Won't Let Go (24 page)

When the door opens again, for a second I think it’s him, that Embry’s back. He’d said he wasn’t going to leave me. That he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight.
Where is he?

But it’s only Mom, carrying a blanket between her arms and a nurse in toe. Unfolding the scratchy hospital issue blanket, Mom says, “This is your nurse. She’s going to check you over.”

“I’m fine, Mom, really,” I say as she slides the blanket over me.

The nurse wastes no time checking me out and asking questions. She listens to my heart, looks into my eyes and takes my temperature. The questions are lame. What’s my name, my birthday, what year is it? I’ve got a bad headache, a sprained wrist and bandages everywhere from the wooden splinters of the coffee table, but I’m still alive.

Finally, after a few more minutes the nurse leaves, closing the door with a loud click behind her.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Are you comfortable?” I think Mom feels like she needs to do something, help in some way, but she can’t. There isn’t anything she can do. Time will heal these wounds. But I’m happy she’s here by my side.

 “Yeah, I’m comfortable. Where’s Dad?” I ask again.

“Oh, you know him, always working. He came a few times while you were asleep and said he’d be by later.”

My heart sinks a little lower. I miss him. It’s something I’ve never gotten used to. Even now, in my teen years, I get a little jealous of all the other people who get his attention over me. I once tried to break my arm—impossible to do yourself—your body knows pain isn’t good and I couldn’t do it—but I thought if that’s what it took to get his attention then I was going to try. Bound and determined, but I failed. Instead I settled for faking sick for a few days. He checked on me more often, but even when he was home, his patients were never far from his mind.

The sound of Mom snapping her fingers pulls me back, and I focus on her. “Crap. I forgot. I have to call in. Can you believe it? Your first day of school in our new town and you’re missing it.”

“What?” I say, pinching my eyes shut. I feel like I’m forgetting something, too.
What day is it?

Mom looks at me. Her eyes narrow slightly. She’s probably wondering if I completely missed what she said because I’m still not well.

But she goes on to say, “I forgot to call into your school this morning. They’ve probably called the house wondering where you are.”

My hand flies to my mouth. I gasp loudly. “What day is it? What time is it?” Frantically I whip the covers off the bed, freeing my legs from their constraints.

“It’s Monday, honey.” She lifts up her wrist. “I don’t have my watch on. But it’s probably a little after eleven.”

That’s right. She’s still in her pajamas. I take a deep breath and set my feet on the ground. It’s freezing against my bare skin.

“Honey? What are you doing?”

I ignore her, and instead of talking, I concentrate on pulling myself up from the bed to a standing position. My knees are a little wobbly. I’m surprised they’re not the dead weight I expected them to be. Knowing enough about sedatives and injuries, I take a few careful steps, just in case. Test the waters. I want to rush out of the room at full speed, but if I fall flat on my face, well that would be a major setback.

“Okay, what’s wrong? Honey, you can’t just leave,” Mom says to my back as I take another step towards the door.

“I can. I have to.” Suddenly I realize I’m in a hospital gown. “Where are my clothes? I need them.”

“Honey, whatever it is, it can wait. Please, just come lie back down. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“It can’t wait. Where are my clothes?”

I can hear her steps behind me coming closer and closer. Her hand wraps around my arm. “I don’t have your clothes. They threw them away. There was so much bloo—”

“Fine. I don’t need them.” I take another step towards the door, pulling against Mom’s grasp.

“Please, just come lie down. Just wait. If you want to leave, just wait until your father comes to check on you. Nothing’s this important to risk hurting yourself over.”

I whip around so fast Mom releases my arm and jumps back. “This is important. I have to go,” I practically yell at her. Her eyes grow wide with shock. My heart plummets to the dark depths of my stomach.

I turn back around to the door and walk faster towards it. Mom grabs my arm again. “Stop, please.”

“Get off me!” I wrench my arm free. And when I make it to the door, I pull it open with such force it flies and hits the wall with a
bang!

I ignore the footsteps behind me, and my mother yelling, “Just wait, please, Alexia! Where are you going?”

