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And then sit back down again, memories of this exact scenario just a few weeks ago, and the outcome, flooding back to me.
“I can’t.”
“I know it’s hard. But… this is the time, if ever, to be strong for Kylian. He would be here for you. He would hound the doctors for minute updates, he would take this time to plan an amazing get well party for you. He would do everything that he could to make you smile. That’s who he is. Who are you going to be?”
I get up, wiping my hands the pajama pants I’m still wearing. They still smell of smoke. Still splattered with Kylian’s blood.
If feels like a lifetime for the surgeon to walk down the hallway to the rest of us standing there, holding hands, each whispering our own final prayer for good news.
“He’s out. He’s in critical condition and we’re going to take it by the minute. The bullet entered and exited the lung but grazed his trachea, so we were trying to stabilize the structure, so when he does wake, try not to let him talk too much. He had a lot of blood loss too.”
“Can we see him?” Matthias speaks. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him. It hurts how worried he looks. I wanted to meet the Kylian-on-steroids version Matthias. Not this one.
“You can see him two at a time. He needs a lot of rest. We’ll have a nurse get you when he’s ready. Okay? We’re staying optimistic. He’s young and fit, hopefully he can pull through.”
We turn toward each other, each processing what we’ve just heard.
Finally, Nathan says, “It’s probably better he’s still asleep, he’d probably just injure himself more when he realizes he can’t speak to stop exacerbating his damn bullet wound.”
It’s silent for a moment and then everyone but me bursts out laughing.
“When the doctor says, ‘you can choose to talk or die’ he’d be like, ‘got the body bag ready, Doc,’” Matthias adds.
Damien roars with laughter as My-Linh, grabs his arm, trying to breathe.
“Bet when they pulled the bullet, he was like, ‘yeah, can you give me that,’ I’m going to need it, for the thousand times I’m going to retell this story.”
“Each time adding a little extra drama.”
I watch them open mouthed, how can they be acting like this. Then My-Linh, reaches over and says, “What do you think he’s thinking? Come on. It’ll help you feel better. It can’t hurt. It doesn’t mean you care any less.”
She’s so kind, I don’t want to tell her I can’t think about anything but the way he looked before he collapsed against me.
So I try, thinking about everything about him, everything he ever said and did with me.
And then I know.
“Um, he, uh, he’s probably thinking… ‘I need to get out of this damn bed. I have to get someone to write a C-Drama about me. It’ll be called “Blond Billionaire Baxter Batchelor.”
Everyone’s mouth drops open, and then Matthias slaps his leg and guffaws, which sets everyone else off.
We laugh.
We laugh so hard it hurts.
We laugh until a nurse has to usher us into an empty room.
We laugh because if he ever wakes up, we can’t tell him that we did nothing but cry.
We laugh because he would want us to.
Finally, a nurse peeps her head into the room and says, “We have him in a room. He can have two visitors now for a few minutes. And then some more in a little bit.”
I hang back. His family is here, I can’t, I shouldn’t beg to see him.
Damien looks over and says, “You go, Kiara.”
“No… you should.”
