#and like suicidal thoughts over something as simple as breaking a mug i bought at the dollar store

[coffin-upalung]

.

Tag vent, needed to get it out. TW suicide/SH/mental health/inaccessible care

[hyggeligbirch]

On The Phone

An EXO Fanfiction pairing: jongin x baekhyun word count: 2 395 warnings: Major Character Death: Suicide summary: Jongin has nightmares. Luckily his boyfriend's only a phone call away

Jongin holds his phone to his ear, wrapping Kongju’s long fur around his free hand as he listens to Baekhyun babble in his softest, sleepiest, you-woke-me-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night voice. He slowly stops trembling, the dual action of his dog’s warm presence next to him and his boyfriend’s voice in his ear easing him out of his panic.

Once his voice finds its way back, he rasps his way into Baekhyun’s sleepy monologue. “Thanks for picking up,” he says, and he means it.

He can hear Baekhyun’s sleepy hum as he smiles on the other end. “Yeah. Feel better?”

“Yeah,” and it isn’t a lie, because he’s stopped shaking, but he still can’t think of stopping the call. “Can we stay on the line until I fall asleep, though?”

Baekhyun sleepily laughs and agrees. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and it probably won’t be the last. Jongin has nightmares; Baekhyun has bad days. Both are easily helped with a simple phone call, the sound of the other’s voice, the rhythmic breathing as they each fall asleep. Sometimes they skip the nightmares, late-night panic attacks, and just stay the night together. Not frequently, but sometimes.

Jongin always falls asleep last. There’s comfort to him to hear the way Baekhyun’s sleepy babble slowly fades into half-whispered syllables, then just random hums that give way to soft breathing. Especially since his nightmares have changed.

For months they had been simple, normal. Stage fright, performing a routine that he’d never learned. Learning about a class he’d never been to only during exam week. Sometimes, it was just a normal day, walking down past a park and suddenly everything would go dark and he’d be running away from an unseen monster. Normal things.

But the past few weeks had been different. The nightmares had started simply enough, morphed versions of the day they’d all gotten the news about the plane crash. He’d go to Baekhyun’s apartment to check on him, and everything would be fine, but then he’d be in the hospital, shaking as he sat next to Baekhyun, held his hand, prayed. Listened to doctors telling him things he didn’t want to hear from the other side of a glass wall. Hearing that his boyfriend might never wake up. Hearing that his boyfriend was as good as dead.

And then he watched the day unfold in Baekhyun’s apartment, unable to interact, unable to do anything but watch. Jongin saw himself feeding Baekhyun, making quiet promises and leaving. Baekhyun’s phone ringing. Baekhyun answering it and the what little life was in his eyes drain out. Watched Baekhyun go – and the dream always stopped right there. Baekhyun walking out of the room, and never coming back.

Even his own mind was never cruel enough to make him watch Baekhyun die.

It’s through late night phone calls that Jongin gets through the next several weeks, always waking up in cold sweats and tight muscles, calming against the breathing of his boyfriend, the assurance that Baekhyun is still there, still alive.

Where the nights are terrifying, the days are calm and peaceful. It’s the middle of summer, and Baekhyun’s working an internship six days a week and Jongin’s dancing seven, but they spend as much time as possible with each other, in the early mornings before Baekhyun goes to work and after Jongin’s taken Kongju out for a morning run; in the evenings when they’re both exhausted and just sink into the couch to mindlessly eat dinner and watch tv.

It’s during one of these late evenings – Kongju sent to her crate to keep her from jumping on Baekhyun, Jongin icing down his ankles, and both of them eating more pasta than they probably should – that Baekhyun makes an offhand comment about just crashing there, some half-hearted comment about how small and dark and dirty his apartment is in comparison.

“Sorry,” Jongin responds, “I mean, you can, but I have to leave in half an hour. I won’t be here, the studio’s got that thing tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, I’ll just – my apartment’s fine.”

