Children

"Third floor, emergency room. He left something for you. They're trying to save him now."

No.

That was my first response. No. No. No. This can't be happening. I can't breathe. I truly can not breathe. He couldn't have. He promised. He said he wouldn't. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

"I'm on my way." I said, already climbing out of bed. She didn't say what was going on. Was he d-?

No. He couldn't be. He just couldn't be. He said he wanted to get better, that he wanted to live. He said he'd try.

Goddammit. I wanted to punch everything in sight. I wanted to break down and start screaming. I wanted to go back to sleep and pretend this is just a bad dream. All I really wanted was Alex to be okay.

I don't remember much of these moments. Time seemed to freeze. I have no idea how, but I managed to get dressed, write a note (even though I was certain no one would read it), and find my way to the hospital. I found the room, feeling hollow and scared. His mother sat on a plastic chair, staring into space with tears streaming.

"What going on?" I asked immediately.

"He's in hemorrhagic shock. He lost a lot of blood and they're giving him a transfusion now. They're saying he might never wake up." She said all of this in a mechanic voice, as if she wasn't speaking about her own son. Tears streamed out of her eyes. She didn't look at me.

I was shaking. My entire body was trembling. Never wake up. Never wake up. No. This couldn't happen. But he's alive now. I should focus on that. He's alive. It has to be okay.

"Can we go see him?" I asked quietly. It felt like I couldn't relax until I saw him, until I could see he was okay. Even if it was a lie.

"No. We can't."

Accepting this, I sat down, hugging my knees, just like Alex did, two days ago in his black room. I rested my chin on my knees and tried to think positively. It would be okay. It had to. I couldn't lose him. He deserved more years than 16.

He needed help, he really did. I failed him. I should have done something. Anything. Instead I ignored it. Guilt made me shake more. I should have acted somehow.

He's not yet dead, I tried to remind myself. It wasn't over. It couldn't be. He wasn't dead. I stared at the wall. White. It was so white. It felt bleached and fake. I hated it. So much white.

"Here. He left this for you." His mom said suddenly. She handed me a simple notebook.

With a small smile, I recognized Alex's will/journal. I had stolen it and now he was giving it to me. I took it silently.On the cover, in his scrawled handwriting was 'To Jack. Show this to whoever you want. Thank you for answering the phone yesterday. Sorry for breaking the promise.'

That was it. I can't describe how I felt. Empty, horribly sad, so anxious, terribly scared and still hoping.

It was 2:07AM when a nurse stepped out of the room. We had been waiting for 20 minutes, 20 heartwrenching minutes.

"What's going on with him?" I asked immediately, cutting off his mother. "

Who's his guardian or parent?"

"I am." His mother said.

"Well, we've started the blood transfusion. There are no signs of an allergic reaction. He has a slight fever but it's a usual reaction to these things."

"Is he going to wake up?" His mother asked quietly, holding her purse so tightly, her fingers became white. I held my breath, wanting but not wanting to hear the answer.

"It isn't certain in these moments. His body will wake up when its ready." She gave us a kind smile, that was probably meant to be consoling, but ending up scaring me more. You don't smile unless you're preparing for bad news.

Uncertain.

The life of a person was uncertain. Uncertain. What does that even mean? It's a simple yes or no question. The answer had to be yes.

"You can go see him now." She said.

I got up and she frowned. "Only family." I froze, disappointment and determination hitting me.

"He's his brother." Alex's mother said smoothly. The nurse nodded and we walked in.

Alex's mother smiled at me, and it that moment she looked so much like Alex, with the same eyes and curling crooked smile that managed to look cynical and joyful in the same time.

There he was, lying in the hospital bed, in that pure white room. I walked over to the bed. He looked pale and passive. I'd never seen him look that emotionless. He was breathing slow shallow breaths. In his arm was a tube and around his wrist there was a bandage. His skin looked paper thin. His eyes were gently closed, black circles under them. It didn't feel like he was alive, like he was there.

He'd be okay right? Anything else was unacceptable. He'd have to wake up. I barely knew him. We'd gone from strangers to being close in two days. It didn't matter.

