch down and wrap him in a hug. He stirs as he languidly opens his eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs.

         “Fuck.” I wail and bury my head in the crook of his neck. “You scared me! I thought I lost you.” He tries to hug me back, but ends up moaning, totally forgetting that he’s injured. “How dare you leave me! God, you worried me!” I smack his uninjured arm as I continue to sob. “I-I thought you were… dead.”

         “Sorry,” he whispers, “please don’t cry.”

         “Damn you, damn you, damn you,” I utter aloud, “Do you have any idea that I’m going crazy because of you?!”