Watch You Take The Fall

Once I was out of eyesight of the bus, I ran like crazy. I wasn’t wasting any time in finding my brother, I wasn’t wasting any more time when it came to him. My vans clad feet hit the dusty cement of the car park with a sickening thud, although I was keeping up a steady rhythm, I felt as though I was stumbling on every step. The suitcase I was pulling behind me felt like its contents had been replaced with bricks and instead of lugging my clothes around with me, I was instead pulling something worthless, that I was never going to need. After what seemed like a lifetime, I reached the revolving doors that were the entrance to the hospital. I ignored the not very well disguised confused looks that were being shot at me as I bounced from foot to foot as the doors moved at an agonisingly slow pace. As soon as I was free from them, I set off running again to the reception desk, not caring if I cut in front of anyone.
“What can I help you with?” came the slow, clearly bored tone of the receptionist.
“My brother, Pat James, is in intensive care. I need to see him.” I managed to get out, panting slightly from running in the summer temperatures. Saying it out loud was the hardest part so far, it just seemed so real. I don’t think I’d ever doubted it, but it just made it so achingly tangible.
The receptionist seemed to have been interested by what I said, as she rose from her desk and began ushering me out of the waiting area, towards a set of lifts.
“I heard about the situation with your brother. I’m so very s-“
“Don’t say it. Please don’t say you’re sorry.” Pity and sympathy filled her knowing eyes as she turned away from me, facing the doors of the lift we were in. There was a ding as it slowed to a halt. I realised that it had bought us to our destination, intensive care. The place where my brother was lying, waiting for me to get there so they could turn off the life support. Suddenly, a thought struck me. I hope they don’t want me to give permission to turn it off. Panic washed over me as I thought of that being a possibility. I could never do that. I could never turn around to a doctor and say to him with conviction in my voice that I gave permission to turn off the one thing keeping my brother alive. No, I just couldn’t.
I hadn’t realised it but as I had been caught up in my worrying mind, the receptionist and I had reached another desk. There was a nurse sat behind it, seemingly less bored than the one that had bought me here.
“This is Sierra James, sister to Pat James. You know the one in 137? The one who kill-“
“Yes, thank you, I know.” She cut her off with a sharp tone, pointedly glancing towards me. My eyes were dead set on the clock above her head. 6pm. The hands seemed to be moving faster than any clock I’d seen before. Time wasn’t measured in seconds anymore.
“Right this way if you will, Miss James.” I snapped out of it, and followed the nurse down the crowded corridors. Doors were open everywhere and the sound of various machines was all I could hear. The hospital itself smelt disgusting. It stank of bleach and antiseptic, of rubber gloves and new syringes. A place that should smell of hope to most, only allowed me to think of death.
Before I knew it, I was outside a wooden door. Room 137. The nurse turned to me and went through what would happen, not sparing any time for sympathy, which I greatly appreciated. I had half an hour. Pat had half an hour. That was it. Pat wouldn’t even be awake as I sat with him for his final 30 minutes. It seemed, however, that it wasn’t only going to be his last half an hour. It would be mine to.
The nurse left me after informing me that she would be at the desk if I needed anything. I couldn’t thank her, though. The words just got stuck in my throat. My tongue was far too heavy to move. No, I thanked her only with silence. I took deep breaths until they came steady, and pushed the door open, not at all prepared for what I was going to be met with. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the sight that I saw certainly wasn’t it. The room was large, and obviously clean. All four walls and the floor were a disgusting shade of bright white. It smelt like the rest of the hospital did, something I hated. The white burned my eyes, so I shut them, concentrating instead on what I could hear. If you listened hard enough, you could faintly hear a shallow breathing. The problem, though, was that I didn’t know if it was mine or my brothers. I tentatively opened my eyes again and focussed on the, again white, bed in the middle of the room. The sight took what little breath I had away from me. Lying perfectly still in the bed was my brother. The one who had always protected me as I grew up, even if I didn’t need it or if I found it annoying. He was always there for me. He wouldn’t harm a fly unless it harmed me first. The brother that was fiercely loyal to me, and to his family and friends, was lying in a hospital bed in front of me. The victim of his own hand. Bandages were tightly wound up the length of both of his arms, concealing his tattoos that he loved so much. He had spent hours designing them, and even longer having them done. They all meant something to him; he would never get anything meaningless. He knew he’d regret it later if he did.
