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I stared down at the man before me, locked in a body that just wouldn't quit, tethered to a heart that insisted on beating despite his minimal chances of recovery.
Time seemed to not exist in the gloomy hospital room. I had no idea how long I had been there, sat on a gray armchair, clutching on an extra pillow. Spending time with my father felt sorrowful now, but also kind of serene; we had never been in each other's presence in complete silence.
In the quietness of the room I could hear my own heart beating, aligning its pace with his. Despite everything, despite not even being religious, I found myself praying that he'd wake up. No matter what had went down between us, I just couldn't lose him like that. So suddenly. If there was one thing I realized with certainty, it was that there were still so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things I wanted to do with him.
There was a tiny, almost infinitesimal memory in the back of my mind where he and I would play and build pillow fortresses together. I must have been around four or five years old. Sadly, this was the only happy memory I ever had of him.
Although I was by no chance delusional enough to think that he'd wake up as an entirely different person, I couldn't help but be hopeful. Maybe this was all for the best... maybe we would walk out of this situation and be better. Second chances were never in my repertoire, but now I was desperate to give him one. I never knew in my heart how soft and forgiving I could be; not until now. I never knew how much love I had suppressed inside, love that I desperately wanted to give.
So immersed in my thoughts, I barely heard the door being eased open. Someone's soft footsteps caught my attention.
"Hey... Diane." Jimin's voice was a hoarse whisper. In his right hand he was clutching on a shopping bag.
I never expected to see him here, but I was so exhausted I couldn't even act surprised. Everything was in some sort of a blur; like I could see and hear everything that was happening, but couldn't process it entirely.
"Hey." I mumbled, stretching my legs in front of me.
"I brought you apple juice." He pointed at the shopping bag.
I raised a brow. "Who told you I love apple juice?"
"Quinn did."
I fell silent. At the moment, this was a good enough explanation for me.
Cautiously, he walked over and sat on the armchair next to me. I averted my gaze towards my father vacantly, but I could still see from the corner of my eye how Jimin's eyes darted at my profile repeatedly.
"Do you want me to open it for you?"
"Yes, thank you."
"There," he muttered, placing the small bottle on the table.
"So. I assume you didn't stumble upon this hospital room by accident?"