Instead I pick up my pace. At first it’s a brisk walk, and then, forcing myself to get distance from her—I run. My feet hit the hard tiled floor with loud slaps. My hospital gown billows from the breeze I’ve created, cooling me, making me think for just a second my backside might be showing. But I don’t care. I stop in front of the first elevator I see, pushing the button feverishly, begging for it to hurry up. Mom’s fast approaching.

I leave the elevator and my mother's frantic pleas behind and run down the hallway, taking the first turn I can. I push myself as fast as my legs will carry me and hope my Mom won’t follow, or at least that I can lose her in this labyrinth of hallways.

I take a few more turns, sprint down a long stretch, and take another turn. When I don’t hear her calls, or the thumps of her footfalls, I slow down until I find another elevator. The button glows green but I continue to push it anxiously until the doors slide open. Once I’m inside, I press the floor I need.

The wait is excruciating. I tap my foot against the carpet. I focus on one thing, getting to Embry’s room.

When the elevator doors slide open, I reach forward before leaving and push all the buttons, just in case my mom caught up with me. This way, I hope, she won’t be sure what floor I got off on. It’s childish, but hey, if kids can get away with it, so can I.

For a second, worry washes over me. What if I’m too late? But I push that down and make a mad dash for Embry’s room.

I hesitate at the door for a moment. But I grasp the handle, suck in a big breath of air, and even though I know there might not be a single person in the room, I pull open the door and bellow, “Stop!” as loud as I can.

Several people turn, eyes staring me down with confusion. The silence is eerie. It’s too quiet. I push through the crowd ignoring the whispers until I’m at the foot of Embry’s bed. There’s a nurse by his side. I see her shutting off machines one by one.

“Stop! What are you doing?” I yell, stepping towards her, grabbing her arm.

“Alexia?” I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It stills my body, but not my heart as it pounds wildly in my chest. Slowly, I turn around. Wetness fills my eyes because if he’s here, I’m too late.

I take a gulp of air. “Daddy?”

He steps through the crowd and pulls me away from Embry. “What are you doing here?” he whispers.

“I—I came to stop—you can’t do this. You can’t pull the plug on him. He’ll wake up. I know he will.”

Dad slips out of his white doctor’s coat and extends it to me. “Can we step outside for a minute, talk about this?”

I push the offering away. “No, you can’t just kill him!” Quickly I take the few steps back towards Embry’s bed.

I reach out, about to grasp his hand.

If I touch him, he’ll wake up.

I know he will.

But the nurse is still flicking switches. “Stop, get away from him!” I yell at her again. She raises her hands up and backs away. None of the lights on the machines blink. There are no beeps or hums emanating from them.

“Honey, you’re making a scene,” Dad says through gritted teeth. He wraps his hand around my arm again and tries to tug me away.

“Get off. Get away from me. You can’t do this! He could still wake up.”

In his super calm doctor voice, Dad says, “No, honey. He won’t.”

“You’re killing him! Please.” Tears stream down my face. I pull even harder against Dad’s grasp, desperate to get to Embry.

“Alexia, we talked about this. Remember, the other day? It’s out of our hands. The cou—”

“No! It’s not fair, you can’t—you can’t just kill him!” Then a moment of hope crosses over me. My eyes light up. “Elliot! His brother. He wouldn’t want this. Please just talk to him. He’ll tell you this isn’t right. He won’t let you kill him.”

From the corner of my eye, a form pushes off the wall. I turn my head. For a second I think it’s Embry, but that optimism is forced out of my mouth with a gasp. “Elliot?” I hardly recognize him without the presence of orange encasing him.

Except it is him—without a doubt.

He has Embry’s short blond hair and striking blue eyes, but he's bulkier from working out, maybe, and he's probably almost a foot taller. The differences are subtle, but the more I stare, the more I see them. “You—you didn’t,” I breathe.

“I’m sorry. It was just as much my decision as it was the courts.”

I shake my head. More tears run down my face. “No, no, you didn’t. Please tell me—”

The sadness in Elliot’s eyes is enough to know he’s telling the truth.

“Honey, come on. It’s too late. There’s nothing to be done. We’ve—we’ve already taken him off life support.”

“What? No!” I run to Embry’s side and throw myself onto him. “Wake up! Please. Embry just open your eyes.”