Jongin frowns, not satisfied. Crashing at each other’s places is usually reserved for very bad days. “Baekhyun, if you’re having a bad day or something, you’re welcome to stay here with Kongju. She’s really good company in bed. And we can talk on the phone – I don’t care.”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Baekhyun insists, and elaborates at Jongin’s patient stare. “I just thought that maybe, your nightmares, maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if I was right there.”

And that’s probably the most thoughtful thing Jongin’s heard all week, but there’s still that little twist of his gut at making Baekhyun – Baekhyun, who has so many problems of his own – worry. “Thanks. Are you sure…?”

“I’m great. Promise.”

And they both are great, that night, Baekhyun in his own bed in his own apartment, Jongin passed out in the back of a van somewhere, thanks to a couple of sleeping pills. The next day goes well, too, and Jongin finds himself falling face-first into his bed, finally home, body aching sore and doesn’t even think about putting his phone somewhere he can access it easily, because he’s so tired.

He thinks that might have been a mistake, when he’s trying to find his phone and dial Baekhyun and his limbs are terror-locked and it feels a little like someone punched him in the stomach with a rocket. He gets half a second of bile in the back of his throat just as Baekhyun’s phone starts ringing before he’s vomiting all over himself, little more than bile and acid because his last meal’s been so long, but it burns his throat and his nose and he thinks he can hear Baekhyun’s sleepy “hello” turning into worried words, but he’s not sure because all he can focus on for a few minutes is not choking on his own vomit.

When his stomach finally stops rebelling against him so strongly, he can actually hear Baekhyun’s worried, “Jongin? Jongin, are you okay?”

Jongin spits some of the sour taste out of his mouth and tries to focus in on Baekhyun’s voice. “Are you?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine? What about you? You called me, and then you were vomiting?”

Baekhyun was fine, and that little bit of information let Jongin center himself a little more. “I had another nightmare.” He paused for a moment as the smell of the vomit on him and his bed sinks in. “I should go…clean this up. Will you…?”

“Yeah, of course,” Baekhyun agrees so quickly, and Jongin puts the phone on his bedside table and strips out of his ruined clothes. Baekhyun starts up a light-hearted monologue, like he usually does, like he knows helps, as Jongin picks the phone back up and heads into the bathroom to wash up.

He can’t bring himself to go back into his bedroom and deal with the soiled sheets after he’s all washed, so Jongin slides down the wall to sit next to the toilet, Baekhyun still chattering away from the counter. Eventually, Baekhyun grows tired and starts to trail down into his sleepy hums. Jongin doesn’t mind, the cool tiles of the bathroom helping to keep him grounded, but his stomach lurches the quieter that Baekhyun gets and he’s happy that he decided to stay in the bathroom. He doesn’t vomit again, though.

Jongin’s been listening to Baekhyun breathe for what feels like hours, the quiet breaths and the cool porcelain working in tandem to keep him grounded, keep him from thinking about his dream, when the call abruptly disconnects. His brain short-circuits in his exhausted state, and, instead of intelligently grabbing for his phone and redialing, his nightmare starts replaying itself behind his eyes.

It’s not very clear, everything hazed with soot-black edges. One instant, Jongin is sitting on his couch, happy, calm, and the next he’s on his feet with his heart beating like crazy and then he’s standing outside of Baekhyun’s apartment, lungs seizing trying to draw air and the crash of breaking mugs echoing in his ears. And then he’s frozen, with one hand on the doorknob, unable to open the door, unable to make himself leave. He’s frozen there for what must be hours, if not days, and he can hear noises in the apartment and there’s a burning in his stomach to just open the door. Kick it down. But he can’t. He can’t do anything until everything is so, so silent that he’s not sure his own heart is even beating anymore. And then the door swings open. Jongin sees three things and only three things inside of Baekhyun’s apartment. A white floor. Red blood, enough for two people. And Baekhyun, broken and splayed across the floor like a ragdoll. Then everything goes black.

Jongin must fall asleep at some point that night, because he is woken in the morning by dog breath in his face.

