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The elevator dings, the doors open, and I walk out. Nerves get to me as my knees start wobbling, but I'm badass enough to keep a straight face, even while knocking and walking into Jackson's hospital room.
"Hello?" I say quietly. Peaking around the curtain, I see Jackson laying there with his eyes closed. My heart skips and hops, because I'm betting the only time, he doesn't feel pain anymore—whether physical or mental—is when he's asleep.
I wish I could wake him, tell him goodbye. Or that I miss him, anything really before I leave. But I don't want to disturb him or make him angry, so I stick up my thumb, pointer, and pinky, giving him the I love you sign, and start walking out.
"Cara?" I hear at the last second before leaving his room. His voice sounds raspy, although less so from the other day when he was yelling at me.
I walk back in, giving him a sheepish look as I walk around the curtain. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you."
His eyes look tired, but not tired like he’s been sleeping. Tired, like the situation he’s in has drained every last bit of life from his body. It looks like his exhaustion has taken his weight with it. His face is a gauntly and white. His body wrapped in paper skin and full of thin bones.
His cheeks look sunken in and the bags under his eyes give away his fatigue.
What a week has done to this strong, tall man tears me in two and terrifies me to no end.
He’s withering away, and I don’t know how to stop it.
A cry builds in my chest and I swallow it down, clearing my throat to cover up the emotions.
“I’m leaving.” The words scrape from my throat. I feel like if I leave him, it’ll be the last time I ever see him.
Jackson blinks at me. “And the baby?”
Folding my arms over my chest, I attempt to cover up my emotions just as well as he does. “He’s coming with me.”
He stares at me, his eyes roving over every dip and curve in my face. My skin warms and I want to wipe away the feeling of heat and hope sinking into my body.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask after a beat of silence. I wasn’t going to say anything, but standing here next to Jackson staring at me like he is reminds me of how he made me feel these last few months.
Like we mean something.
Jackson grunts.
“We were like… together, right?”
Jacksons eyebrows lower.
“Are we still? Because the feeling I get from you is a big fuck off feeling.”
He scoffs. “Look at me, Cara. Do I look like someone who can be with someone? I’ve got an infinite amount of cords hooked up to me and I’m… ah, fuck. Just fuck off, Cara. I’m useless. Good as fucking dead at this point.”
I angrily shove away the lone tear that rushes down my cheek. “I don’t care if you can’t walk again, Jackson. I-I think I love you, and I’m ready. I-I want us to be a family, like you wanted.”
He stares into my eyes, his angular jaw sharper than ever with his weight loss. It clenches over and over again, the muscles and veins extending down his neck twitching in irritation.
“Come here.” He rumbles.
I bat away another tear, holding my breath to keep the depressed cry trapped in my chest. I can’t break down in front of him, I’ll wait for that until I get home.
I walk up to his bed, standing near the edge so the fronts of my thighs brush up against his bed.
“Grab onto my hand.” He glances down at his lifeless hand laying on top of the pale white sheets. It lays there, neither clenched nor unclenched, hooked up to wires and pressed up against the side of his thigh.
“Grab onto it, Cara.”
Slowly, I reach down and lift up his hand, curling my small fingers around his large ones. He may have lost weight, seemingly skeleton like, but his hand still looks strong. His long fingers that I intertwined with mine don’t look nearly as broken as the man they’re attached to.
“Do you feel a twitch? Any kind of life? Any blood flow or warmth in my hand at all?”
