The Knight Brothers

09

Chapter Eight

April

Present

"Here." I ignore the cup of coffee being extended to me. "April, you need something in your stomach," Arnie Knight pleads. He's as out of sorts as the rest of us, but I wonder if he has a right to be. I don't think so.

"I can't handle anything in my stomach right now."

"He's going to be all right."

His confident tone irritates me. Infuriates me. I'm tired of hearing the same fucking thing. It sounds trite and banal. The truth is...we don't know what's going on behind those secured doors that separate us from him. We don't know the skill of the doctors working to save his life. We don't know shit. And the longer we wait, the more bad stuff we get to make up in our heads.

Mine can't possibly get worse.

"So everyone says." I keep my stare firmly on the matted carpet beneath me. I wonder how many oceans the tears stuck in it would fill if we could separate them from the fibers of pain they're now wound around.

A lot, I bet.

The entire world would probably be flooded.

My gaze drifts past Arnie to the mocking face of the clock on the wall.

7:03.

I watch the seconds tick off, leaving crushed hope in their wake and uncertainty in their future.

Eight hours.

It's been eight long, torturous hours.

Four hundred eighty unbearable minutes.

We've had one update. An hour ago.

He's still in surgery. As soon as we know anything else, I'll let you know. The heavyset nurse gave us news that was no news at all in a tone that attempted at sympathetic but bordered on preparedness. She looked as if she'd seen her fair share of grieving families and was numb to the pain.

I asked her if surgery would normally take this long. I'm sorry. I don't know anything else.

Lying bitch.

She knows something. She just won't say. Delaying pain doesn't make it better. It just keeps you balanced on a knife's edge, the razor sharp tip digging in farther with each new breath you breathe. Either way, the end result is the same. You're sliced in two. One is just a slower process than the other.

"You have to keep the faith, dear," Arnie preaches in a resigned voice. I'm unsure if he's trying to convince himself or me. I hear him sigh above me. See his body slide out of my line of sight, leaving me alone once again.

Good.

It's what I want.

I don't want comfort.

I don't deserve it any more than anyone else here does. We all have our crosses to bear, our share in the events that unfolded. Every one of us played a part, some bigger than others.

Why I ever considered giving up on us is a guilt so suffocating I can't bear the massive weight of it. It's absolutely crushing. I stare down the hallway where the nurse disappeared and wonder: is he alive? Is he fighting? Maybe he's already dead and they're leaving us on that fucking edge a little bit longer as they try to figure out the string of words they think will comfort but won't. Can't. Never will. Why even try?

I stand and look at no one as I walk out of the place that feels like a coffin whose lid is slowly closing. I leave everyone behind, ignoring my name being called over and over. I need air. I need something. Anything but desperate despair.

I stop at the coffee machine. Look over at my choices. Stand there so long someone taps on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss. Can I get you something?" a kind female voice asks.

A miracle? "I don't know," I reply blandly without looking at her.

"Here," she says, plunking a few coins into the slot. She pushes some buttons and opens the dispenser a few seconds later. Hands me a paper cup. It's hot. I look down. The liquid is tan and smells sugary. It reminds me of him. I lumber away, not even sure I said thanks. I hope I did. I take one sip. It's bitter and feels like ash on my tongue. It congeals in my stomach. It ends up in the next garbage can I pass.

I aimlessly walk the sterile halls. For how long, I'm not sure. But the farther I burrow into the belly of the hospital, the more unwanted hang-ons I collect. Antiseptic sticks to the hairs inside my nose. Moans of agony wallow in my ears. Finality squishes underneath my feet. It soaks into my shoes, staining my socks black. The energy in this entire place is sad and deathly still, even though there's frenetic activity everywhere.

Somehow, I end up in the chapel. I'm not even sure where it is. What floor it's on. How I got here. Oddly, it's empty. I'm glad. I slump into a hard pew in the dimly lit room where countless others before me have prayed, begged, tried trading their lives for someone else's.

I don't do any of those things. I've already prayed my mind empty. I've begged until my soul is bled dry. And God already knows I'd trade anything for his life, including mine.

So instead, I watch the candles flicker and reminisce.

In my mind, I wind back time and remember when I was once happy. It all started with him. And it will end with him if he goes. I smile as I let tears flow once again when I picture his loving brown eyes.