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I want to scream at him until he hears me out, until I make sure he’s well and safe, or until he allows me to stay with him.
Am I crazy? Why would I want to stay with him after what he did?
I also want to scream at him until he understands how painful it was, and still is, to discover he was gone. How painful it was, and still is, to realise I was as important as an afterthought. How painful it was, and still is, to have been forgotten.
So . . .
Why am I here?
Why am I sitting here outside his room in the hope of getting a glance at him when the door opens?
I should march inside and demand to be treated well. If not for what there was between us, then because I was the one that saved his life.
Is that something you really want?
Of course not. What I want is for him to let me know why he left, why he didn’t tell me, and why he didn’t come back to me, for me. Most of all, I want him to allow me to stay with him, until he’s better and I’m sure he’s safe.
On the other hand, I want to shake him, and then walk away with more pride and fewer tears. I won’t allow him to witness any of them, though. He doesn’t deserve them. And because I’m not sure I have any left in me after seeing his broken body and crying myself to sleep every night since then.
The door opens and I jump up to glance inside the room, but the only things I spot are his legs and his hand. My eyes follow his frame until the door closes with a soft click.
“How is he?” I ask the nurse. I’m glad when she replies instead of telling me she can’t share anything because I’m not family.
“He’s been restless all night. He’s finally fallen asleep. You can go in, but try not to disturb him.”
I’m nodding before she’s done talking, and her lips curve up in an understanding smile.
“He’ll be fine with time. He needs as much love as he can get.”
I want to tell her that he had me and all the love I had inside was for him. But what I had to offer clearly wasn’t enough for Gael.
“I’ll be sure not to wake him up.”
She pats my shoulder as if trying to give me strength, and maybe also a bit of hope that things will be better. I wish that for both of us.
I stand outside the room for a while, pondering whether I should follow Gael’s request or my heart’s desire. I’m wondering if I should go into the room and sit there for a bit. Just to quiet my fears, and look at him until I’m satisfied or sure that he’s really here with me. To make sure he’s still alive.
I don’t knock, but slowly open the door and stick my head in to check if he’s still sleeping. I let out a nearly silent sigh when he doesn’t move, and his breathing remains heavy. I walk to the bed on tiptoes to prevent my shoes from making too much noise.
When I reach the bed, I stand there looking at him. The swelling is still there, and his face looks far worse than before. It’s now showing colours that vary from purple to green to yellow. I reach my hand out to touch those bruises and cuts, but stop myself before I touch the skin with the tip of my fingers, afraid of inflicting more pain, and also afraid of waking him up. So, I slowly let my hand fall to my side, and instead use my eyes to caress his skin, hoping it heals his wounds quicker.
Then, slowly, I lift a chair and bring it near the bed. I sit down and hang my head, praying for him to get well soon and for us to find a way to heal from the pain.
“Why?” The question is out of my mouth without my permission. I’m glad when it’s not louder than a whisper.
I’m not sure if the ‘why’ is for me or for Gael. If the why is to ask myself why I’m still here, why I still care, why I want for the past to be scrapped. Or if it’s more for him. To ask him why he ran, why he came back, why he didn’t contact me, and why he’s living this life.
When my rage rises like a tide, I push those thoughts away. I don’t want to cause a ruckus here and wake him up. This is not the right time or place.
Maybe there will be a time to discuss and ask all these whys. Unless Gael leaves again without looking back, and then I’ll have to rebuild my life, knowing there’ll never be a future for us. Maybe then, and only then, will I be able to build a life with someone else.
Why does the thought send a pang of sadness to my core?
I should know by now that he’s not here for me. I don’t even know why he is here.
If I hadn’t literally stumbled over him, I wouldn’t have known he was back in the city. London is big enough for the both of us to live here and never meet.
Was he hoping for that?