Strong arms pull me back. I expect to see my dad, but Elliot turns me, pulls me into him. I bury my face into his chest. Uncontrollable sobs escape me as I press into him.

“Shhh,” Elliot whispers into my ear. His hand strokes the top of my head and for a moment I relish the comfort he brings, but it’s not
him
I want to hold me.

It’s not
his
chest I want to soak with tears.

I pull back and look over at Embry. The rising and falling of his chest catches me off guard. “He’s—he’s still breathing,” I say with a sniffle. “Why is he still breathing?”

Dad comes over to me and Elliot. He extends his arms out, but I shake my head and grasp onto Elliot tighter. “It’s not instant. Sometimes they hang on for a little while. But his body, it will eventually shut down, and he’ll move on.”

I cringe. Move on. He says it like moving on is something that happens every day.

That it’s not permanent.

Like he’ll just move over here, or there, but in fact he’ll be dead, and won’t ever come back to me.

“How much time?”

“It depends. A few minutes, a few hours,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Get out, all of you. Get out!” If he’s still breathing, there’s still a chance. “Now, just—just get out.”

Elliot’s voice rumbles against my cheek, “It’s okay doctor—give us a minute.”

“Are you sure? I can—”

“Just get out!” I scream, pinching my lids shut, desperate not to look into the eyes of anyone.

Faintly I hear shuffles of feet and the door opening and closing. When I’m sure everyone’s gone, I pull out of Elliot’s arms. I walk back to Embry once again and throw my body onto him, pressing my cheek against his. “You too. Get out,” I say to Elliot, though I’ve lost my strength, and it’s more of a whisper then a yell.

His footsteps slowly recede, and then they pause. Quickly they make their way back to me. Elliot’s hand reaches out and touches my back. He rubs soothing circles atop my hospital gown. “I don’t know how you did it. How you got me out. But, I owe you one. Thank you.”

“Just get out.”

“Please, if there’s anything I can do. You’ve given me my life back.”

A laugh bubbles out of my mouth. “Anything you can do? It’s too late for that,” I sneer. “Now get out.”

“He wouldn’t want this. I know he wouldn’t. This is better.”

My eyes slide closed. I try and control the fury of anger that’s quickly swelling over my skin. “Don’t say that. You don’t know anything. Now, please, just get out.”

Elliot’s hand stills. He trails his fingers to my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. In an instant, he pulls away. I hear his footsteps make their way towards the door. They only pause for a second as the door pulls open with a whoosh, and then closes behind him with a
click
. I sigh, missing the small amount of comfort his touch brought me. But then I remember this is as much his fault as it is the others.

I pull back from Embry just enough to hoist myself up onto the bed. I lie next to him, pressing my body against his, resting my head upon his chest. It still moves. He still breathes life.

“Please. Can you hear me? Just open your eyes.” Methodically, I stroke his arm.

Fresh tears fall. They dot his green hospital gown. I lift my head off his chest, place my hand on his cheek and lift my chin up. I swallow thickly, and then I place my lips gently on top of his, holding still for a few beats of my own heart. I pull back slightly. “Listen to my voice Embry. Please, just wake up. This can’t be the end. I’m not ready for good-bye.”

There’s still no response. Quickly I begin to lose hope and the tears come faster. “I won’t let go if you don’t,” I whisper to him. I reach down, brushing my hand against his arm and pulling his hand into mine. I lace our fingers, and even though it hurts because my wrist is swollen, I squeeze. “See, I won’t let go. Now come back to me. Please. Just come back. You—you don’t want to die—
I
don’t want you to die. There’s so much I still want to say to you, so much I want to do.”

I continue to squeeze his hand. I rest my head back down on his chest. I listen to the sound of his heart. It thumps almost in time with my own.

He’s still in there. I believe it.

I believe he’ll come for me.

I whisper, “You’re
my
favorite part of this world.”

 A cold swell of air hits me. I quickly turn my head and look in the other direction. I gasp. There’s a dark figure standing in the farthest corner of the room. “Embry?”

He floats on the air towards me, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a different colored shirt, green, and his pants are a lighter wash than before.

“You’re awake,” he mumbles as he reaches the bed, kneeling beside me. “How do you feel?”