Your Heart in My Hands

We all sat in the hospital's waiting room. The seconds killed my eyes the longer I kept staring. Now I know the reason why I never really liked the hospital. Then again, who does?

I tapped my foot up and down, in nervousness more than boredom. Kennedy tried to calm me down by reassuring that John would be ohkay and that it was nothing serious or anything to worry about.The only good thing that ended up from that was that Kennedy finally got some sleep.

I sighed, as I rested my head on Kennedy's. He sighed in his sleep. Garrett lifted the corner of his lip just to show me the slightest bit of hope that he had. Pat sad down next to me. This was the first time I'd seen him without Tina by his side ever since the tour started.

He hugged me lightly, "He'll be ohkay, right?"

I put my hand on his, "I have no doubt that he'll be anything less than alright."

A man in a white lab coat walked up to us with a clipboard in hand. He adjusted his glasses and glanced toward us. He took a long hard look then continued to examine what was in his hands, "Your friend is fine. He just broke his wrist and lost some blood. He won't die." He said this so nonchalantly that I wasn't completely sure that he was being serious.

Kennedy shook his head to alert himself then sat up, "Can we see him?"

"The hallways are busy at the moment; I'll allow you to see him one at a time." He still didn't look up at us.

Pat and Kennedy proceeded to nudge me simultaneously. I looked to them with a worried face.

If I walk through that hallway into John's room, what should I expect to see? Tubes running through his arms? A bloody face with gauze all over? Nothing at all?

I followed the man while dodging the other cloaked females. They eyed me as I stepped into the white room. The man did not follow. He just closed the door after me.

John slept in the white sheets. His left arm was wrapped tightly in more white gauze. He looked so peaceful. I watched as his chest moved up and down. I didn't want to wake him.

Who would? Who would want to disturb him after all this?

I sat down in the square chairs, just staring at him, wide-eyed. My curiosity got to me. I slowly sat next to him on his bed.

I hugged his waist and apologized in his gown. His sweet aroma called my senses. I rested my head by his neck. I never wanted to let him go.

The scent coming off his skin inebriated me, teasing me with silky soft skin beneath my bare lips. I kissed the patch of skin that was closest to me.

He stirred, "You're teasing me."

"Sorry," I muttered quietly.

He chuckled silently, "I don't even know what I'm doing here... There's nothing wrong with me."

I sat up abruptly, "Nothing wrong with you--Your wrist is broken, John! And it's my fault!" I panicked. My blood pressure rose greatly.

He hushed me, "You listen to me: that was not your fault. I chose to step in. I was the one who should have been by your side the very second I saw what happened. I got knocked to the ground. You didn't do anything. At least not anything that endangered me."

I laughed once, "You're just saying that to make me feel better. No matter what, I'll live with this guilt."

My own words got to me. Maybe I am being pessimistic... But something in the pit of my stomach just refused to let my body rid of the guilt that infested my heart. I was never one for accepting the relieving of my own apologies.

He did not reply. In turn, he began to stroke my cheek, "Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?" He said quietly.

I sighed, "No. And what a good way to change the subject..."

He smiled, "Well, you are. And I don't care what you say or think. It wasn't your fault."

I chuckled, "Have I ever told you that you're a flirt?"

He shrugged, "I'll take that as a complement."

I laughed. I leaned in closer to him and touched my lips to his. I ran my fingers through his hair.

He sighed, "When I can I get out of here?"

"Probably tomorrow." I glanced towards the clock. "You should sleep." I kissed his forehead.

I stood up. He grabbed my hand, "Promise me that you'll be there in the morning." His eyes stared me down.

I paused to think about his question and how I could answer it as well as possible. The single answer that lingered on my lips was burning me. I smiled slightly and kissed his lips once more to avoid what I felt that I needed to say, "Good night, Ohhh."

I took one last glance behind me and closed the door. After realizing that by being with John I'm endangering him as well, I knew what I had to do. I don't care who protests. Even if the protester is my own mind. I needed to do this.

I walked right out the room. Tina was in the waiting room with the others. I motioned for them to go visit John. Kennedy smiled to me and ran along with the others. His bright smile added more guilt to what already coagulated in me.

Instead of going with Pat, Tina followed after me when she noticed that I had no intention of sitting down.

I ran outside and opened the van to grab my back-pack, "Que faites-vous?" What are you doing?

Another thing about mine and Tina's friendship, we know when and how to communicate at the most appropriate times. When we need to say something that only we two can understand, we say it in french.

"Je pars." I'm leaving.

"Mais pourquoi? Et John?" But why? What about John?

I sighed, "Le dire que je l'aime, et que j'ai besoin de lui autant qu'il a besoin de moi, mais je ne peux pas rester juste ici." Tell him that I love him, and that I need him as much as he needs me, but I just can't stay here.

"Pourquoi pas?" Why not?

"Je suis désolé, mon cher ami. Je cause assez de douleur comme c'est. Ceci est au revoir." I'm sorry, my dear friend. I'm causing enough pain as it is. This is good-bye.

She pulled me into a bone crushing hug, "Je vous manquerai." I'll miss you.

"Je vous manquerai aussi." I'll miss you as well. I sighed once more, "Take care of him for me."

She nodded.

I smiled to her with apologetic eyes. I hailed the closest cab.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the the window as she stared at me.