JESSICA
Every moment I drift in and out of sleep, I hear the beeps. It's a reminder of where I am, and it triggers the thoughts like an involuntary tic. The bullet flying through the air, sailing right past me and hitting Vincenzo in the head. The beeps are the moment of impact, playing over and over until I think I might be sick, and then a nurse comes to check on him, and I pretend I’m okay. Okay, with him still being unconscious, okay with the fact that when he awakes, he may not be who I remember him to be, and okay with being by his side for the rest of my life no matter what.
I don’t feel guilty that he was only there to save me, though. I feel guilty that I’m not the one in the bed because being on this side of consciousness is confirmation that I failed to protect him. It’s the afternoon now, though I’m not sure what day it is. The sun is high and shining into the chilly room, beating on my back. I don’t care that I’m uncomfortable because there’s nowhere I would rather be than here with Vince.
I close my eyes to match his, willing him to open them when I do mine, but when I look at him again, they’re still closed. Without the beeps and the little movements of his chest, as he breathes, I would think I’d already lost him. I study his perfect face as the light catches details of his perfect jaw, lips, cheeks, and nose. Every angle is flawless, but it’s not the reason I love him.
I feel tied to him like I’ve never felt for another, in a way that’s scary and exhilarating all at once. With him, I know myself by the way he looks at me, speaks to me, banters with me. Being with him until I die seems like the only way to go because I don’t think I’ll ever be who I am without him. Losing him will make me lose myself in a way I never thought possible. I know it sounds ridiculous that I could be so set on loving someone with such reckless abandonment, but I don’t think I want any other type of love.
To stand by someone’s side, fight for them and with them, bury my secrets in the warehouse of their heart— it feels right. So right that it's daunting. All I want is to be with him until the end. My heart flutters in my chest down to my stomach at the thought of a future with him. Our children would be so loved and cared for, strong and independent, just like their parents. We would have it all— “If only you’d open your eyes.” I whisper, running my knuckle along his cheek.
I think I’ve been here too long because I think I see his eyes move behind his eyelids when I do this. When nothing more happens, I sink back into my chair, still keeping a hand on his.
“Ms. Lee, you should really eat something.” Nurse Jones walks into the room with a buoyant step and clipboard in hand. I don’t respond as she walks straight to Vince, watching the same thing I’ve seen at least ten times already. They pull back his eyelids, revealing his perfectly bright eyes. I would think he was awake, and they shine a light on both pupils. Next, they test his pulse, move his arms and legs, and follow along with their checklist.
They usually leave right after, not saying a word to me, and I know why. Nothing has changed, and they can’t get my hopes up. It’s their job to be transparent, and I feel like a grenade in their eyes. Maybe they think I’ll blow up if they tell me of his lack of progress, so no one dares mention how improbable his waking truly is.
Nurse Jones looks at me, eyes full of sympathy; that makes me angry because I don’t want someone to feel bad for me. I want them to fix something they can’t. If anything, I feel sorry for them that eight years' worth of school debts didn’t amount to becoming miracle workers.
“Ms. Lee,” She pulls a chair up to sit by me, and I continue to watch Vince, not glancing her way as she continues. “Perhaps you should think about going home? You know, resting a little?”
“Why?” I intone without moving my eyes.
“Because you’re not going to make him wake by never sleeping.”
I turn my head to her, giving her a look that is meant to convey anger for her words, but her face just becomes more forlorn. I clench my jaw and look back at him.
“If he does wake,” her if, makes me twinge. “You’re going to need all your strength to help him.” I inhale deeply before shaking my head, and she stands up. I see her watching me from my peripheral, the same look of sadness before she strides back out of the room. The pain of our interaction feels as though I’ve been dropped from a building and just now hit the ground.
How could I leave him? A tear rolls down my cheek, and I bury my face into the side of his bed, squeezing his hand tighter. Please wake up. I say in my head as if he can hear me somehow, and I hope that he does. My tears continue to fall onto the cotton covers, and then I feel bad for making a damp mark. So I sit up and rub the tears off my face, breathing in again as if it was for the first time since holding my breath.
I end up resting my chin on his hand, and before I realize it, I am asleep, dreaming about leaving here and going to someone far off. Another reality where Vince and I are together, dancing in the kitchen of our home, cutting roses from the backyard while children run around the yard, adventuring the unknowns of foreign environments with the people I love. The sounds of Harry James’ trumpeting sweet melodies in “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” like it's the 50s, but everything is perfectly in color, white picket fence and shit.
