One In A Million

We walked in, slowly. The walls were painted an ugly beige color that clashed with the horrid green blankets and grey machines and bed. The whole room was pretty alarming. Ryan had to lower his sobs once he realized that Bren was sleeping on the hospital bed. The chartreuse sheets draped over his lifeless body and the grey metal poles holding the bed together shone against his dirty, bloody skin. He looked so peacful in a way, despite the machines surrounding him, beeping and flashing. He had cuts and bruises covering his body. Dried blood was still stained on his face and arms. Probably on his legs too, I couldn't tell. I swallowed and sat beside him, quietly. "Wow Bren," I whispered. "You could be in deep shit now. You're going to make it t-though. I know it. We a-all love you. We're h-here. We'll never l-leave."

"I'm s-sorry, dude," Ryan stammered. "I n-never should of been su-such a dick to you. I l-love you, B-Bren. I n-never should of h-had such b-bad t-thoughts about you. I'm s-sorry," He repeated those last words, his voice breaking. I touched Brendon's cold, dirty hand, gnetly. A small dribbled down my face directly onto his left middle finger.I brushed away the smooth, damp drop. I looked at Brendon's face. Suddenly, one of his brown eyes popped open and then the other did the same.

"Bren," I whispered, frantically but still glad he was awake.

"W-what...h-happened?" He asked, trying to find his voice. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, softly.

"You were in a c-car accident," Pete informed him.

"Oh y-yeah," Brendon stuttered. He began to cough like...well...to be blunt, a dead man. I rubbed his back and helped him sip water from a glass beside the bed. "I'm s-sorry," He apologized.

"It's not your fault," I said. "It'll be okay, Bren."

"I f-feel like I'm f-fucking d-dying!" He screeched.

"You're not going to die!" I exclaimed, shocked at his statement.

"Then, why is Ryan crying his fucking eyes out and I c-can't even mo-"

"Ssh, calm down," I whispered, wiping the tears from his eyes. "You aren't going to die."

"Why is R-Ryan crying?" Bren asked, softly. He almost sounded like a child.

"He's worried about you," I started. "We all are."