Sitting at Helen's bedside, I grasp her hand tightly and squeeze her slender fingers. The family has finally officially granted me permission to visit, and I have been staying with her as much as the doctors will allow. Her sister Carmen has also been camped out with me; the blonde woman is evidently very upset about Helen’s condition. She is having a little bit of difficulty understanding the situation from a medical standpoint, and I’ve been trying to reassure her. However, it’s difficult to be a detached and informative doctor when the patient is my girlfriend. The human brain is a fragile and complex machine, and I am not certain of a positive outcome. Medicine is not an exact science.
What if she never wakes up?
This thought keeps crossing my mind at random moments. What if Helen were to remain in this comatose state forever? I know that it's highly unlikely, but my thoughts keep wandering. It's been a day or two since the accident; I don't remember. Time has been passing all too quickly, and far too slowly at the same time.
What if she doesn't wake up the same?
This is another big concern of mine. What if she does regain consciousness, but loses some cognitive function? I can’t even begin to imagine this, so I try to ignore the frightening thought. But what if she loses important motor skills? I've worked so hard to give her the ability to see, and tweaking that ability to perfection—but what if she loses the ability to control her hands? What if her speech is impaired? She loves writing so much that it breaks my heart to think of any potential long-term injuries that could affect her career.
What if she hates me when she wakes up?
Of all the anxiety-causing thoughts that have been setting my nerves on edge, this is the worst. After everything I've kept bottled up and hidden from her, I would completely understand if she kicks me out of this hospital room and asks never to see me again. I don't think I could cope with that. I think I'd have to get down on my knees and beg her for a second chance like a pathetic lunatic. I don't care what it takes: I'll do anything.
I am staring at Helen's face so hard that I don't notice when Owen returns to the room. It is only when he shoves a strange plastic-wrapped item into my hands that I look down to identify the odd object. A sandwich? What the hell would I need with a sandwich?
Pushing him and his offering away, I frown in frustration. “Not now, Owen. I’ll eat when Winter’s awake.”
“Staring at her isn’t going to make her wake up any faster,” Owen points out as he tosses the packaged meal at me, forcing me to catch it. “Don’t you want to be strong enough to take care of her when she needs you?”
Placing the sandwich aside with a groan of exasperation, I notice that there is a fresh cup of steaming coffee sitting on the bedside table beside me as well. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed Owen's kindness.
“Thanks for the coffee, man,” I tell him, before taking a generous gulp. I remember what Dr. Keating said about the caffeine pills, and I wish I had some of those on me now. I know that I've been up for at least 36 hours, and I'm starting to get more than a little lightheaded and delirious. Still, I don't care. Dragging the back of my fist over my lips to remove a few stray drops of coffee, I frown. “I’m not going to sleep until Winter wakes up. I don’t care about the fucking visiting hours. I need to apologize to her—and yell at her for being stupid enough to drive her car off a cliff.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Owen says softly. “Maybe if you hadn’t been such a dick, and had just been honest from the start, to both her and me...”
My head snaps toward Owen sharply. “I’m not ready to have this conversation right now. You know why I did what I did.”
Giving me a gentle shrug, Owen smiles sadly. “I don’t know anything about you, sometimes. You knew how badly Winter had been hurt in the past. You knew this was going to crush her.”
Why is he behaving like this? Why is he bringing this up right here and now? I don't want to get angry at Owen. I know he is just trying to help, but my anger simply won't be suppressed. “Look, man," I mumble, clenching my jaw. "You know that she might be able to hear us even though she’s unconscious. Can we avoid talking about this for now? Can we just keep things light and positive? I’ll have this conversation with her privately later, and I’ll explain everything.”
“Whatever,” Owen says, turning to Carmen with a helpless look. “I guess he’s determined to keep brushing it under the rug. I imagine that if Winter could hear us, she would love to know the truth. Anyhoo—onto lighter topics: Carmen, is it a boy or a girl?”
It suddenly occurs to me that Owen was just attacking me to impress Carmen. I can see the way that they are looking at each other, and it puzzles me a little. Owen has a girlfriend that he adores, and I've never seen him look at her the way he's looking at Helen's sister.
“It’s a girl,” Carmen says softly, after staring at Owen for several seconds.
“Do you have a name yet?” Owen asks.
This conversation causes me to get lost in my own thoughts again. I remember the little sister I never had, and placing my hand on my mother's belly to try and feel her kick. Did I ever get to feel her kick? I don't know. It was so long ago, and I was so young that I can't separate the things I imagined from reality. I seem to recall having full conversations with my baby sister, but this seems unlikely as she never learned to speak. I also remember lending her my crayons so that she could join me in making pictures of our family, but this also seems unlikely, since she never learned to draw.
I think that I must have dreamed about my unborn sister for many years. I wonder if that was somehow really her, there in those dreams. I wonder if she was as sad as I was that we never got a chance to grow up together. That's something that Carmen and Helen had. I observe Carmen for a moment as she flirts with Owen. I never knew that the sisters were so close, but it seems like there is a lot that I didn't know.
Even though they've been distant these past few years, when the shit hits the fan, Carmen is there for Helen.
I wish I had a family like that.
Suddenly, I notice that Carmen is rising to her feet and leaning over Helen's bed.
"Hellie?" she's asking softly. “Can you hear us?”
My eyes snap down toward Helen’s pale face. Her lips part slowly and move soundlessly before she is able to form words. I hold my breath, hoping that she will wake up.
Please. Please let her wake up.
I tightly grip the sides of my chair, unsure of whether I should stand or remain sitting. I am worried that if I do anything wrong, it will somehow jinx her recovery.
Please let her be okay.
The wounded girl’s breathing is short and shallow. “Carm?” she finally croaks out.
“Hellie!” the blonde woman exclaims. “Thank god you’re awake.”
Leaping out of my chair, I move to Helen’s side in an instant. I am reaching out to touch her cheek when I pull myself back. My fingers ache with the desire to touch her skin, but I feel somehow afraid and hesitant.
“Winter,” I whisper, touching her shoulder lightly instead. I have to assure myself that she is real. “You scared the hell out of me. Don’t ever do that again.”
“What happened?” she asks without opening her eyes. “Where am I?”
I am so overjoyed that she sounds coherent. I finally have hope that the injury hasn’t caused any serious brain damage. “You were in a car accident,” I explain to her. “We’re in Pennsylvania.”
“What?” she responds, flinching a little at my touch. “Who are you?”