Page 162 of Silent Damage

I won’t lose hope.

I squeeze Jason’s hand and tell the doctor to repeat the exam.

Doctor Shiffren hesitates, then turns his light back on. “I understand that this is—”

“Do it again,” I urge. “I’ll help.”

The doctor nods, eyes downcast, and examines Jason closely.

I look at Jason’s swollen face and say, “Find my voice, Jason. Find my voice. You can do it.” I hold his hand a little tighter. “Find my voice. I love you so much; you can do it. Find my voice. You can hear me. I know it.” Nothing changes, but I speak louder this time. “Find it, Jason. Find my voice. Nothing can stop you. Find my—”

His hand squeezes mine, and I shriek. “His hand squeezed mine! He squeezed my hand!”

The doctor and nurse immediately lean closer. “Jason,” Doctor Shiffren says. “Can you squeeze Gabe’s hand again?”

He does. They see it, and Constance gasps. “Don’t let go,” she urges.

“Jason, can you open your eyes? Can you open your eyes, Jason?” Doctor Shiffren asks.

His eyelids flutter before slowly cracking open for just a second.

“Give me a thumbs-up, Jason,” the doctor continues. “Thumbs-up. Can you do that?”

Jason’s thumb lifts weakly from his curled fist. His hand drifts toward the tube in his mouth, but Constance catches his wrist before he can touch it.

“Easy, honey,” Constance says to Jason. “You’re in the hospital, Jason. You have a breathing tube in. Don’t try to talk.”

“Excellent. He’s following commands,” the doctor says with a smile.

“You did it,” I tell him through the tears. “I knew you could do it. You can do anything, Jason. Anything.”

He squeezes my hand again, and I just…

Fall to pieces.

Crying.

Laughing.

“You did it, Jason. You did it.”

Gabe (7 Days Later)

I hold the drawing up, examining the details. It has been almost impossible to focus on anything aside from Jason, but I want this drawing finished before he wakes.

Never has finishing a drawing been harder.

Maybe because I’m adding a picture of me, which is definitely not my thing.

I fucking hate it, to be honest.

But it’s not for me. It’s for Jason, so it needs to be perfect.

“Why can’t I draw an arm today?”

The hand is off, too.

I look like I have a gnarly talon for an arm.