Confiding in You ϟ a.i.

Chapter 66

==Ashton's POV==

Whoever said that sneaking into the ICU past visiting hours was hard, was obviously a pussy.

It's been two days. After seeing her for the first time, everyone obeyed the rules and went back home. Maddie's dad and I were the only ones who decided to stay in the waiting room, and after he fell asleep, I was right back in here.

I wish I could say that I've been in this chair for the past 48 hours straight, pulled up close to her bed. I really do. The first time they kicked me out, they had to force me to let go of her hand.

They have to do more tests on her and stuff, to make sure she's okay, I guess. No one can be in there, so I'm sent back into the waiting room.

I use that time to get enough food from the vending machine to hold me over. Nothing more than a bag of chips or a chocolate bar. By the time I finish eating, I'm allowed back in without a problem..

Somehow, though, everyone who comes in thinks I'm supposed to be here. I overheard that one 'support person' is allowed unrestricted access into the room. Maybe they all assume that that's me.

None of us came together to decide on who that person should be. If anyone, it should be Maddie's dad, but he hasn't been able to stay in here for more than 15 minutes without having to leave to compose himself.

Either way, I'm getting away with breaking rules. Only family members are allowed to stay overnight, not guilt-ridden ex boyfriends. But I've slept over the past couple of nights, curled up right here with her hand in mine.

They either think I'm her brother, or are extremely unprofessional.

But who cares? I'm here and that's all that matters. I'm meant to be here, if I'm getting around all of the rules. That's what I've been telling myself.

I shift in my seat, waking up and looking at Maddie. She still looks like she could be dead, completely vulnerable and fragile, hooked up to all of those machines. I only know the word for one of them, and that's the ventilator, which I guess is keeping her breathing.

"I hope those articles are right," I mumble to her, sighing, "That you can still hear when you're in a coma."

I stay curled up on the chair, tightening my grip on her hand only a little. The back of my throat burns, and I can feel myself getting choked up again. She needs to wake up already.

"I hope you can hear how worried I am about you, even though they say you'll wake up soon," I say, swallowing and trying to keep my tears back. I've cried enough to last this whole new year. "I need you to know how much I really do love you, and how much I'm sorry."

She stays still, as she has been since the first time I saw her. No response. Just the sound of her breathing and medical equiptment beeping.

Every time I speak to her, I have hope that it'll make her wake up. Maybe, just maybe, it can be like those movies and I have the magic voice that makes her better. This hope makes it impossible for me not to at least half-expect a reply from her.

I picture it in my head every time, how she would have replied if she wasn't mad at me. Then again, what kind of furious, snarky reply she would give me. Neither of them come. It's always nothing.

My head falls against the arm of the chair and I let out a groan. If she doesn't wake up soon, I'm going to go insane. I've already gone insane.

My phone vibrates and I pick my head back up, using my free hand to pull it from my pocket. With tired eyes, I don't think I could have seen any worse contact pop up. Lily.