All I Can Do

Jonathan walked back into the hospital four days later. He had coffee in his hands and a small smile on his lips. He walked past Pat’s room briefly, knowing that Alisa was in there and it wouldn’t be the smartest thing for him to interrupt again- while she tried to fix things.

He rushed straight towards the Alisa’s room, knowing well that her family was out for breakfast. He didn’t care how early it was, he’d gone four days without seeing her and making sure she was okay. Things could have taken a drastic turn in the wrong direction for all he knew. He pushed the doors open, gave a wave to the nurse, and she buzzed him in.

Quickly, he went to her room and knocked on the door. He pushed it open, wondering if she was still sleeping, but her dark blue, ocean-like eyes were locked on his instantly. He froze; looking at her anger ridden face, before shifting his gaze to the IV she was trying so desperately to pull out.

“Uh,” he said, shutting the door behind him, “You might not want to take that out.”

She rolled her eyes and dropped her hands, “It’s killing me! I don’t want to look at it.”

“Then don’t,” he smirked, leaning forward to hand her a coffee which he’d bought her, “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” she muttered, but when she saw his expression, she changed her answer, “I’m just tired, and I’m fine.”

He nodded, taking his usual seat next to her. The bruises were healing, they were at the yellow stage and he was noticing just how lively she was becoming and how much nicer she was acting. The bitterness wore off faster than he thought it would, she’d accepted him, weirdly enough... and rather quickly.

He watched her shaking, nearly healed hand reach upward to bring the hot coffee to her lips. Her hand skills were getting better, on her right hand anyway. He never really saw her use the left one, but the nurse never said anything about losing mobility anywhere but her legs. Jonathan leaned forward and watched her lips twitch upward as she swallowed the coffee.

“This is so good,” she beamed, glancing up at him, “I haven’t had one of these in so long.”

Jonathan silently cheered at his success, but he outwardly just smiled, “Glad you like it; your brother said Irish Toffee was your favourite.”

She raised an eyebrow and tucked a blonde hair behind her ear, “You talk to my brother?”

Jonathan cleared his throat, “Um, sometimes yea. He’s a good guy.”

“I know he is,” she said softly, eyes bearing into Jonathan, “So are you.”

Jonathan nearly blushed at the compliment; he hadn’t expected her to be so kind so suddenly. She looked away, finally breaking eye contact, ignoring the redness she saw in his cheeks. He wondered why she was affecting him so much, and why she didn’t care if she did.

“So, where is everyone?” He asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

She shrugged, mood suddenly changing, she seemed sad, “Breakfast.”

“Did you eat yet?”

She glanced up at him and frowned, “Does it matter?”

His guard went up again, welcome back normal Farren. This is the girl he remembered from the first day, the one he’d been so stunned to meet, yet now it seemed normal. Carefully, choosing his next words or actions wisely.

“No?”

“Well I can’t walk and get it anyway,” she snapped.

Jonathan sighed, watching her eyes drift to her legs. She began to pat them slowly, realizing that she couldn’t feel it, and then she began to hit them, pound them, try to make them work. He leaped up and grabbed her hands, making her stop the self abuse, but she was already sobbing. He pulled her into his chest as she cried, and she let him.

“You will,” he told her, even though he knew he might be giving her false hope, “I’ll help you.”