hi again
It was for my English assignment. Changed some things. Idk.
i will be there for you
“He’s in that room,” the nurse tells you, “over there, in 27.” You slowly head in that direction she told you, hesitating. It’s okay, you tell yourself, he isn’t angry. You’re halfway between the room and the exit, and it takes all you have to not go the other way. From behind, the nurse is calling after you, “Are you okay, dear?” but you can barely hear her over your pounding heart -over the stupid incessant beeping that’s echoing down the hall.
You nod briefly and manage to muster up a quiet yes. You try to control the sobs that are threatening to come out with each step you take, and you are satisfied when only a tear comes out. You take the last steps to his door, and you brace yourself, telling yourself again, be brave. You gingerly put both hands on the doorknob and wince when it creaks.
“Hello?” you hear him say. The lights turn on, and you see him sitting up with the remote in his hands, eyes widened in fear, but then he relaxes when he sees that it’s you. No. “Oh, come here,” he smiles, eyes disappearing in his grin. He holds his hands out, but you can’t seem to move from your spot near the door, next to the machines. You both stay like that for a minute, him beaming at you with his arms open, and you shifting your weight from one foot to the other, never moving forward.
He finally puts his arms down, and lowers his eyes. He is quiet again. He makes an effort to stand and at last, you run to his side, pushing him down. “You’re not ready yet. I mean, you know how they are.” He sits back awkwardly and nods, “yeah, I guess.” He coughs. This time, nothing comes out. An improvement, they would say.
Your heart clenches at the sight of him looking down like that, so miserable, that you almost pull him up, despite what the nurses would say, despite whatever pain he must be feeling, despite everything that happened because of your immaturity. Just because. Just because you are the one who made him sad, and because you are sad too; because you’ve missed him just as much.
Instead, you opt for holding his hand, and you realize that it is shaking. You press down to stop it, and he lets out a soft yelp, and you look down, eyes confused, and see that they are your hands. They are your hands that are shaking so harshly, and it is you who is acting crazy, who is scared out of their mind.
Suddenly, you shake your head, no, you cannot handle this anymore. You’re shaking your head so much, it’s starting to hurt, and he holds you by your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong. Everything. Everything is wrong. This situation, me, you. But of course you don’t say that. You just shake your head again, and you step back, and you walk backwards until you're at the end of the room. You hurriedly open the door, and he calls after you, “Wait! I'm not mad, I swear. I understand, I do, I-just, please don't go.” You keep walking. You are at the end of the hallway, and you turn around one last time. He is outside his room. No. “I love you,” he whispers. After what seems like an eternity, you whisper back. "I love you too.” You are still wondering if he heard you, because he was just standing there staring at you, for gods sake, when the noises stop and the nurses rush past you down the hall. You hear shouting and panic. You hear struggling, and you even think you hear your own name sometimes. (But it might have just been your imagination.) You start walking towards his room again, this time with fewer hesitances, and you are surprised when you are pushed back roughly. You tear at the hands and bodies blocking the entrance, and you are surprised to hear that that wailing sound is coming from your own mouth. Even more, you are surprised to see the nurses covering the space around his bed, and also when the doctor pushes you back, telling you, "important people only beyond this point." You are surprised.
I’m sorry.
i will be there for you
“He’s in that room,” the nurse tells you, “over there, in 27.” You slowly head in that direction she told you, hesitating. It’s okay, you tell yourself, he isn’t angry. You’re halfway between the room and the exit, and it takes all you have to not go the other way. From behind, the nurse is calling after you, “Are you okay, dear?” but you can barely hear her over your pounding heart -over the stupid incessant beeping that’s echoing down the hall.
You nod briefly and manage to muster up a quiet yes. You try to control the sobs that are threatening to come out with each step you take, and you are satisfied when only a tear comes out. You take the last steps to his door, and you brace yourself, telling yourself again, be brave. You gingerly put both hands on the doorknob and wince when it creaks.
“Hello?” you hear him say. The lights turn on, and you see him sitting up with the remote in his hands, eyes widened in fear, but then he relaxes when he sees that it’s you. No. “Oh, come here,” he smiles, eyes disappearing in his grin. He holds his hands out, but you can’t seem to move from your spot near the door, next to the machines. You both stay like that for a minute, him beaming at you with his arms open, and you shifting your weight from one foot to the other, never moving forward.
He finally puts his arms down, and lowers his eyes. He is quiet again. He makes an effort to stand and at last, you run to his side, pushing him down. “You’re not ready yet. I mean, you know how they are.” He sits back awkwardly and nods, “yeah, I guess.” He coughs. This time, nothing comes out. An improvement, they would say.
Your heart clenches at the sight of him looking down like that, so miserable, that you almost pull him up, despite what the nurses would say, despite whatever pain he must be feeling, despite everything that happened because of your immaturity. Just because. Just because you are the one who made him sad, and because you are sad too; because you’ve missed him just as much.
Instead, you opt for holding his hand, and you realize that it is shaking. You press down to stop it, and he lets out a soft yelp, and you look down, eyes confused, and see that they are your hands. They are your hands that are shaking so harshly, and it is you who is acting crazy, who is scared out of their mind.
Suddenly, you shake your head, no, you cannot handle this anymore. You’re shaking your head so much, it’s starting to hurt, and he holds you by your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong. Everything. Everything is wrong. This situation, me, you. But of course you don’t say that. You just shake your head again, and you step back, and you walk backwards until you're at the end of the room. You hurriedly open the door, and he calls after you, “Wait! I'm not mad, I swear. I understand, I do, I-just, please don't go.” You keep walking. You are at the end of the hallway, and you turn around one last time. He is outside his room. No. “I love you,” he whispers. After what seems like an eternity, you whisper back. "I love you too.” You are still wondering if he heard you, because he was just standing there staring at you, for gods sake, when the noises stop and the nurses rush past you down the hall. You hear shouting and panic. You hear struggling, and you even think you hear your own name sometimes. (But it might have just been your imagination.) You start walking towards his room again, this time with fewer hesitances, and you are surprised when you are pushed back roughly. You tear at the hands and bodies blocking the entrance, and you are surprised to hear that that wailing sound is coming from your own mouth. Even more, you are surprised to see the nurses covering the space around his bed, and also when the doctor pushes you back, telling you, "important people only beyond this point." You are surprised.
I’m sorry.