He groans and rolls to his feet, every muscle protesting the motion after a long night on a bathroom floor, then pushes on Kongju’s head to get her to leave. With a couple of hard blinks, he follows after. Groggy from sleep, he barely notices that the sheets have been changed on his bed and that Kongju shouldn’t even be at his house. As such, he’s a little startled to find Baekhyun sitting on his couch with a bowl of cereal.

“Morning!” Baekhyun greets him, and Jongin just scowls because it is way too early in the morning to deal with anything resembling cheeriness.

“What’re you doing here?” He manages to grumble out.

“I’m returning your dog.”

Right. That was a thing that needed to happen. Jongin’s cool.

He’s slightly less cool when he finds out that Baekhyun has eaten the last of his cereal, though.

And Baekhyun’s still there when Jongin gets home from work, playing fetch with the dog in the apartment that is decidedly too small to play fetch in.

“I bought more cereal,” he says as way of greeting, “and I’m staying here this week. If that’s cool with you.” He sees Jongin’s brow furrow and jumps to cut him off. “Nightmares. Even if it doesn’t help for me to be here, at least you won’t have to sleep on the bathroom floor because you puked in your bed and didn’t have anyone to clean it up.”

Jongin has to admit that it’s nice to have Baekhyun in his bed in a halfway decent state of mind. It’s even nicer when he wakes up in the morning without any dreams to speak of.

After a week of dreamless nights, they’re sitting around eating breakfast, Jongin using Kongju as a footrest to keep her from jumping up to eat their food.

“Thanks for staying, Baekhyun,” Jongin says, “Maybe you should just move in.”

Baekhyun laughs around a spoonful of yogurt. “Maybe. Can I ask? What the nightmares are?” It’s something they’ve never actually discussed, because even thinking about them tends to set Jongin’s muscles tight and breathing sporadic.

He takes a deep breath in an effort to head off the panic, and answers. “Yeah, you can ask. I…I don’t know how to say it.” He takes a moment to gather the right words, stirring his cereal. “It’s always you. Killing yourself.” He stumbles over his words as he tries to push the next sentence out over Baekhyun’s surprise. “And I think that’s why you being here helps? Because you’re right here so I know you’re not dead.”

Jongin takes the chance to look up at Baekhyun and is surprised to see nothing but a quiet sadness on Baekhyun’s face. Baekhyun sighs and puts his yogurt down on the coffee table, sitting straighter. Jongin sits straighter in response, biting his tongue in confusion as Baekhyun reaches out and puts his hand on Jongin’s knee, leaning close enough to snuggle against his shoulder like he likes to do during serious conversations.

“Jongin,” he says, and Jongin’s not sure he’s ever heard Baekhyun so sad and so serious, “I’m not sure how to say this, either.” He squeezes Jongin’s leg as he swallows, and continues. “But I guess you already know this, anyway, so I shouldn’t be so worried about telling you, I mean –“

“Baekhyun? What is it?”

“I’m already dead, Jongin.”

“No,” Jongin tries for, but it comes out a little more like a whistling gasp as the air leaves his lungs. Everything drops a dark shade of grey and he’s pretty sure he’s hyperventilating.

Baekhyun tries to squeeze his leg, but he can’t feel it. “Jongin. Jongin. I killed myself a long time ago. I’m already dead.”

“No. But you’re right here. Baekhyun. Baekhyun. Baek-“ The hyperventilating catches up with Jongin and everything goes deep, deep black.

Jongin comes to in a world that is so much darker and so much colder than the one he has just left. There’s an incessant vibrating next to his head and he’s splayed out on the floor of his bedroom. He can hear Kongju scratching at the door and just wishes all of the noise would stop.

When it doesn’t, he groans and sits himself up, a pounding headache immediately starting from the rush of blood out of his head. With a few choice words, he gives in to the vibrating of his phone and picks up, not even bothering to check caller ID.

