Chapter Thirty
Isabel
Three days after the surgery and Nathan hadn’t woken up. I’m increasingly worried. Seeing him so helpless on the bed makes me feel bad. I miss his voice, his eyes. I miss him.
"Isabel, you have to eat something, please. You haven't touched food in two days. You need to be strong for Nathan."
"I'm not hungry now, Alice. I'm so nervous that anything I eat makes me want to throw up."
"You told me that yesterday, but you have to try, darling. You have to sleep, too."
"I get enough sleep. Don't worry, Alice."
"In a bed, honey. You can't always stay in that chair."
"I can, and I will. Alice, I don't want to argue with you, too. I already have Dad, who stresses me enough. Please give me some respite. When I'm hungry, I'll eat, and I won't move from here!"
"Okay. I'll bring you some clean clothes in the afternoon."
"Thanks."
I caress his face, praying that he opens his eyes. It isn’t supposed to be like this. God, love, what happened? I need to hear that everything will be okay, Nate. I miss your hugs.
"I love you, Nate. I'll be here, love. Always." I kiss him on the lips. Then I pull the chair to the bed and sit down again, taking his hand.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nate
Iopen my eyes and find myself in a dimly lit room. I try to focus on the room, blinking several times until I realize that I’m finally awake. A man enters—the man who was holding Isabel in his arms—and I feel the anger emerge.You've got to be kidding me!He really has the nerve to come here after Isabel got me?What do you want, to make fun of me?
"Mr. Weister, hello. My name is Christian Heine. I'm your surgeon. Let's talk quietly so as not to wake her up, please. I finally see her sleeping. How do you feel?"
Surgeon? I thought he and Isabel … oh God, what did I do?
"I have a headache."
"It’s probably one of the side effects of the anesthesia, I'm sorry. I'll get you a painkiller. Can you move your fingers?"
I do, and he writes on the folder.I'm such an idiot. Isabel will hate me for treating her like I did.
"Shake my hand as hard as you can,” the doctor says, and I do.
"Great, you have a good grip. Do you remember what happened to you?"
"Vaguely."
"You're in Switzerland, at Memorial Care. They brought you straight here following your fractures. You've had two back surgeries to remove some splinters. Can you move your toes?"
I try and see him write.
"I can't move my legs."
"Tell me what you feel," the doctor says, though I can't quite see what he’s doing.
"Tickling. Why can't I move my legs?" I ask, trying not to think of the worst-case scenario.
"And now?"
