I didn’t want to see anyone.
Anyone at all.
Not even Taylor.
I couldn’t look him in the eyes without feeling guilty. I couldn’t be around him when deep down I felt partially responsible for what had happened. I had been friends with Julian. I should have figured out he wasn’t normal. I should have seen his dark side. Worst of all, both brothers had warned me. Both of them knew, both had tried to tell me, but I hadn’t wanted to listen.
And now one was physically and psychologically damaged, and the other—who knew what would happen to him.
“I don’t like that idea,” Dad said. “Kami hasn’t gotten into Yale yet. If her grades drop, her chances could be out the door. I’m not sure they’ll think too highly of studying from home.”
“I’m not interested in going to Yale, Dad,” I said, putting my fork down and staring into his eyes. “Do you honestly think I give a shit about college when the person I love is lying in the hospital in a coma?”
“I know, Kamila, but life goes on,” he responded.
“Not for me. When he wakes up, that’ll be a different story, but for now, there’s no way I—”
“He’s not waking up!” my father shouted, making me freeze. When he saw the look on my face, his expression softened, and he tried to grab my hand, but I withdrew it. He went on, “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be insensitive or tell you to give up hope, but the chances that he’ll awaken from a coma after this long are minimal.”
“He’ll wake up,” I said, feeling my pulse start to race. “I know he will, and when he does, I’ll be at his side, waiting.”
I didn’t let them tell me anything else. I didn’t care that it was Christmas. I got up and locked myself in my bedroom.
Nobody was going to force me to leave him. I wouldn’t let them.
Never.
* * *
I ended up doing remote school. They sent my brother to Saint Michael’s. Every morning, he dressed up in his little blue uniform and left with a smile. He said his new school wasthe coolest.
It’s amazing how children can be so resilient in the face of trauma. Cam hadn’t seen the worst of what went on at our school that day, unlike Taylor and me, but it was more than enough for a lifetime.
Taylor came to see me almost every day once he got out of the hospital, and that first week, we told each other everything we had to say, but once the funerals were all over, I let him know I needed space. Now we only saw each other at the hospital, when one of us was coming to watch over Thiago and the other was leaving. We had made a schedule—the three of us—so he would never have to be alone.
If I’d been able to choose, and my parents had let me, I would have spent every day and night with him.
And yet, strangely, in all those hours I passed at his side, I never could tell him anything.
I could hardly even open my mouth. I could only look. I looked as the hands on the clock ticked by, and the time came for me to go. I couldn’t say anything aloud, but in my heart, I was screaming.
The worst part was watching his body deteriorate. He started to grow a beard after always being clean-shaven, and the nurses made sure to comb his hair, which was so unlike his normal, tousled look. He would have hated that, I thought. His athletic physique started to lose muscle mass. Physical therapists came and went, but there wasn’t much they could do, and eventually they had to move him to a rehabilitation facility.
When they announced that, my heart broke, and I realized maybe we really never would get him back. His mother was suffering, but she smiled whenever we crossed paths. She had this idea that if I kept visiting him, he would open his eyes, and I wanted to believe that, too. I wanted it so bad, it was all I could think about, all I could live for.
After a while, Taylor stopped coming so often. It hurt him to see Thiago like that. He told me so one afternoon when he invited me for some coffee at the facility cafeteria.
“You’ve got to get on with your life, Kami,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I don’t want to watch you fade away, too.”
He had tears in his eyes. I shook my head.
“He’s going to wake up, Taylor. I know he is,” I said, trying not to burst into tears as he asked if he could hug me.
“When did we turn into this, Kami?” he asked, his head against mine, his scent surrounding me.
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t cure his broken heart, a heart broken twice over: once by me, and again because of his brother. All I could do was hold him, briefly. Then I left.
The holidays came and went, but time seemed to stand still. I hadn’t celebrated New Year’s. I didn’t want to celebrate anything again. I told my parents I didn’t want cookies and cakes, presents, cider, I didn’t want to stay up till midnight and toast with champagne, I didn’t want anything. All I could think about was how terrible the holidays had been, how they had probably ruined the holidays for me forever, and even the end of the school year, which I had looked forward to as a moment when Thiago and I would no longer need to keep things secret, now meant nothing to me.