There was something special between us. It was obvious to me. I cared about him, more than I'd cared about anything else, ever basically. He was this endless enigma and I wanted to understand. I didn't care about solving him, just understanding would be enough. I didn't even get that.

48 hours. That was all the time I got with Alex. He wasn't dead. No. There was hope. I couldn't lost it. He'd be okay. I sat next to his bed, his mother sitting next to me. We didn't speak. I could hear Alex's breaths. The white walls looked more and more threatening with each second. I didn't ever realize how scary being blank could be, until I saw Alex's blank expressionless face.

10 minutes passed and then 20. I felt so helpless. This wasn't supposed to happen. When did he decide? Did I mean nothing? I thought he was speaking honestly when he told me he was going to try. He promised he'd call if he felt like this again. I couldn't do anything.

I opened the notebook. His mother's eyes met me for a second, before returning to stare at him. I wondered what she was thinking. What could she be thinking? However bad this felt for me, it had to be worse for her.

This time, with his permission, I started turning pages, finding where I was last. I had to find some connection, something. I couldn't stand this. I heard his voice in my head as I read.

WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. THERES GOT TO BE SOMETHING. COME ON. WHAT IS IT. I NEED TO DESTROY WHATEVER'S WRONG IN HERE. IF ITS ME THEN I'LL DO WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE. WHATS WRONG WITH ME.

I wanted to scream to him that there was nothing wrong, that destroying himself wasn't the answer. I wish he'd hear me.

I never want to leave your mind. I know what you did to me. I'll protect you beyond the grave. I could blame you. I should blame you. What you did was worthy of blame. I guess the mistake is mine. Because I love you. I'd go through it a million times again. The lie is better than the truth. I'll burn myself so you can be warm. You didn't love me. I don't care. Do you feel guilty?

What happened? Who was this written to? Drew? Someone else? Millions of questions came up but there was no one to answer them.

YOU RUINED ME. YOU RUINED ME. YOU RUINED ME. YOU RUINED ME. YOU RUINED ME. YOU RUINED ME. YOU RUINED ME. The page continued, in that angry dark writing, all capitals, blaming the world, himself, someone else or everyone.

I remember being a child. I remember never being responsible. I remember never feeling like this. I remember when the worst that could happen was eating Mom's cookies (no offense, but yeah) on those Sundays when she'd bake. I remember when I felt whole. No one ever tells you about this moment in teenhood or whatever this is. I don't remember that second when I stopped feeling like a child. Maybe I still am one. Being grown up is no more than a delusion. Not that I'd know. Because it's not about being happy now. It's about not letting the sadness win.

I felt my chest tighten. He had to grow up. He had to continue living. He just had to. What if he'd remain 16 forever? I wanted to know a 30 year old Alex, a 54 year old Alex, a 69 year old Alex. It couldn't end now. He had to live. I turned the page, before those thoughts could take over.

You think you can steal it all from me? I didn't agree. I'm just a ghost. I'm just the difference between reckless and brave. I'm just the name you forgot. Don't talk to me. Don't let me leave my silent prison, where the only voice is mine. Sanity is for those who can't understand. Don't breathe. I am alone. I am alive. I am a zombie. I am the replaced. I am not who I was. I am trampling over who I was to reach who I want to be. I am dressed up as myself, to live in the shadow of who I'm supposed to be. I am a stereotype. I'm not happy. I am writing for you. I'm screaming for you. I'm sorry you ran over me.

I sleep to wake up. Drinking cough syrup when you're not sick is ironic because in reality you're sicker than you thought. I scream to be quiet. Own it up. It'll make it better. I'd scream my sins on the top of my lungs, but I'm scared someone will hear me. It's for me.

"Wake up!" I felt like screaming at Alex's quiet body. Talk to me! Did he think this could fix everything? Did he think that by giving me the journal he'd make it all better? What made him think this was okay?! I turned the page.

My choice. My life. Mine. Only mine. I live for me. I'll die for me. We're all going to die someday. Why does it bother you that I wanted to choose?

It felt like he was answering my unasked question. I couldn't agree.

