Ladybug [h.s.]

epilogue

Harry

~~~~~~~~

Heaven.

I opened my eyes and could have signed off on my life right then and there. Pen in hand, happy to accept whatever terms and conditions necessary just to exist forever in that glorious, brilliant light. Delilah's sweet, delicate face, concern marking the space between her eyebrows with a beautiful little furrow, hung over me, tears running down canyon river paths and dropping off of the cliffside of her chin. She'd grabbed immediately onto my thumb, her knuckles turning white along the edges as she squeezed tightly. Grounding herself; holding back from leaping on top of me. I could see the pounce waiting to happen. Stalking through tall grass, wiggling on her back legs for the perfect moment.

I tried to say it back, but I'm not sure what came out, a collection of sounds that Delilah read exactly as I intended them to be despite the nonsense. She choked on a disbelieving laugh through her tears, the kind of miraculous sound that makes your chest fill up with avalanche landslides and dust storm flower petals. Overwhelming, a little suffocating, destructive. Beautiful force of nature. The predator pounced, arms tangling through the shit around my neck. I think it hurt, somewhere, but I can't remember anymore. I didn't care anyway.

Delilah says the nurses came rushing in afterwards, but that stayed lost in the fog of Deli's shampoo wafting into my nose, too. They said I probably had brain damage; that I was lucky to be alive. I still didn't believe I even was alive. Not with Delilah hanging tightly to my arm. Not with her hurried promises of I'm right here, I've got you. Not with her words burrowing their way deep into my brain. I love you, Ducky. I knew they must've been right when I realized I had a hard time remembering things. I knew it was the brain damage, but I'm not sure I'd remember anything after that resurrection message, anyway.

The thoughts make sense in my mind, but sometimes they're hard to get out, jumbling into nothingness the moment they leave my lips. I don't remember well anymore, though. I'm getting better, at least that's what Delilah tells me. She snowfalls love notes around the house as gentle reminders, always signed off with the scribble of a ladybug. Simple things - that I have an appointment at 8, or that there's leftovers in the fridge. Whipped cream is in the freezer for the pie she made. Jack is coming over for dinner. We have dinner with her parents on Saturday.

We have dinner with her parents on Saturday. Today is Saturday.

I just got my casts and shit off the other week and the exercises they make me do every Thursday have finally worked enough that I can walk well again. They weren't sure if I'd be able to, but they said it was good I had control over my body. Or at least that's what Delilah tells me.

It's weird - I can remember flashes of things that happened while I was in the hospital, but other things fade into the hazy fog.

I don't remember eating once, but I remember when Jack came in for the first time since I'd woken up. I don't remember when they let me piss on my own. I don't remember ever taking a shower. But I remember hearing his voice outside of the door; his frantic footsteps speeding down the hallway. He stopped, paralyzed, underneath the doorframe, choked out something between a sob and a laugh, and barreled toward me. He was crying, I think, but that's okay because I was too.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, dipshit?" He'd wrapped his arms around my neck, clinging on in the same way that Delilah did, "Mom was enough. You're stuck with me, got it?"

I'd mumbled back something that was supposed to be, "got it," but it sounded more like "bod ig." He flashed me a look of concern, but the moment his eyes landed back on my face, he simply laughed again, and hugged me again. I'd tried to hug him back, but I couldn't move my arms with the casts on. He didn't seem to mind, so neither did I.