Forever

Chapter 18

All of my thoughts, every piece of my mind was consumed in thoughts of him. His deep, sparkling chocolate eyes; his rough hands; his toned, tan arms; his full, soft pink lips... He was all I could think about. What would be left of me, of my mind, if he died?

I faintly heard a heart monitor signaling someone in the distance crashing, and my mind went immediately to Justin. All I could think of was his condition worsening. He had brain activity currently– or last I knew. I could only hope someone would tell me if he went brain-dead, or died. God, I'm freaking out right now. I can't imagine my life without him. I know that sounds cliché, but he is the only constant in my life.

For someone growing up with a life like mine, depression coming in waves that I could only hide, for fear of physical torture to 'help' my condition. Don't ask how my father thought it would help, but whenever he found something like a razor or cut or burn marks... anything of the sort, he would attack me. Slapping me, yelling at me that if I was going to die, it would be under his fist. When he found me in the bathroom, shaking with a pile of pills in my palm, ready to kill myself, he slapped them out of my hand, and punched me in the face twice followed by a bout of slapping, and kicking me in the stomach hard enough to make me vomit up blood, and any of the other food I had had in the past week. In the past I had gotten a reasonable amount to eat, more than later in life, anyway. I had two meals a day, then it lessened to one. Finally, when my mother died, he cut me off, and the only food I got were scrapes from the pan and leftovers my father hadn't eaten. I had alcoholic beverages, as well. Half-empty bottles he had left around the house for me to clean up. Every calorie I could get I would gulp down without second thought.

The point is, I needed that constant. I needed someone who would stand by me with every shitty thing I went through. Someone who I could go through everything with. Someone who I would want to stand by if his life ever got rough. He was my Prince Charming, however rocky and gory the story leading up to our meeting was. I love him, I had simply been too afraid to say it to his face. I feared I would scare him away. Now I wish I had said it before this. Now he could die not knowing. I knew my heartbeat was speeding up, but I did not try to stop it. I knew I would be able to see Justin if I started failing. My conscience told me in the back of my mind, however, that if he did not calm me down, I would not be able to see him for a long while. I pushed those thoughts back, knowing there was little I could do to stop the hyperventilation even if I wanted to.

My eyes opened to the commotion around me. Two nurses arguing about what to do to help me. My usual nurse, notified by Dr. Watzer, was saying I was to be taken to Justin's room, while the other said I should simply be given a dose of sedative. Finally, the bitch who wanted to drug me gave in, and they rolled my bed to the room accommodating the slumbering Justin.

The instant my bed was near his, I grabbed on to his arm, inhaling his scent which was veiled in the alcoholic smell of antiseptic, however the rustic, musky smell was still there. His warmth enveloped me, and I moved onto his bed, cuddling up to him, and breathing in his warmth.

I heard the beeping of my machine— the one I had worried was Justin's— slow back down to a normal rate. However, when the nurses tried to take me back to my bed, I glared at them with a staggering hatred, so they backed down, conceding to let me stay here for the night. Smiling, I buried my face into his chest, and imagined we were at his house, sleeping through a normal night, as if neither of us had left the safety in order to pacify my father. For the first time since being admitted to the hellhole, I slept through the rest of the night without a single interruption.

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Bright sunlight blinded my eyes when I woke up, cutting through the darkness of my eyelids like a white hot laser.