It’s Junmyeon, with a happy, fast tone to his voice and Jongin honestly doesn’t hear a word he says while he starts to find himself back. There’s only two things that Jongin knows at the moment: that Baekhyun is dead, and that there’s blood dried on Jongin’s face. It’s obviously something that’s not sustainable. He huffs as he figures out what he should do. Asking for help was never his strong suit, but still – “Junmyeon?” he interjects at the first pause, “Can I stay with you for a while?”

Junmyeon is understandably surprised on the other end. “Sure. Your apartment getting fumigated or something?”

“Uhmm, no. I just don’t think I can be here alone right now. Baekhyun.” And he hopes that’s enough.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon replies, and his voice is soft and Jongin’s wondering what he’s thinking about. “As long as you need.”

When Jongin hangs up, he sees the date on his phone. 12 April. It’s been a year.

[woopboopboop]

Of promises

Note: Trigger warning!!! There is mention of suicide in this story. If you are uncomfortable, I suggest that it would be better to not proceed or you can proceed at you own discretion. 

Look who’s back at it again! This is one is kinda fluffy and angsty at the same time? I don’t quite know. I’ll let you be the judge. Happy reading, babes.

I am not going to lie. I think about you almost all the time. I think about you when I am at work too. It’s amusing how the thought of you keep on appearing in my mind no matter how focus I am on something else. As I listen intently to the added vocals blending in with the strumming of guitar and mellow bass sound of the latest track, I can’t help but think of the time when you peeked over the book you were reading and concentrating on the random strumming patterns that I was experimenting one evening. You seemed fixated to the melody even commented how good it sounds and that was when I knew it needs to be in one of my songs. I unconsciously shake my head, smiling at the thought.

“What are you smiling at?” Kid asks, approaching the mixing console where I am standing next to.

“Just – thinking of something,” I say, scratching an invisible itch behind my ear, smiling sheepishly.

“Your wife?” Kid raises his eyebrows at me before returning to tweak some knobs on the board.

I try to hide my growing smile but it doesn’t really work. “Yeah. My wife.”

I am used to the band, Jeff and everyone else teasing me but when it comes to you, boy oh boy, do they have newfound love for it. “Lovebirds”, “Head over heels”, “Totally smitten” are just some of the words they use to describe us. You know this, of course, because I share about the things that we talk about during studio breaks or even random things that we did inside or outside of studio. Sometimes, you join in on their teasing game. But I don’t mind at all. They make the butterflies in me come alive and I live for the feeling after all. They make me think of you and I love having you on my mind.

The clock is way past midnight when I reach home. After fumbling with the house key for a while, I finally gain entrance, kicking my boots to the side and setting both the house and car keys on the wall key hooks. With the guidance from the living room dim lighting, I walk towards the kitchen to get a glass of cold water. Opening up the fridge door, the light bathes a portion of the kitchen wall and floor in a soft, yellow hue. It is then that I remember you asked me to grab milk from the nearby shop. “If you don’t mind,” you added.

I curse under my breath not because I despise the domestic act but because I actually forgot about doing the exact thing and I only have the ability to remember it now. I have to admit that you are the one who is better in remembering things be it dates or appointments. As for the milk, I will get it tomorrow.

Carrying my heavy footsteps upstairs, I notice the beam of light from beneath the door signifying that you left the light on. I tiptoe to flick off the light switch after switching on the table lamp on your side. The room is in total darkness except for the light from your half illuminating the room dimly. We agreed that only the light from your side will be on when we are sleeping after I vividly recall you telling me that you are not a fan of sleeping in the dark. You tell me about things that scare you and things that make you happy afterwards a lot and I also share mine.

I sit down carefully on the bed and watch you sleep facing my side of the mattress. Haruki Murakami’s Men Without Women is lying face down on the bed just a few inches from your chest. Closing it, I put the book along with other collections of Murakami in the bedside drawer behind me. I can’t help but notice an unfamiliar book residing in the drawer, I guess you bought it recently to add on our reading list. Yes, our reading list. In fact, there a lot of our things in this house and for each passing day, there will always be some new addition. Just like when there is a new record added to the existing little tower of vinyl records in the study room, new set of rings on the vanity or even new mugs with minimalist design in the kitchen.

