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* * *
We sit next to each other in the moonlit room on a small couch beneath a window—a couch similar to the one I slept in while my father lay in a bed just like the one Chazarae’s in now. Chazarae—a woman who saved me when I needed saving. I try hard not to think about it, not to remember the moments of despair caused by a man who’s no longer around. I try not to compare them—try not to choose which pain would be worse because she’s not close to death. She can’t be. And all of a sudden I’m crying. Again. Revealing tears I’d tried to keep hidden from Becca. It’s all I’ve been doing since I found Chazarae missing—trying. Trying to keep it together, trying to say and do all the right things at all the right times. Trying to justify why she’s here when she’s the last person who deserves it. Trying to ignore my feelings for Becca—now a million times more painful because she’s here. And no amount of trying in the past year since I’ve spoken to her has helped me shake my feelings for her. I try to keep my breaths even so she can’t hear my pain. But her hand on my arm proves she can hear it. I don’t acknowledge her touch because I’m supposed to be the strong one, and I don’t want her to see me fading, to see me cracking under the weight. Becca’s hand moves up my arm, the darkness hiding the motion, until she finds the back of my neck. “Josh,” she whispers and my breath catches, her lack of voice only making it worse.
The guilt returns. The guilt of my actions, of hers, of the moments spent in this same hospital, my broken heart in her hands while time stood still, waiting to see her. And now Chaz is here, because—“I should’ve been there,” I whisper, eyes snapping shut to fight back the tears. A second later, her lips are on my cheek, kissing away the tears, and God, I’m pathetic. Because the feel of her touch outweighs the shame of my emotions, and so I hold her to me. Even when her mouth’s no longer there, still, I hold her, needing her close. She must know that, sense it somehow because her body seems to relax. We end up lying on the couch, her body molded against me, my hand on her waist, her emerald eyes on mine. And in the semi-darkness of the room, in the silence that surrounds us, and the pain that keeps us together, I manage to find a moment of bravery in my otherwise fearful existence. “I missed you so much, Becs.”
* * *
At some point, Becca drifts off to sleep, her breaths warming my chest. I don’t sleep. I can’t. Night turns to morning, the occasional visit from a nurse breaking up the silence, bar the constant beeping of the monitors. Then Chaz stirs, moans escaping her before she’s fully come to.
I peel Becca off of me, trying not to wake her, and move over to Chaz, hoping, praying, she’s okay. Chaz blinks a few times, getting used to the morning light drifting through from the window. She smiles when she sees me. “I thought it was a nightmare,” she whispers.
“It’ll be over soon.” She looks around the room as I ask, “Do you need anything, ma’am?”
She reaches for the pitcher of water on the nightstand, but I stop her, pour some into a plastic cup, and help her to sit up before handing it to her. She pauses, the straw halfway to her lips when she sees Becca on the couch, her body curled into a ball, wearing my hoodie I’d forced on her because I knew she was cold. She’s always cold.
Chaz’s eyes snap to mine, her smile barely contained. “I almost forgot about her,” she whispers, placing the cup back on the tray. Chaz sits up higher, moving the pillows behind her before motioning to a chair next to her bed. I sit down, taking her offered hands, my heart swelling and squeezing at the pure joy on her face. “How long have you and she been together, and why did you hide it from me?”
My stomach drops, my gaze trailing from her to a still-sleeping Becca and I don’t respond.
“She’s so beautiful, Joshua,” Chaz whispers, her voice laced with excitement. “And those eyes…”
I don’t know what to say. What to tell her that won’t do any damage to her emotional state, so I press a button on the control attached to her bed and page a nurse, an action I’m all too familiar with.
—Becca—
Hands on my shoulders, shaking gently, wake me from my sleep. Josh’s eyes are the first thing I see—dark and tired and full of sadness—the same way they’ve been every time he’s looked at me since the night of my “incident.” I miss the joy in them, the laughter, the love I used to get lost in. I miss him. I wanted to tell him that last night when he’d said it to me while his arms were wrapped around me. But my throat was worn, and reaching for my phone meant moving away from him, and neither of us wanted that. So I searched his gaze, while he searched mine, and I hoped that he’d be able to see it.