The door opened and a woman wearing a white coat stepped in. "Hello, I'm Dr. Walker. I understand you're Alexander's mother." She smiled at Alex's mother, who smiled back weakly.

"It appears the blood transfusion was successful."

"Is he going to wake up?" She asked immediately. The doctor blinked for a few seconds.

"This must be very difficult for you. Why don't you get a coffee from the machine?"

"No tell me. I need to know." His mother insisted.

"We don't know. From what we know, it appears there's no kidney damage, which is quite a miracle on its own. His internal organs seem to be functioning but there could be more difficulties in the future. We don't know yet about any possible brain damage. It could take a while for his body to recover from the hemorrhagic shock. I'm so sorry, but we don't know yet." She paused.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. Brain damage. Never waking up. Those concepts were so so hard to grasp.

"He's in excellent health and his situation seems stable. He lost quite a bit of blood but it appears his body is accepting the transfusion. You know, they say comatose patients can hear what's around them."

She walked over to him, checking a few things, while speaking, talking about nonsense like the weather, as if it mattered, before taking out the bag from the IV, and replacing it with liquids. She left the room.

I felt so unbelievable tired. It was 4AM.

"He'll be okay." I said quietly. His mother nodded, but uncertainty was etched on her face.

I curled up in the plastic chair and closed my eyes. They felt so heavy. I had to sleep. I didn't dream. I just fell into unconsciousness.

The next thing I remember was feeling surprised and uncomfortable as I woke up in the hospital chair. The hospital had a pretty open visiting policy. As long as you were family, you could visit for as long as you wanted. Someone had put a blanket on me. Alex's mother was no where to be seen. Alex was still frozen.

I checked the time. It was 3PM. I'd slept for 11 hours, more than I had for a long time. Alex had been in coma for 13 hours. He looked worse, his skin looking so thin, almost breakable. I couldn't stand just looking at him.

I pushed my chair closer. I could hear each individual breath.

"Um Alex." I started. It felt horrible to speak to him like that, to speak to the opposite of a ghost.

"The doctor said you can hear me. I miss you. I know it's not about me and I can't force you to stay and maybe you're happier now, wherever you are. But I miss you. I need to talk to you. Three days ago I didn't know you and now I can't imagine being without you. Please Alex. Pick this. Pick me. I wish I could just speak to you again. That stupid journal doesn't do anything. It doesn't show you. Come on, Alex. Give this a try."

I felt so stupid, talking to him. It felt like he wasn't listening, like he wasn't there anymore. I sighed. I leaned back into the chair. Nothing was happening. Nothing. Simply nothing. It didn't matter how much I asked. He wasn't listening.

That's when I saw his eyes flutter open.

I froze. I was sure I'd imagined it.

I looked again. Closed. Just as they've been for the past 13 hours.

His eyes slowly opened again. I took a deep breath, not believing this.

"Alex?" I asked softly.

He took a deep breath, the first real breath I'd seen him take. I couldn't believe this. I felt so so happy, so relieved. He was waking up. I tried to contain my happiness. He was looking around, looking completely confused.

"Alex!" I grabbed his hand, trying to relax.

A nurse walked in swiftly. "I saw his heart start beating faster." He said, quickly as a way of explanation. "Alexander, can you hear me?" He asked.

"It's Alex." I said quietly. The nurse nodded.

Alex's eyes met mine. I started to smile, so so happy.

"Jack." Alex whispered. I felt a tear slip by. He was awake.

"Where are we?" He asked quietly, looking so confused. The nurse was looking at some charts, checking something or another.

"We're at the hospital, St Mary's. Alex, I'm so so happy you're awake."

He froze. I could see a shudder going through his body. A look of dread and absolute sadness crossed his face. He started trying to get up.

The nurse ran to him and said "Hey, whoa, relax. You just woke up from a coma. Take it easy." He gently helped Alex lie back down. Alex still seemed a bit disorientated. He leaned back. He looked heart broken, so small and sad.

In a small yet precise voice, every word pronounced heavily he spoke.

"I failed to kill myself. I can't believe this."

He closed his eyes.