Paper Cranes

Elizabeth

For the next three days, I refused to talk, and even look, to Catherine. She noticed and it broke her heart. I could tell.

Then, on the fourth day when Catherine was bathing me, I parted my lips and croaked,

“I want to go see him.”

Her fingers froze, tangled in my hair. Catherine didn’t have to ask, she already knew the answer. She didn’t object as she poured water over my head two rid my locks of soap. She merely helped me out of the large basin, dried me off, and tied me into a clean gown.

She left for a while after making me sit up in the bed with my feet dangled over the edge. The air conditioned room brought goose bumps to my legs. I had not sat without a blanket for so long since I was about eleven or twelve and so I was freezing.

When Catherine finally came back, she was pushing a wheel chair.

“I imagine that you’re not particularly good with walking, or even standing on your own. I’m sorry, that’s partially my fault. I should take you out more.”

Her voice was as low as a whisper, and I could tell she was worried about something.

After helping me into the preped chair, I assured her she was not the cause of me not wanting to move in the past. She wheeled me down the hallway and into the elevator. The IV in my arm burned as apprehension bubbled up in my throat.

No, wait, it was just acid.

On instinct, I swallowed it down, burning and destroying the butterflies in my stomach. Those I knew existed because of the worry shooting through me.

The elevator stopped on the tenth floor, the middle of the hospital, and what I knew as the Intensive Care Unit.

And the butterflies were reincarnated.

“He’s through there,” Catherine told me. She kept pushing me, before turning down a hall and pausing at a door where an old lady sat beside a little girl, praying over her. I heard Catherine exhale and I understood. Brendon was only a room away. Catherine took another step. And another. And another.

Those damn butterflies fluttered faster and harder with in revenge.

I stared at him through the window as we passed it. Before I could understand any of it, I was sitting right next to him, just staring.

To me, Brendon had always been so strong and he glowed with happiness. At the very moment he looked more fragile than glass.

“What happened t-to him,” my voice cracked. I wasn’t going to cry. Not at his moment, anyway.

“Car accident,” Catherine said simply. She then recited from memory: “Three broken ribs, four deep gashes, twenty seven bruises, one broken finger, one broken leg and a concussion.”

“He’s in a coma?”

“Yes, and he’s not responding to anything.”

“Oh, Brendon,” I whispered, reaching forward and brushing some strands of hair from his bruised, yet still beautiful face.

“Who are you?”

I turned as much as I could to see the woman in the doorway holding coffee that she would probably never and a pastry that looked, from my distance, cold and whole.

“Elizabeth Hiroshi. I’m Brendon’s f-”

“As you can see,” the woman glared, “He’s in no shape to be signing autographs for some over obsessed fan.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think-“

“Ellie!” Fay squeezed her way passed the woman in the doorway and engulfed me in a hug, “Hey, lovey, you doin’ okay?”

I nodded, though I told my body not to, and Fay squeezed me tighter. Cathy left the room, saying that she had patients to check on.

After Fay explained who I was (throwing in the words “girlfriend” and “lover” and “soul mate”) Mrs. Urie did not look at me with the same eyes she had the previous moments. She just gave me suspicious glances, which confused me.

A doctor walked in, with a clipboard.

“Let’s try one more time for the night,” he said, shooting me a surprised look.

Fay helped me wheel away from Brendon’s bedside, though I was on the edge of pouting, so that Mrs. Urie could scoot her chair closer to Brendon.

“Just like before,” said the doctor as he wrote something on his clipboard. Mrs. Urie took Brendon’s limp hand in her’s gently.

“Brendon,” she said, “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

He didn’t. The room was silent apart from the constant beeping of Brendon’s heart monitor.

“Squeeze my hand, Brendon. Squeeze my hand.”

And still, he didn’t. The doctor wrote something down on his clipboard and left after apologizing to the distressed mother. She put her head in her hands, and it was obvious from the shaking of her body that she was crying.

“Come on, Grace. Your coffee’s cold, let’s go get you some more,” Fay suggested, going over to her sister and placing a hand on her back.

“No!” Grace cried, “I’m not leaving him here with her!”

Anger poured from every pore in my body. Was she honestly accusing me of something that I hadn’t even done yet, and would never even attempt.

“It’s all right,” Fay assured, rubbing circles on Grace’s back, “Ellie’s a good person, now come on. Nothing’s going to happen to Brendon.”

As soon as the two left the room, Grace still giving me those looks, I rolled my way carefully to Brendon’s bed side and simply stared at his face. I licked the back of my teeth and gently laced my fingers with Brendon’s limp ones.

“Hey, Brendon,” I whispered, my voice tired, “If you can hear my voice, just squeeze my hand.”

I couldn’t stop a smug smile from spreading on my face as his fingers gently curled over my own. I brought his pale fingers to my lips, planting a kiss on the back of his hand.

“Stay strong,” I told him.