“You’re not, sweetie.” Dawn’s smile is sad. “This isn’t on you.”
Yeah. Pretty sure it is.
But I don’t argue the point.
I just want to see him.
“Can I go in now?”
“Of course.” Hugh gently pats my shoulder.
“You should prepare yourself, Stevie.” Dawn bends down in front of me again. “He doesn’t look much like himself.”
I nod even though I’m in no way prepared.
Pain has a stranglehold on my throat and my heart as the nurse wheels me out of the waiting room and down the hallway toward Garrick’s ICU room. I sanitize my hands and put on a medical mask at the door. “Do you want me to come in with you, honey?” Mom asks. A veil of concern shrouds her face.
“No,” I whisper. “I need to do this alone.”
“I’ll be right out here if you change your mind.”
My heart plummets to my toes, and acid churns in my gut as the nurse wheels me into Garrick’s room.
I desperately need to see him, but at the same time, I don’t want to.
It’s going to make this real.
And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle this horrific new reality.
It seems there is no limit to my cowardice.
Every time I think about my boyfriend being in a coma, I break down in floods of tears.
Garrick is always so full of life, and I don’t think I can bear to see him any other way.
Especially when I know I’m responsible for his condition.
Tears are already forming in my eyes. This is going to hurt so bad.
I don’t look up at him as the nurse positions me alongside his bed, fixing the freestanding drip beside my wheelchair before she discreetly slips out of the room. It’s eerily silent in the room except for the annoying beeping of monitoring devices and a sucking mechanical sound emitting from the machine that’s helping him to breathe.
Tears roll down my face, plopping onto my clasped hands on my lap. I draw in big lungsful of air as I try to pluck up the courage to look at Garrick.
I’m petrified.
Shaking and trembling all over.
Scared to be confronted with the evidence of every mistake I have ever made when it comes to this man.
It feels like my heart is disintegrating behind my rib cage.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at myself in a mirror again, knowing I did this to him.
Finding strength from somewhere, I lift my head and look up at him. More tears spill from my eyes as I stare in horror at my love. His arms are visible under the short sleeves of his hospital gown, and a cast covers one while the other is heavily bandaged. Both legs are encased in plaster and slightly elevated within some metal contraption.
I’m shaking all over and sobbing as I reluctantly drag my gaze up his body to his face. My hand goes over my mouth of its own volition when I stare at Garrick’s almost unrecognizable features.
The head of the bed is elevated, and his neck is in some kind of brace. Garrick’s cheeks are puffy, one eye is red and swollen, and his entire face is bloated underneath a multitude of cuts, abrasions, and bruises. His hair—his beautiful, gorgeous hair—is all gone, shorn tight to his scalp and completely shaved on one side of his head. A large incision runs from just in front of his ear, curving along his skull and ending at the top center of his forehead. Steel stiches hold the sealed skin in place, and a cluster of rectangular white bandages cover the back of his head. Small tubes run from his nose and mouth into larger tubes hooked up to a ventilator.
