Through the Dark (Sequel to Taking Chances)

Chapter Twenty-Two: "Don't Leave Me"

Niall
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The doctor had cleared me for getting out of this damn hospital bed. Harry was almost as relieved as I was considering I didn't give him any credit for staying with me when I grumbled about the crap I was stuck in. I hadn't been too happy with being put on bed-rest, so I was ecstatic when they told me I was okay to roam around.

My legs felt wobbly at first, like I hadn't used them for years. I had gotten up every now and then for the bathroom, but I was never allowed to leave the room. When I tried to sneak out, Harry, Claire, or a doctor or nurse would catch me and force me back into bed.

But to be honest, I wasn't worried about sneaking out or the papers or the statements I had to give the police concerning the incident. What I was worried about laid in another room, almost lifeless with no activity of life other than breathing.

I wanted so desperately to see her. To feel her hand, her lips. I needed my girlfriend to be okay. I needed her to hold on. The guilt had never eaten me alive faster than knowing it was my fault and not being able to apologize immediately. And my anger toward the doctors and nurses was mostly because of that.

The hallways were still, sometimes eerily quiet. I'd never enjoyed hospitals, and it wasn't ever like this because I was the one who'd been the concern, not her. It had always been me in that hospital bed and me whom Brielle cried for.

Claire and Harry had gone home to sleep for awhile, although the decision wasn't easy. Claire refused to leave, and Harry was too apprehensive to argue. But they looked as if they hadn't slept in weeks, and there was a calm that seemed more dangerous than worry. They needed that rest, and I wasn't about to deprive them of that. I made them leave, and I would make sure that they'd stay home until they were all rested up.

That being said, it was only me who roamed the hallway toward her room. Only me who breathed deeply to keep calm. It was only me, stopping in front of the heavy wooden door, eyes studying the frame and patterns as I continued to take deep breaths. I was afraid to see her. Afraid to see what I'd caused. Afraid to shove myself completely into what had only felt slightly real.

Do it, you coward, I thought. Look at what you did. Face it. Take a look at yet another failure with your name written all over it.

My fingers curled into a fist, straining against the skin as if to threaten the surface. I lifted one fist and pushed at the door, watching, terrified, as it creaked and swung open.

The heart monitor beeped monotonically, at a steady pace. And then there was the silence that followed. It was worse than the heart monitor.

My eyes avoided her for a minute, as if to say that I wasn't ready. But the voice in my head was screaming at me to look at her. To get over myself. Soon it became annoying enough that I gritted my teeth, and I forced my eyes to stop on her eyelids.

But then I took in the rest of her, and the enraged voice vanished. My breathing staggered, coming out in chopped, unfinished gasps. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes, and my fists unclenched. The anger was gone, only replaced with an ache that was almost too much to endure in one standing. I felt my knees go weak.

Her face was bruised, and there was a tube stuck down her throat. Once or twice Claire had mentioned something about her having trouble breathing on her own, but the idea of imagining her in the state she was in wasn't in my best interest; I'd nodded my head, though not really hearing her.

But there she was. And she was almost still enough to be a corpse.

The scratches were there, and her cut lip was now just a red line splitting down her lip a third of the way. She didn't look peaceful. She didn't look at ease. She looked like Hell had come to greet her. She looked pale and damaged. She looked exactly how I'd imagined her when I figured out just how badly I'd screwed up.

I fell into the chair next to her. My hands grasped both of hers, holding them gently in fear of being too rough. I fought a sob, grunting as I cleared my throat. I wanted so badly to cry out for my mistake, but I refused to allow myself that release. I needed to endure this. This was my punishment.

"Brielle..." I whispered. I waited in every hope of her opening her eyes, of her answering me, but my hope faded as the silence slipped onward. "I'm sorry, baby."

A tear fell despite my fight to keep them in. And then another.

"You were yelling and I was yelling and I wasn't paying attention... you told me to slow down and I didn't... and now we're here and you won't wake up... but I need you to wake up, Brielle. I need you to open your eyes for me."

I waited. I watched her face as if doing so would make her open her eyes. I breathed as softly and quietly as I could. And yet, I was left disappointed and hopeless.

What had I expected? Why hadn't I forced myself to expect less?

Coward. Look what you did. It's your fault.

My head fell against the mattress as another tear fell. My hands gripped hers a bit tighter, and then I allowed myself to sit still.

"Please don't leave me, Brielle."

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Days. Days passed. And still nothing.

Harry and Claire were beginning to lose hope, but I had already lost most of it when I realized that it was my punishment. It was a slim chance she would wake up, and for that I had stopped hoping for her to wake up when I sat next to her.

More days passed.

Nothing.

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Another week had gone.

Ever chance I got I was in her room, telling her stories of my childhood, of my mother. I would reminisce about the days when I played music more than I lived. When music was all I had.

But those stories soon ran out, and I was left with silence to make conversation with. Dead conversation.

Would she ever wake up?

Would I ever get her back?

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Alright, so it's been decided that until I can get to the point I need to in this story, the next couple chapters could very well possibly as short as the last one & this one. But don't worry, they'll get longer when I reach that point.

Also, someone asked if she would ever wake up. Well, honestly, I can't tell you that. If I told you, what would be the point of the story?

But I'm ecstatic that you're wondering. It means I'm creating emotion, & that's exciting for me.

Okay, one last thing! Everyone should go check out "My Past, Our Future" & the sequel by Cassidy Elliott, username is CassidyElliott9! She's a new writer & I think everyone should get a chance to improve! I think you'll like it (;

Okay, rants over lololololzz. Baii!