“We’ll be fine,” I tell her, though my voice isn’t as strong as I’d like. “She’s going to wake up. She has to.”
“She will,” Alana says firmly, even though her eyes shine with tears. “She’s stubborn. And… she has you.”
I let out a quiet breath. “I’m the lucky one.”
Luke clears his throat. “Coffee?” he suggests gently. “It might be a while.”
I glance toward the hallway where they disappeared from view.
A while.
Every second is going to feel like an hour.
Every hour is going to feel like an eternity.
But I nod.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “Let’s get coffee.”
Because if I’m not in that room with her, the only thing I can do is be ready for whatever comes next.
***
Sitting back on the plastic chair in the waiting room, anxiety works its way under my skin like it’s trying to live there.
I keep wondering…Is she awake yet? Is it happening right now? Is she opening her eyes, and I’m stuck out here, missing it.
With no word from anyone, it’s driving me insane. My nerves are shot, my knee is bouncing relentlessly while I gnaw at the inside of my lip so hard I’m surprised it’s not bleeding. It’s been nearly an hour. Surely something has happened by now.
I drag in a sharp breath, wanting this over. Wanting Effa awake and everything to be fine. Instead, I’m stuck in this suspended hell, wondering if she’s coming back to me and whether she’ll wake up without me there.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, throwing my hands up. “There has to be something by now.”
Luke drops into the chair beside me. “Mercs, I know you’re frustrated. We all are. But you’ve got to ride it out. Sorry, mate.”
“Fuck!”It comes out louder than I intend, and the room goes quiet, sympathetic eyes turning my way.
I don’t want their damn sympathy. I want a doctor walking down that hall telling me she’s okay.
“She’s awake,” someone calls from across the corridor.
I didn’t even hear them approach.
I’m on my feet so fast that my vision swims for a second as I turn and see Lettie standing beside the doctor.
Relief hits the room in one long exhale.
“How is s-she?” My voice cracks despite my effort to steady it.
“She’s groggy,” the doctor explains, scanning his notes. “Her speech is a little muddled and her voice is hoarse, but long-term memory appears intact. As expected, there’s a gap surrounding the incident and the period leading up to it. Motor function is weak but responsive. Cognitively, she’s presenting within normal parameters.”
I barely register the medical terms. All I hear isintact… responsive… within normal parameters.
“She’s doing well,” he continues. “That doesn’t mean we’re ruling out complications from the overdose or the anoxic injury. We’ll monitor closely over the next few days. Her ribs are healing as expected, and it should be around six weeks for full recovery.”
My stomach knots in a strange mix of relief and disbelief.
She’s awake.
