Take Me Home | ✔

Chapter Twenty-Six (re-written)

       a / n : chapter twenty-five has just been revised, and I encourage you guys to read it again to get a better understanding of Eli's past :) 

         It was weird being back in a hospital again. I don’t think I’ve been on a proper hospital visit since those cheesy “bring-your-kid-to-work-days,” and more often than not, I went with my doctor mother to work than with my dad. I don’t remember much of those days, and I don’t think I would want to. But this time was different. I was here in St. Rochester-Dixon Hospital on a mission.

      I was here to help a friend.

    The route to Eli’s mom’s room was etched permanently in his mind, and before long, we stood facing a closed white door, with his mother just on the other side. The distance was no longer an excuse. All he had to do was twist the knob and push.

      But I could tell he was still coming to terms with the guilt.

   “It’s not your fault,” I whisper-reminded him, wanting to somehow show him that I was right here. “Your mom loves you no matter what.”

     He didn’t move his stare from the door. “How do you know?”

     I bit my lip, “Moms are moms. It’s their job to love us.”

    And it’s up to us to love them back, I had wanted to say, but I held my tongue.

    He sighed deeply. “Well. Here goes nothing. Here goes everything.”

    And without thinking about the consequences, I slipped my hand into Eli’s calloused grip. I  was half-expecting him to shake me off and snarl at me. But he didn’t do anything but squeeze it generously without letting go.

    I stepped inside as he made room for me, and he opened the door fully so that I could see a pristine white-walled room with a hospital bed in the center and a dark-haired woman in the white sheets. Even from afar, I could tell she was beautiful. Even though she had purple bruises on her face, and her skull was wrapped around with a matching white bandage, and even though she was deathly pale, she was still beautiful. I could tell Eli took after his mom more than his dad just by the hair and the sharp jawline. 

        Beside me, Eli didn't know what to do. He was completely, utterly clueless. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started shaking his head. 

   "Uh... Vi-Vienna, I'm not too good at this sappy shit," he told me, his voice wavering. "Besides, she's probably asleep and she's obviously tired from her physical therapy, I don't really want to cause a scene." 

   "Eli, don't you dare go prissy on me now," I commanded as gently as I could. "We are not going to Vegas. We are staying here, and we are making things right." 

     How like a hypocrite I sound. I can't even make things right with Mom. How can I expect him to do this when I already know how hard it is? 

     Eli closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and stepped forward towards his sleeping mom and tapped her lightly on the shoulder until her eyes fluttered open.

   “Hey mom,” Eli greeted, as if it was a normal day and he had just come home. “It’s Eli. Your son? I-I’m home.”

   I could feel the dreaded tension hanging in the air when Eli’s mom furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. She lay in silence, studying her son’s face with hard concentration. If his mom had gotten amnesia, I don’t think I could stand to watch Eli break down. It was hard enough to come here in the first place. But I’d be here for him, every second. It was strange how just a day ago, I hated even the notion of this guy, and it only took a few conversations to see him in a different light.