Spinning Out

Chapter 3

JAINA

My Vans stick to the floor of hospital room. It's disgusting. I always thought hospitals should be the most sterile places, but it's all a farce. I've lost faith in the system. I pry the rubber sole up with each step, hating that it makes the heaviness in his room something I have to physically fight in addition to the way I can feel it inside on my heart and crushing my lungs each time I see him laying there not breathing on his own.

My eyes scan the machines. I read his propofol levels as if I know anything about them. All I know is it's keeping him asleep. It's helping him rest peacefully instead of feeling the pain I know he would be in if he were awake, but it is only one of about twelve medicines dripping into his blood at any given time. The white board displays the names of his nurses and the last time they rolled him slightly on his side.

"You finally got a girl's number, huh?" I joke out loud. "Want me to put it in your phone? Is she cute?"

He doesn't answer. Not even a twitch.

"I just feel like it's pretty rude that you started a summer diet without me. You know how competitive I get with that," I tell him as if we're standing in his room on a regular summer afternoon. I ignore his silence again and move toward the uncomfortable chair the staff has pushed into the farthest corner of the room. I know they don't do this on purpose—they've actually been very kind to me—but I'm tired and it's always been fun to share enemies with Nathan so I decide to make something out of nothing for the sake of entertainment. "I see they've tried to banish me to the corner again—"

"Oh, sorry about that," a voice answers.

"Oh my God!" I practically screech, spinning in the direction of his open door.

A young woman is standing there in scrubs, her hands folded in front of her. "Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to check his vitals and makes sure everything was ok. I'm Marta and I'm his nurse for the next few hours."

I haven't met Marta yet. I've met Lisa and Benito.

"Hi, Marta. I was just kidding about the chair." I can feel my cheeks heating up.

"It's fine. He's doing well today," she says as she scans the large monitor hanging by the entrance to his room.

"Have they already done rounds?" I ask. I like to listen to them and try not to take my breaks to grab food or go to the bathroom when I think they'll be around.

"No. I haven't even seen them on the floor yet. You've probably got a while. Are you family?" she asks.

"Practically," I answer. "I'm his best friend from childhood. We've known each other forever. Our houses back up to each other." My throat closes with the lump that quickly forms inside. I blink so the tears don't fall. If Nathan doesn't pull through this, will anyone ever ask me that again? Will I get to tell our story? It hits me like a wrecking ball to my heart. I point to my name on the white board along with my phone number so she can see I'm a contact.

"Awww, childhood friendships are the best. I'll leave you to visit," she says, excusing herself.

I don't make it past the sound of her shoes sticking two steps before I lose control. The scratchy hospital blanket is rough against my face as I lay my cheek on it and look up at him, the tears making it hard to see his face. My hoodie sleeve serves as a tissue since his room is barren—he obviously doesn't need them so why would they stock his room. I've cried to him a million times before, through the years for a plethora of reasons—physical injuries and emotional ones too—my problems grew as we did, but this one is my biggest hurt and he can't comfort me. When I need him the most, he can't be there.