He looks fragile, laying in the hospital bed. He’s looked like a lot of things before, but he’s never looked fragile. It’s unnerving.

“Hey there, sweetie.” A nurse says, walking in. “I’m just going to check his vitals.”

“Hows he doing?” I ask.

“He’s stable, so that’s a good thing.” She says, giving me a small smile.

“But he still might not wake up.” I say, and she gives me a weak smile.

“Any word on his parents?” She asks. I like that she remembers that his parents aren’t here yet, it’s comforting knowing that she remembers things about her patients.

“They were both in Portland for work stuff, they’ll probably be here tomorrow morning.” I say.

She nods. “He’s strong, he’ll be alright.”

The tears start after she leaves. I just can’t hold them back any longer.

I take his hand in mine.

“You have to live, you have to.” I say, tears streaming down my face. “Remember what I said, absolutely no dying. You promised...” I whisper. “You promised.” I say.

The world looks like a water color painting. Blurry and indistinct, like a painting that could have a million different meanings.

“You have to wake up. You just have to.” I cry.

The heart monitor starts beeping quickly, then doctors and nurses run in.

“No.” I mutter.

“Miss,” a nurse say, as she tries to pull me out of the room.

“No, I can’t go, I can’t leave him.” I protest, but I’m too weak and broken to fight and she pulls me out of the room.

I lean back against the wall, not being able to watch. I sink down, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around myself.“

You can’t die. Please.” I cry. No, I sob, I weep, I’m hysterical, I’m a mess of tears and wishes. Hopeless, hopeless wishes.

“Breathe.” I whisper. I’m not sure if I’m telling myself to breathe or if I’m telling him to, but it couldn’t matter less.

“Breath” I say. “Just breath. Breathe.” I say it again, because it kinda helps.

Breath.

And then the beeping becomes steady, then the frantic shouting stops.

“And he’s back.” A doctors voice says.

Did I hear that right? He’s okay. He’s alive.

“You can come back into the room again.” The nurse from earlier says, kindly.

I stand up shakily and walk into the room. He’s still laying in the bed, looking broken and damaged but he’s alive. And that’s all that matters.

I sit down at his bedside and take his hand.

Then his eyes flicker open. They’re open.

They’re wide and blue, so so blue. The kind of blue that makes everything stop. They’re the kind of blue that puts the Caribbean to shame. They’re the kind of blue that makes even the sky seem dull. And they’re open. And he’s alive.

“Shhh...” I say, wiping fresh tears from my eyes and giving his hand a squeeze. “Just breathe.”