He was a landscape of machines. Wires and tubes snaking from his body to beeping monitors and blinking screens. An IV line in his arm. An oxygen mask covering the lower half of his pale, still face.
He looked like a corpse. Waxen and empty.
But the heart monitor beeped a steady, low rhythm. Alive.
I sank into the hard plastic chair beside his bed. The ache in my body was a constant, low hum. I stared at him.
"You look like shit," I whispered, the words scratching out of me.
No response. Just the hiss of the oxygen, the beep of the monitor.
I leaned my head back against the wall. Closed my eyes.
And the words just started coming. I couldn't stop them.
"It's funny seeing you here like this."
"You always seemed so invincible."
"I think I hated you because you were everything I couldn't be."
It felt like pulling a splinter from deep under my skin.