Every object in each room of this house is an embodiment of us, together or individually. Though, I have to say that your presence was stronger because when I step into a space, I feel you. I feel your presence now too but at times it feels like it is fading away before it comes again in a crashing wave. I remember the time we talked about this over a cup of coffee. On that day, we shared our most complex struggles through simple words and comforting gestures.

Like my eyes always do, they return to you. The soft light in the room highlights certain features on your face and it begins to darkened towards the part where you have your face buried in the pillow. A sudden rush of warmth creeps behind my neck, making its way to my ear. The electrifying and alluring feeling is still the same as the one that I felt when we shared our first kiss. In fact, every touch and small gestures exchanged between us, especially now, brings more intensified feelings. You look so peaceful, frozen in time, except for your eyes darting back and forth behind your shut eyelids and the rising and falling of your breathing.

Your hair is everywhere with some strands falling on your upper arm, hiding two scars located at the same place which can hardly be seen. You always try to hide the scar, not liking the reasons behind it but I always tell you that things happened for a reason and that I will always love you and promise that I will be by your side if you need me. There is a scoff of disbelief on your face at first before your eyes soften and thank me for willing to be by your side. I love kissing the scar just as a reminder that I love you. I love kissing it without any reasons too. It has a slightly different colour from the rest of the skin on your body where I love to leave kisses as well. Hell, I just love to kiss you. No question asked. But I love to see you like this too, so I refrain myself from waking you up.

You shift for a bit in your sleep and a strand of hair falls down across your face. As if it is a reflex action, I move the strand away and tuck it behind your ear. My finger caresses the shell of your ear and you jaw with the slightest pressure. I notice your eyes fluttering, as if they want to open or maybe you are just dreaming.

“Hey,” you mumble when you gaze is focusing on me.

“Hey.”

We bask in silence for quite a while and I thought that you go right back to sleep but then I hear you asking me, “What?”

“Nothing. Just watching you.”

You squint your eyes and pull the duvet to cover half of your face, “Creep.”

“But you love it.” I stick my tongue out and you pull the duvet until it’s not covering you face anymore, sticking your tongue back at me. My lips find their way to your forehead, leaving a soft kiss before I disappear to the bathroom to change.

Coming back, I see you starting to fall asleep again. I smile and breathe in your presence for a moment before joining you on the mattress. Your eyes are fluttering open again as I caress your chin with my thumb and forefinger. My thumb stops at your cheekbone and I whispered a quite sorry. You shake you head and lean closer to me. We exchange long and gentle kisses, fingers wandering to every place that they can reach. And we don’t stop until both of us run out of breath. I don’t want to stop. Ever. Not when your fingers are tugging my hair slightly and mine resting on the nape of your neck to deepen our kiss.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, worried lines shadowing on your face.

I prop myself up on one elbow and carefully lay out the words. “It’s about the trip.”

You look more aware than anything at this moment, bottom lip pouting a bit, “I’m not going to like this, huh?”

“I’m so sorry, love. I’ve checked the date, I swear, but unfortunately it clashes with some promotions stuff that’s going to happen. The team and I confirmed the date and we can’t move it to another time.” I look into your eyes, hoping that I am not letting you down too much. You have been very excited for the trip, talking endlessly about it.

“Babe?” I call out and see your eyes regain their focus and concentrate on mine. Head falling deeper into your pillow, you hum, asking me to repeat whatever was said.  

“The date for the trip clashes with my work. I’m so sorry. Really.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” you whisper, drawing circles on the back of my hand. “When can we go then?” It sounds more like curiosity than anything else.

Leaning down, I kiss your nose and you scrunch up your face, giggling softly. “In three weeks time. I promise.”

“H, you are promising a lot of things. Don’t think I’ll forget all of them.” I know you are serious beneath the joking tone of your voice. I lay back on the mattress, reaching over to snuggle into the dip of your neck. The faint scent of chamomile lingers in the air where I am hiding. After sponging few kisses on your neck and holding you close, I loosen my grip and move away from the crook of your neck. My eyes move from looking at you lips, to your nose and finally setting on your eyes.

