His Nepenthe | complete

20. Never

N E V E R L E T Y O U R H E A R T S T O P

*

'sing me to sleep.

sing me to sleep.

i'm tired and i,

i want to go to bed.′

I wrung my hands together, tired eyes drooping as I sat still in the waiting room. There was a mist of uncertainty in the reality of my situation as I stared at my shoes, scuffing them into the linoleum.

The sound of a steady beat kept me in my place, a sign that something was okay for now. He was okay for now.

But he never lasted long in my dreams.

'sing me to sleep.

sing me to sleep.′

Families were moving along faster than I could register any of their faces. They were a blur from my seat, living their lives faster than I was.

Doctors weaved amongst their patients, an air of importance that they deserved surrounding their forms. White coats that waved in their movement, the professionals clinging to their respective clipboards. They were doing so much in so little time.

They were helping the boy I loved so terribly. I was thankful and felt indebted to each and every one of them for the hours they were spending on him. The hours they were wasting on him.

'and then leave me alone.'

My mother left his hospital room so quietly I almost didn't notice her leaving. I wasn't sure why I was out here when I knew he was safe in the room, but seeing my mother leave meant an opportunity to see the young boy holding on to his dear life.

I entered the room as silently as I could to not disturb him. He was so small and fragile, wrapped up in his hospital gown and blankets. There was a tube down his throat, drip imbedded into his arm.

Watching his chest rise and fall brought a sense of catharsis into my system. He was fighting for his life like he always had to do in the prison of my mind, but he was being helped for once. My plea had actually worked after so long.

'don't try to wake me in the morning,

'cause I will be gone.′

He was the only one of us with light hair. He was a dusty blonde, freckles scattered across his cheeks that still held onto majority of his baby fat. The only thing that really connected us as family, the three of us boys, was the eyes that we inherited from our mother. A crystal blue. His were the lightest, Marco's the darkest.

He looked so peaceful, those bright eyes closed. An insomniac of a kid, it was strange to see him so quiet. There were often times when he would sneak into my room in the middle of the night so we could read together, just because he couldn't get himself to fall asleep and he didn't want to wake anyone else.