"There are rules, Alfred." - Egghead
. . .
Los Angeles, California, 2013
"GODDAMMIT! LET ME SEE HER!" My voice rises as I get angrier and more panicked, my heart shooting fear into my veins. The hospital receptionist just scowls at me and repeats herself.
"I'm sorry, sir, but only family are allowed to visit. You can sit in the waiting room until she's out."
I want to strangle her. "IS SHE AT LEAST ALRIGHT?!" I shout, probably drawing attention to myself. Not that I could care less.
"Sorry, sir, but I can't say. Those are the rules." Another scowl hits her face.
"Fuck the rules!" I say, trying to convince my voice to lower itself. Fine. I'll just make her take me.
I get ready to force my way through all the legal obstacles, but something else happens before I can.
"OH MY GOD! Are you Bo Burnham?!" A girly squeal sounds behind me as I spin around. Two teenage girls are smiling with earnest.
I nod wanly. I'm not in the mood for this. "Yeah, you could say I am."
The two girls flush bright red, their eyes wider than dinner plates. "Can you sign my shirt?" The first one asks, pulling out a Black Veil Brides shirt from inside her hoodie and handing me a sharpie. I scribble on it, not even glancing at the autograph to see if it looks right.
"Can you sign my bra?" The other girl turns bright red when I shrug. Weirder things have happened before. A girl once asked me to sign her tits so she could get my autograph tattooed. Fuckin weirdos.
I scribble on Bra Girl's chest before another sharp voice shouts out. A haggard woman grabs the two girls by their arms, her face a mask of anger. She doesn't even look at me.
"What were you two thinking, running off like that? Your great-uncle just wants to see his own great-nieces; is that too much to ask?!" She reprimands them, and I instantly regret giving them my autograph. They don't deserve it. Teenage brats they are.
Finally, I glance back to the receptionist. She's watching me like a hawk.
"You're Bo Burnham??" She asks, totally thrown off.
"Yeah." I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
"I'm sorry, we must have had a misunderstanding. Miss Smith will be in Room 550..." The receptionist shoots me a sweet smile, but I scoff.
What a faker.
Nevertheless, I head directly to Room 550 before I pause outside. When I arrived at Justine's house, it was surrounded by ambulances and paramedics trying to get her to take a breath. I'd broken into tears. I'm not sure if I want that again. My life was perfect before her. I was happy, I was writing, and everything felt right.
Now, it's beyond fucked up.
But then, I remember her eyes... they're so gorgeous, so sweet, so bright. They mean everything to me. They represent purity, youth... innocence. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, feeling very tired all of a sudden. I look inside the little glass window in the door. I gasp.
Justine looks like hell. Her neck and collarbones are covered in purple and yellow bruises, and she looks like she lost ten pounds. Her face is gaunt, her eyes sunken. She's asleep, but the wires streaming out of her are pumping what looks like blood and oxygen into her. Her chest is rising and falling unevenly, and I almost expect her lungs to just stop filling up. My eyes well with tears.
I carefully turn the doorknob and step inside the room.
I settle next to her in a chair by the bed, trying to be as silent as possible. She looks so vulnerable, her brown hair splayed out on her sheets and her face drained of blood. I reach out and touch her cheek, tears filling my eyes as I see how cold she is. Her beautiful face is completely clean of makeup, and I can see her freckles for once, sprinkled like brown sugar over her cheeks and nose. There are tear tracks still fresh on her cheekbones and I wipe them away with my thumb. My fingers reach down and lace into hers so that I'm holding her hand loosely.
Her eyelids flutter slightly and open. A quiet smile flits across her lips. She looks at me, obviously still groggy from passing out.
"Welcome back," I say softly, letting her hand go. She reaches out and pulls it back, squeezing my hand. Justine doesn't try to talk, but we sit in silence and observe each other. I look into her gold-streaked eyes and she looks into mine.
Finally, she opens her mouth to speak. "Bo..." she manages to get out before her voice collapses. I shake my head.
"Don't talk... your throat is probably still a little swollen," I brush her hair away from her face, but a look of urgency fills her eyes. "Bo... please... say you forgive-" I know what she's going to say, and I cut her off.
I interrupt her with a kiss.
Her eyes widen in shock, but she quickly closes them. Our fingers are still interlocked, and our lips crash together. A warm feeling starts to spread through my stomach as she pulls away just enough for me to feel her breath on my lips, our foreheads pressed together. I smile, and she smiles against my lips too, letting out a light chuckle.
I know why. It's the irony of it all, how many years in the making this kiss was. How many perfect moments there were, but it ended up happening in a hospital room, four years too late. She giggles quietly, and all my pent-up resentment melts away. I love this girl, and it's something that I can't change, issues or not. I've loved her, and I always will. As she pulls away, tears filling her eyes, all I can see are her gorgeous features - her perfectly shiny eyes, her sloped nose, the way her smile is always crooked and ends as a smirk. I lean in and kiss her again, and even as her tears roll onto my cheeks, only one thought is racing through my mind:
I will never let her get away again.
. . .
A/N: I thought this was a sweet way to resolve the turmoil from the last chapter, so yeah. Uhhh it won't be all sunshine and rainbows from here on out, but I think it's safe to say the ship has sailed.
So thanks for reading, and feedback is always welcome!
(PS: did you catch the reference from "Eff"?)