“I intend to fulfil each and every one of them. You are stuck with me for a long time. Don’t think you’ll forget about that too?” You nod your head and both of us giggle. When the giggling stop, we are left with gazing into each other's eyes, as if we are looking for something. I found something behind yours, despite the dim light trying to hide away whatever it is in the shadow.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah.” I feel the little space between us closing in and our lips brush each other. You are no longer sleepy and I am no longer tired.

 A single sun ray wakes me up in the morning. I jump up, panic at first but then it dawns on me that I have today off. Your side of mattress is empty. I roll over and bury my face on your pillow, smelling in the chamomile scent.

I lift my head when I hear the sound of water running from the bathroom. Bare naked, I cross the room in a number of strides and is reminded about last night when I encounter our clothes mingling together in a messy heap on the floor. I blush thinking about it as if it is our first. I knock on the bathroom door, calling out your name. Silence. I turn the knob slowly and push the door open expecting that you will be standing under the shower, asking me to join you there.

I am about to greet you good morning but see that there’s no one in the shower but the marble tiles staring back. As I lower down my vision, I find you slumping against the glass door. An angry stream making its way from your wrist down the drain, a huge contrast from your skin colour. Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. I am panicking. I rush over your limb body, wrapping the wound with whatever that I could find at the time. I pick you up and get you in a purple robe before I grab the clothes from last night and put it on. You feel so light and so heavy at the same time in my arms as I carry you to my car.

I fumble with the key in my hand. I don’t even know if I have locked the front door or not. I keep on calling your name as if it is a chant that can get you to magically wake up. All of this while trying to stay sane when in actual reality the world feels like it is slipping from my grasp. I wish that you reply my calling with any incoherent sentence or even garbled sounds. But you don’t answer. You don’t wake up.

When reaching hospital, I can only vision what a sight we are to those waiting there. “Please, help me!” I call out to no specific person. Everything just goes by so quickly and in a blur as the nurses push your bed towards the emergency room. Why aren’t you finishing my words when I try my best to explain what happened to the doctor? Why aren’t you opening your eyes when the doctor barks command to the nurses? Why aren’t you struggling when they put on the bed? Why aren’t you here to comment how ridiculous I must have look with my damp, wrinkled, half unbuttoned shirt? I don’t even notice the bloody patches on my shirt if I don’t button it up.

I stay out of everyone’s way and lean against the pillar near the entrance. A woman approaches me and pass me a document that I need to fill. I make a beeline for the counter so that I have a flat surface to write the paper on. As I fill in the paper, the nurse presses me for any information and I answer as best as I could but then I keep on thinking of you. I think about the milk that I forgot to buy. I think about the trip that I postponed last night. I think about the upcoming tour and that I promised you will stay longer with me this time. I think about all of the promises made, waiting to be fulfilled over our happily ever after.

“Have you call her family?” asks the same nurse. I must have look so distraught trying to fill the blank spaces and answer her questions. I stare at her for a moment to process her question. I want to say to her that I am your family. She is about to repeat the question when I shake my head.

“Call them. Let them know what’s happening.” She waits a couple of minutes until I finish filling up the paperwork. The waiting room is filled with a lot of noises given the works that are going on here but I feel so alone. The worst of thoughts come creeping in and start becoming louder each passing minute. I snap back and remember that I need to inform mum and your mother about the situation. Mum is very much heartbroken over the phone when I tell her about what is going on. It’s a bit funny that I am the one who consoles her instead of the other way around. I can’t blame her though. She loves you so much that she regards you as her second daughter.

 I don’t know whether I prefer to be with family and friends at the moment or to be alone. The clock ticks slowly while things around me are moving at a normal speed. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, Mitch stands behind me and Sarah besides him. She hugs me without saying any words and Mitch offers me a weak smile.

“She’s going to be all right,” they assure me. I don’t know what else to say so I thank them.