It's endless and ending all in one burst. I know dreams are like this, here for a flicker, but somehow they last all night. When I wake up, I think I can still hear the music, but it’s just the beeping again, breaking my heart into another piece I had no idea remained. It’s nighttime now, or early morning, but I’m not entirely sure.
“Ms. Lee.” A hand is on my shoulder, and I look up to see Nurse Jones again.
“Please consider going home to rest and freshen up. Just a couple of hours. I’ll call you the moment anything changes, but right now, the best thing you can do is take care of yourself.” I’m about to protest verbally, really tell her how it is and what I will not be doing, but she continues before I can. “It’s what Vince would want.” My face falls at her words, and I turn my eyes to look back at his sleeping form.
“Okay,” I whisper, choking the word from my throat like it's poison.
“Okay?” She repeats, stunned at her ability to persuade me, but I won’t say it again. I grab my purse, give her lip-pressed face a nod, and walk out of the room with a sick heart. Do they treat that here? I think it’s incurable, possibly fatal, because my whole body is sore and numb all at the same time. It’s impossible to live with this feeling, and I don’t want to.
I click the ground level button when I get into the elevator, calling an Uber that’s only a minute away so that when I reach the sustained outdoors of LA’s landscape, I won’t have to wait. My plan works rather smoothly because the black Honda Accord is waiting for me right outside in the pick-up line.
“Ms. Lee?” He says as I slide in, and I nod. He takes off while asking, so a real response wasn’t necessary. When I arrive at the apartment, I slink up to the elevator, up to the fourth floor, and down the hall. When I reach my door, I am reminded of the last time I was here when Carlito broke in, and I try to hold back the anger rising in my chest.
I open the door to see Kinzi napping on the couch, and I wave a hello to her. “Hello?” I call, hoping to see Jack’s face. I never thought I’d hope to see or hear from him, but he brings a level of comfort I need. There’s no response, and I notice his missing backpack. I guess that’s it, then. I breathe deeply, let out my sigh as loudly as I want, and head straight for the bathroom. Though I know I’m alone, I instinctively lock the door and hop in the shower, not wanting to look at myself in the mirror.
The mirror will tell me just how terribly broken I am, and I don’t stand to see myself that way. It will only worsen it and make me feel ashamed that anyone had to see me this way, even if some doctors will likely never see me again after this is all over. Whatever the outcome is, I can’t imagine it’s anything good. If I try, it only leads to sadness or hope, either of which will kill me from the inside out, and I prefer not to take that chance.
Instead, I busy my mind, focusing on the task at hand— washing my hair, cleansing my body, and taking steady breaths. When I get out of the shower, I quickly dry off, avoiding the mirror once again and crossing to my bedroom. I feel my cheeks go hot when I see the mess that Jack had to go through to find my clothes. But instead of cleaning, I shove it all off the bed and lay down on my stomach, burying my face in the fluffy comforter. I try to sleep, but for some reason, it’s impossible. I toss and turn, even getting under the covers but still not feeling even remotely sleepy.
Eventually, my mind trails, and I think about Vince again. I check my phone, hoping to see it's morning already, and I can go back to see him, but it's only 2am. I grunt in aggravation, and I feel my bed dip down a bit, making me jump. My body jolts me to sit up, raising my fist to fight until I see Kinzi pouncing on my face. She paws at me, kissing my cheeks with vigorous determination.
“Kinzi!” I yelp, pushing her off a bit. She whimpers but accepts, only snuggling at my side. I pet her for a while, staring at the ceiling until my eyes tear from not blinking. I can’t take this madness. The time ticks by for another hour, and I’m still staring as Kinzi sleeps by my side. I won’t deny being a little jealous of her ability to sleep whenever and wherever she pleases.
Maybe if this kills me, I’ll be brought back as a dog. Then again, if reincarnation is real, I’d rather be anything that connects me to Vince. I’d come back as a tree planted outside his house or a friend he’ll know from birth, so we have to be together any way you cut it. One thing is clear to me now, I am tied to him forever, and if forever ends at death, then at least I’ll have had the most transcending love of a lifetime.