Nights Like This

We were still standing in front of my mom’s hospital room. It felt like forever ago that William had stood up to go back inside, yet he hadn’t even taken a full step toward me and the door yet. He stopped in front of me, his right hand on the door handle. His eyes did that all-too-familiar slide to meet my own, and he slowly turned his whole face to mine. It was the closest we’d been in a long time, and it both comforted and distressed me at the same time.

I felt as if the wall of indifferent withdrawal I’d constructed around myself in the days since I’d last seen William was disintegrating under his intense, unrelenting gaze, and I didn’t like it. I could feel my heart begin to quicken its pace, and the blood rushed to my face. Whether he noticed this or not, I had no idea. But all the same, he moved his left hand to tenderly but reassuringly grasp the fingers of mine. I know he was only trying to comfort me, to act like a brother, a support system. But the effect of his fingers stroking the back of my hand was anything but reassuring.

It had been a little over a day since I’d had physical contact with anyone, and that had been in a state of delirium. Before that, I couldn’t remember the last time Will and I had been this close, let alone the last time we’d touched. He’d caught me completely off guard; I was entirely unprepared for that sort of intimacy. It sounds weak, but it was the only explanation I could think of for how I reacted. Or rather, how I overreacted. Allow me to explain.

William’s hand coming into contact with mine was undeniably electric, so much so that, I realized, it was the first thing I’d really, truly felt in a long time. His touch had reinvigorated me, shaking loose all the dormant feelings that I’d been suppressing for so long. I could almost feel the heat that began at the point of contact between us radiating throughout the rest of me. Its power awakened every emotion--fear, anxiety, rejection, loneliness, everything imaginable---that I’d fought so hard to keep back all summer, or all year, or all my life. It was as if I’d been made of stone--no, of ice! and the heat of William’s touch had melted away every part of me I’d tried to keep frozen, locked away in an isolated part of me. By allowing myself to feel just this one thing, this lovely hand on mine, I had unintentionally exposed myself to everything else that had been burdening my conscience for so long. And as my icy cool exterior melted, its contents came pouring down upon both me and William, flooding the linoleum floor of that dreary hospital corridoor with my misery. It was my mom’s cancer. It was Mike’s never being around because of the band, leaving me without a male role model after our dad’s death. It was my lack of a job, lack of security, and lack of confidence. It was my fear of failure, of working so hard for something and coming up empty-handed. It was my fear that even if I did succeed, my mother might die before she could see it. It was giving my heart to William only to watch him unwillingly surrender his own to another girl. It was still feeling so much pain over him when I should have been worrying only about my mom. I had never felt more like a failure, more worthless, than I did in that moment. I couldn’t think of a single thing in my life that was going right.

This all hit me like a train, in the less than fifteen seconds that William’s skin had been in contact with mine. I stared at our linked hands as my tormented emotions and dark thoughts took over me, as my vision grew blurry, as my head and chest started pounding in sync, as I gasped for air and hot tears streamed down my face. It was all so sudden, so fast.

“Hannah!? What’s wrong?” I could hear William yelling at me, could feel the concern emanating off of him, but I didn’t even try to use my voice. I couldn’t even move my head or shift my gaze away from our hands. Both of his had quickly grasped on to mine, which I noticed were curled up into fists. I could feel it now; I was hyperventilating. Every muscle in my body was contracting, forcing me to pull into myself. I tried to slow my breathing, but could not overcome the sobbing that compelled me to draw sharp, ragged breaths. I slid down the doorframe onto the floor as my legs began to bend of their own accord. And then my arms bent at the elbow, pressing themselves against my chest due to the muscle strain. My body had contorted itself into the fetal position, as if it had been trying to protect and comfort me.

As I continued sobbing, I felt more hands on me. A nurse had finally realized that I had passed the stage of ‘typical grieving loved one’ that must be so common to a hospital. My eyes were squeezed shut, but I could feel her, with the help of William’s tender touch, move me onto my back. She told me to slow my breathing, to keep my knees up and to relax my body. I couldn’t focus on anything but the pent-up agony that was escaping me through my tears. I heard her tell William to hold on, and her footsteps echoed down the hall as they grew further away. My head was lifted slightly, and I could tell that William had pulled me up onto his bony knees. As I continued to gasp for air in between body-racking sobs, I felt William stroking my hair with the same gentle calm he’d had a few minutes ago. It was the most soothing thing in the world, and the last thing I remember before I lost consciousness.