Almost all of our close friends are here, waiting for any news from the doctor or nurses. I don’t dare to pay attention to their presence and kindness because I may break down and cry. That is the last thing that I need in this situation. “What is taking them so long,” I mutter, pacing back and forth, occasionally running my fingers through my hair. Sometimes they interlace with the curls for a while as I try to remain calm, taking deep breaths here and there. I need to be strong for both of us.

More people arrive and then I hear a familiar voice. Mum’s. Standing up, I greet her, Gemma as well as your mother with a hug. Your family is here too. I recount what happened to them and I can’t help but choke on few words as I feel the tears threatening to spill. They look so worried, afraid even, especially your mother since she knows you well enough to know that there are times when it can be so hard for you. And I am worried and afraid too.

In the midst of things happening, Mum finds her way to mother me, “Have you eaten?” Her question reminds me that you would do the same too. Regardless what the situation is. Trust me.

I get up from my seat and walk as fast as I can to the toilet. Finding the nearest toilet bowl, I vomit. I would think that there is nothing left inside of me after seeing you slumped in the shower this morning but I keep on vomiting until the only thing left is the bitter taste in my mouth. My knees buckle against the cold tiles. I feel a hand running up and down my back and see mum kneeling besides me. She holds me so tight, afraid that if she let go, I will break into tiny pieces.

“Everything’s fine. She’s going to be fine.” Her voice soft and soothing.

“No. She’s not.” I let out a sob, both hands fling to my face, covering my eyes, pressing hard against them. I don’t know if admitting it to myself or saying it out loud is harder.

I try not to cave into the heavy feelings but it is a total failure when the thought of being able to stop you is more overpowering. “She’s barely breathing when I found her. I call out for her but she didn’t respond at all. God knows, how long she had been there before I found her.  I should’ve been there. I should’ve noticed it earlier when she looked a bit different last night. I should have known. This is my – ”

“Harry, do you love her?” She holds my face between her hands.

I nod, wiping stray tears falling down my cheeks. I am crying again.

“Sometimes, no matter what you do, you can’t protect the people who you love all the time. Things that happened to them is out of your hands. At times like this, the only thing that you can do is pray for them. Pray for her. Continue to love her. That’s all that you can ask of yourself. Things happen for a reason.”

She let go of her hands that cradles my face and hold my hands instead. The words sound weird when you are on the receiving end. Things happen for a reason. I always say that to you and it makes me think if you ever feel the same way as I did when I heard the words. Sadly, it doesn’t really bring comfort. It only leaves you in wonder of what is the reason behind all of this and what did I do to deserve such thing.

Friends and family sit patiently in the waiting room. It feels like an eternity waiting to be allowed in the same room as yours. The doctor approaches me to further inform the state that you are in and to be honest, after he says that you are in a stable condition, I am in and out of the conversation. I just need to see you on my own to believe that you are totally okay.

I sit beside you quietly and hold your hand gently. I don’t want to risk waking you up since the doctor told me that you need the rest. Your hand is cold as I hold it with my own. The fingers of my other hand touch your securely bandaged wrist. If you were to be awake, I guess you will make fun of my matching red nose, cheeks and eyes. I smile thinking about it. Carefully, I bring your bandaged hand to my cheek, then littering feathery kisses on your knuckles. I then nestle your hand onto the sheet but not letting go of our intertwined hands. I love holding your hands too. I love how we pass secret message by squeezing each other hands when we are in public. I love it more now that I can see both of our wedding bands adorning our fingers when we hold hands.

Watching you in this state, the only thing that I want more than anything is for you to wake up. I want to see the colour in your eyes again. I want to hold your hands firmly and not letting go. I want to feel your presence in this space. I am willing to do anything and everything just to get you to say my name. My mind drifts to the conversations that we had last night and I remember you teasing me about the promises that I made. I know I have a bad track record of keeping my promises but just know that I meant it when I say I want to fulfil them. The only thing that I need right now is for you to wake up and you will see that I am here as promised.