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He’d left me, discarding his earthly remains, ready to be scattered with roses and goodbyes while displayed on a funeral parlour podium.
My legs buckled.
Louise tried to keep me standing, but I puddled to the floor at the foot of his bed. Tears flushed out my bleeding soul. I was surprised I cried salt instead of crimson.
Skittles squawked and tried to come to me, her splint preventing her from flying. Pika fluttered for her, perching on my lap as my tears dribbled over him. He cooed and nudged my numbed fingers, then flew to my shoulder and nuzzled into the crook of my neck.
I broke.
I buried my face into my hands and sobbed.
Fingers pried at my wrists, pulling my hands away. “If you won’t believe what I’m telling you. Look.” She nudged my chin up, angling my head at the heart rate monitor hooked permanently to Sully’s sculpted chest.
It shimmered in my tears.
Faint squiggly lines. Muted blips and beeps.
“See? His heart is still beating. Your shock is making it hard to believe me, but it’s true.”
Pika left my shoulder and flew to his master. He didn’t unleash his rambunctious terror upon Sully but twittered softly and fluffed up his feathers before nesting on Sully’s chest.
His slightly breathing chest.
I moved.
It was as if I’d been struck by lightning, infected by electricity, and enduring a bolt through my heart.
Crawling like a madwoman, I closed the distance and kneeled by Sully’s side. I snatched his hand and pressed two fingers against his wrist. I closed my eyes and sniffed back my agony-laced hope and waited.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
And then, I did the most embarrassing thing of all.
I convulsed with sobs of relief.
Snotty and wet.
Wild and loud.
I wept.
I wailed.
I cried harder for hope than I had for an ending.
I cried until a migraine attacked me, dehydration made me weave, and Louise plucked me from the floor and guided me to my place beside Sully.
The moment I felt the softness of his bed and smelled his sea and coconut scent, I plastered myself alongside his unconscious form.
I shivered.
I sighed.
I slept.
* * * * *
The second time I woke, sunlight had replaced midnight, leaving my world topsy-turvy. Stealing days I hadn’t known and scrambling the calendar of how long Sully had been asleep.
Unlike all the other days of waking after a fitful night, snatched seconds, and repeating nightmares, I felt rested.
Heavy and hurting but rested.
Sitting up, I groaned as my head pounded and my eyes felt twice their usual size. I needed to wash my face from the stickiness of grief. To rinse my mouth out from my sobs.
The thought of a shower made me glance at the bathroom.
The fear of Sully crashing again made me crush closer and rest my hand on the strong pulse in his throat. To run my fingers through his thick hair and bask in utter gratefulness that he was still alive.
Breathing and sleeping and alive.
“Don’t scare me like that again, okay?” I bent and kissed the tip of his nose. “No more, Sully. The next time you want to do anything shocking…just wake up.”
“Ah, you’re awake.” Louise padded into Sully’s bedroom, her hands scooping up her auburn tresses and securing them into a bun at her nape. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” I wiped under my eyes, then placed my hand back on Sully’s arm. Always touching him. Forever there. I would never leave his side again.
Louise frowned slightly at my touch on him before moving to grab a deck chair from outside and placing it in front of me.
I prickled with unease as she sat and sighed, brushing away the fine tendrils that’d escaped her bun. “You slept for fifteen hours. I’ll call for some food, and you need to drink, but before we get to that…are you coherent enough to talk?”
I swallowed hard.
Fifteen hours?
I’d never slept that long in my life.
“Can we have a conversation, or would you rather wait?” she asked again, peering at Sully’s silent form before settling back on me.
I raked hands through my knotty hair and nodded. Surprisingly, my brain was no longer stuffed with tears, not sluggish and full of smog. “We can talk.”
“Good.” Leaning forward, she slipped into doctor’s clipped tones and authority. “You are not to do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Allow your system to deplete so drastically. You hadn’t slept in god knows how long. I barely see you eat. You aren’t useful to him if you’re not looking after yourself.”
“I think sacrificing a bit of sleep is—”
“Over a week of no sleep is medically dangerous, Eleanor, which is why your shock yesterday didn’t let you register that he was alive. Why your emotions are on a knife’s edge. Why you snapped when he had an episode. Why you’re mentally and physically exhausted. And I get it. Of course, I do. You’re under a lot of strain. You keep watching the man you love try to die. It’s understandable that it became too much.”