His breathing was slow and laborious, and not actually his breathing at all. To the left of him was a machine that was pumping air into his lungs, doing their job for him. It pained me more than I could ever say to see him lying there in that bed. What hurt more was that he did this without voicing any of it to me. Or maybe he had. Maybe I had been so blind, caught up in a new job and new friends to see what truly mattered.
I fell into a chair to the side of his bed and nervously grabbed onto his hand. It was cold, not that I expected anything else.
“Pat, I’m here now. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before. Not just this place, but for you in general. You gave your all to looking after me and I haven’t paid you back, I never can. You were there when no-one else was, and not once did you let me give up on myself or what I strived to do. I don’t think anyone could have ever asked for a better big brother than you. I know I certainly couldn’t. You even managed to turn rain into sunshine, as cheesy as it sounds. On all those rainy days in Scotland when mum and dad took us on holiday, you were always the one who came up with something to do. It’s impossible to be bored when you’re around. Remember, you were the one who came up with the idea of building all of our own instruments so we could start a band? Well, that went to shit, but it was still fun.
I don’t even want to start to think of how I’m going to cope without you. How any of us are going to. Because you were never truly alone, simply because of the fact that you are you. And by that I mean, that it’s pretty damn impossible not to like you. Who’s going to stay up till 5 in the morning with me, skyping just about new bands we’ve found? Who’s going to help come up with ways to get back at anyone who’s ever wronged either of us? Who’s going to make me feel at home just by speaking to me, even if I’m a thousand miles away? I honestly don’t know anymore. That person was always you, and you’re irreplaceable. Nothing’s ever come in-between us before. What’s happened?
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand why you’ve done this. Hell, I don’t even fully know what you’ve done. No-one’ll tell me anything. I don’t get it, why didn’t you just talk to me? If you thought I wasn’t listening, you should have just told me that I wasn’t. I don’t get why you’ve done this, I really don’t. I don’t blame you, though, I just don’t understand. You always hated these places, why would you want to end up in one?”
And that was it. I could think of so much more to say, but I couldn’t. It’s not that tears or sobbing were taking over my body, I don’t know what was. Something was telling me that I should stop. He could hear me alright, but I shouldn’t go any further. I gathered up his hand in both of mine and dropped my head to it, willing him to just wake up, even though I’d been told it was impossible. He wasn’t going to wake up. This was the final time I’d see him, and he wasn’t even conscious. No tears escaped, though. I’m not entirely sure why not. Sure, I’m not known for crying but I’d have thought I would if it ever came to this. No, I was numb, and that made me disgusted with myself. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry.
I sat in silence for what seemed like no time at all. In reality though, half an hour had passed. A doctor in a white coat (of course) softly entered the room and cleared his throat. I didn’t look up. He knew I’d heard.
“I’m sorry, Miss James, but it’s time.” I still didn’t move, though, and he wasn’t going to make me. Instead, he stepped around where I was sitting, his footsteps echoing. He approached the machines and still I refused to look up. I wasn’t looking away.
I didn’t look away when he turned off the machines. I didn’t look away when he touched my shoulder and said he’d give me a minute. I refused to look away.
My brother didn’t thrash around; he didn’t take one final gasp of air. He was just gone.
I stood up, the chair scraping on the floor. My legs shook as I approached the bed, still holding on to his hand.
“I miss you already. I’m so sorry. If only I’d realised earlier, maybe I could have done something. I’m sorry, this is my fault. I love you Pat, please forgive me.” And with that, I pressed a final kiss to his forehead.
Time wasn’t measured in seconds then, it was measured in heartbeats and breaths. But there were no more of those from my big brother. It was sickening, but time had run out.