breathe | r lewandowski

6

I sat and stared at her. She was still unconscious and I was afraid she wasn't breathing, even though the monotonous sounds of the pace machine and the peaks and dips on the monitor assured me that the oxygen was reaching her lungs just fine.

I rested my chin on my hand, my eyes going out of focus and my vision blurry as I realised I wasn't even staring anymore, I was practically asleep with my eyes open.

The nurses had said everything was fine, her head was just a surface scrape and it was all stitched up with no problems. It relived me, but I couldn't be completely guilt free until she opened her eyes and told me herself that she was fine.

A phone ringing broke the silence in the room and I instinctively reached into my back pocket, only to find it empty. I sighed and walked over to Jagger's pile of clothes folded neatly on the table by her bed. After digging through pockets, I pulled out her phone and answered before even looking who was calling.

"Hello?"

"Jagger- hello? Who is this and why are you answering my daughter's phone?"

"Hi, this is Robert. I work with Jagger," I started, unsure of where I was actually taking the conversation and how to break it to the gentleman down the phone that his daughter was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

"I'm sure my daughter is capable of answering her own phone. I'm presuming she's there, could I speak to her?"

I paused for a moment, not being sure whether to tell him about Jagger or not.

"Actually, she's not. She's out with the team and I'm back at the hotel, she must have left her phone here by mistake. I'll get her to call you back."

"Alright. Thank you, Robert."

"My pleasure."

The call ended and again, I was unsure whether I made the right decision or not. I didn't want to have to deal with her dad asking me question after question, panicking and getting all flustered when there's nothing at all he could do. No, I definitely didn't want that. Even if I was being incredibly selfish.

I went and sat back down, Jagger's phone in my hands still incase she got anymore calls. I clicked on the home button, her lockscreen flashing up and an image of her and a gentleman together, stood in front of the Eiffel Tower filled the screen.

I frowned, narrowing my eyes at the picture, clicking it on repeatedly every time the screen went dark. He was nothing special, Jagger could do so much better than him. Talk about punching above your weight.

All of a sudden, I didn't care that Jagger wasn't awake anymore. I looked at her and felt no guilt. Even though she had a bloody bandage on her head and a drip, I felt no different than if I'd have been sat at a bar necking a pint of beer.

I didn't care, because somebody else did and I wasn't needed. I wasn't second best, not to Pep, not to Dylan and certainly not to Jagger. I was, and will always be number one.

Grabbing my track jacket, I pulled it over my head and took off without looking back for another glance at Jagger. She didn't need me. She already had somebody to be there, even if he wasn't actually there.

Catching a taxi, I managed to get back to the hotel just as the team were arriving back from training for the day. I tried to hang back and avoid everyone, but Pep caught my eye, beckoning me over to him whilst everyone else dispersed to their rooms for a few hours. Some would sleep, some would go swimming or hit the gym and others would order beers up to their rooms so Pep wouldn't know they were drinking.

"Robert, where have you been all day? Where is Jagger?"

I sighed, knowing that there was no possible way I could get around lying to Pep.

"She was hurt, she's in the hospital but she's fine now. The doctors said she should wake up later tonight."

Pep's eyes widened and an emotion flickered through them, one I hadn't seen in him before. He parted his lips to speak, only mumbling letters and trying to fork words instead of stringing together an elaborate sentence like he usually couldn't get enough of.

"I-I have to go and see her. Tell everyone to not wait for me at dinner, I won't be there."

He left before I could tell him that I wouldn't pass on his message. Partly because I couldn't be bothered and partly because I wouldn't be going to dinner myself. I didn't feel like it. I just wanted to be alone; not for a change.

I took the lift up to the eighth floor and unlocked the door to my room, shivering as I walked past Jagger's door. I slammed mine shut, throwing the key down onto the table and kicking off my shoes.

I lay on the bed for a while, emptying my mind of anything and everything until I was in a state of pure relaxation and I felt as if I was floating. Although, it didn't last. As I was floating, I began to fall, and soon enough I was just as tense as I had been fifteen minutes ago.

Nothing worked for me and I was convinced nothing ever would, I could never change.

Pulling my laptop out onto the bed, I logged on and checked my messages since I no longer had a phone. At first, I thought the number 22 was on the email symbol, but no, it was on my texts; an even higher number on my missed calls.

Intrigued, I tapped on the page and up came all the messages. Each of the twenty two from none other than Dylan.

I'm sorry.

I can't do this anymore.

I don't feel the same about you like I used to.

It's different now.

You've changed.

I wasn't shocked, or even surprised. I knew it was coming, and I felt no sadness inside of me. In fact, I let out a chuckle because she was wrong. I can't change. I'll always be the same. The same pessimistic, introverted Polish boy with a stone cold heart that sometimes - but only sometimes - forgets to live for himself rather than for other people.