I hold my hands as I walk down the corridor, willing my hands to stop trembling.
The smell of disinfectant stinging my nose.
I reach room eight and pause at the door.
Sean looks like he’s just sleeping, but the tubes and machines around him say otherwise. The steady beep of the heart monitor echoes in my ears.
There is an older woman in scrubs standing next to his bed, whom I’m assuming is his nurse just doing the rounds as she marks off notes on a clipboard.
She looks up when she notices me standing in the doorway, I’m too afraid to walk in. “Oh, hi there. Are you—” She looks down at the chart. “Camille Torres?” She looks back up me.
“I am.” I reply while still staring at Sean.
“Well, come in Sweetheart. You can take a seat here if you’d like?” She points at the chair next to Sean’s bed. I want to wait for Sandra to come. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I let him go already.
I go anyways and take the seat.
Staring at Sean’s motionless face. The smells and the sounds in the small space overwhelming me. The last time I was in the hospital, it was for my mum.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Is he okay?” I ask.
She hesitates. “Best to wait for the doctor, Sweety. Comas are unpredictable. I’m not supposed to say much, but… I’ve been here since he came in this morning. I’ve been praying for him.”
I nod. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “They say he can’t hear you like this, but… you never know. Might be worth a try.” Then she leaves the room.
I stare at him in silence. Taking note of the bruises and track marks on the inside of his elbow. The paleness of his skin and tattoos that cover more of his skin. His face looks innocent when he sleeps, but his body tells another story.
Sean, what have you done to yourself? I put my hand over my mouth, sucking in a cry.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry over him again. I thought I’d mourned him already—walked away and made peace with the fact that he wasn’t in my life anymore. But this… this feels different. Final.
If he dies… how do I grieve someone I already said goodbye to?
I don’t know if I believe in God, but I do what the nurse did. I bow my head and start to pray.
The door slams open.
“Ohhhh, my baby! My Seany!” Sandra wails as she rushes to his side—then she sees me.
“What the fuck are you still doing here?”
“I—I was just waiting for you. I didn’t want him to be alone,” I say quietly.
“So, now you care if he’s alone? After you fucking left him? This is all your fault! He’s like this because of you!” She sneers. Her words hit their target, sharp and deliberate. I gasp, stunned.
Before I can respond, the nurse and a doctor rush in.
“That’s enough,” the doctor says firmly. “Tensions are high, but let’s stay calm. We need to have a conversation—”
“She’s leaving,” Sandra snaps. “I’m his mother. She’s just his ex. Get out, Camille.”
She looks at me like I’m the poison, like I’m the one who single handily put Sean in that bed.
I take a step toward the door, but I pause.
