A Season of Firsts

Chapter 37 - Going Home

December 31st

EMMA

I blink at Aiden as my vision clears from completely distorted to slightly more sharp, a bit confused for a moment. He loves me? He's never told me that before.
Then everything comes rushing back to me. The anger. Running away. Crossing the street, but not making it in time before...

The car. I was hit by a car. That must explain why I feel so strange, why it's so hard to breathe.
And I told Aiden I loved him. Now he's saying that he feels the same. Which might also contribute to the fact that I'm struggling to breathe.

I have a pounding headache and when I try to move, I yelp. Aiden's face and the room around me are both slightly fuzzy, like I'm watching a blurry video. Everything hurts. Everything except for my right arm, which I can't feel.
Something tells me this is not something I'm going to recover from.

"Ade?" my voice comes out in a broken waver.

"Yeah?"

He comes nearer and when his face is closer to my own, I'm able to see that he's watching me with grief and angst in his eyes. That can only mean one thing. "Am I going to live?"

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I..."

"Don't lie to me," I whisper. "You haven't so far, so don't start now."

He looks away, his eyes glassy. "I don't know, Emma. I really don't know. The doctor said that..."

"That I'm going to die?" I croak.

He turns to face me again, and nods. Bravery. It's a trait of his.

"Huh," I murmur. That's all I can say.

What do you say to something like that?

Then a cough takes a hold of me, wracking my whole body. With each cough my chest feels like it's going to collapse into itself and the rest of me, especially my abdomen, aches so sharply with pain that I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me I had swallowed a bunch of daggers. I cough and cough until blood comes up. Aiden grabs a tissue from the table next to me and wipes it off my chin, gently.

I don't want to ask what's wrong with me. I don't really want to know. Most probably a lot of long medical words that I'll struggle to pronounce. And it won't help me accept that I'm going to die, anyways.

"Thanks for telling me the truth," I say, once the blood is all wiped away.

He gives a half-hearted grin. "Sure. No sugar coating, right?"

I smile weakly as well. "Right."

He looks like he wants to say something, but he must be struggling to get the words straight. His lip is trembling and he runs his hand through his hair over and over again. I don't blame him, I don't know what I would say if this situation were the other way around.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

He pauses with his hand midway through his hair. "For what?"

"For everything." Another small hiccup-like cough escapes me and I fight to compose myself so that I can finish. "For saying you're like him. You're nothing like him."

He bends over me and reaches out to stroke my cheek with the back of his knuckles. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Oh. Right. He's a Christian. I didn't forget, but I was hoping it wouldn't be brought up again. I have no energy left to be angry with him, though. I love him. I just want things to be right between us before I go wherever I'm going when I die. Maybe I'll just enter a state of nothingness. Maybe it will be bliss.
But now that I'm so close to it, I realize I'm scared. What if heaven and hell are both real? What if God is real, and I've spent the last four years running from Him?