Page 82 of Final Temptation
I needed to touch him—to feel that he was still in there. That he didn’t leave me—not yet.
“Oh, Myles.” My fingers brushed the stubble across his jaw, the hair pricking at my fingertips. He trimmed his facial hair only days ago, and it had already grown back, making the sight of him laying here much more rugged.
My fingers continued to trail over him—from the coarseness of his beard, over the tubes and wires, lightly running over each IV that was flush with his arm. Finishing at his hand, I pressed the roughness of his cold skin against mine.
I took a seat on the stool at his bedside, gripping his hand even tighter. I silently vowed to stay by his side as long as it took for him to wake up.
“I hate seeing you like this,” I whispered, completely unaware of whether or not he could hear me.
Outside of what I’d seen on TV shows and movies, this was new territory for me. So, I held on to hope that when someone was in a coma, somehow, someway, they knew what was going on around them. I imagined he could hear everything I said, feel the warmth of me being close to him, and smell everything surrounding him.
“I miss you so bad, Myles. I need you to come back to me. Tous.” I sniffled. “We were hardly getting started, and I know we can be great. You can come out of this, and you can beat every one of your fucking demons, with me by your side. I fucking know you can.” My forehead fell to our clasped hands, squeezing it just a little bit tighter, tears streaming down my face.
Once the floodgates opened earlier, there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d stop now.
I didn’t know how to explain it, but I couldfeelMyles.He was here with me, in this cold and empty room that lacked the bright colors from our apartment. He may be unable to respond, and his hand might be limp with no returned embrace, but he was here, I could feel him like a warm hug on a cold night.
Paige had to practically rip me away from Myles when I woke up this morning in a puddle of my own tears—my cheek resting in a sopping wet sheet below my hand that gripped his.
I stayed by his side until the sun came up and visiting hours opened. When I woke up, disappointment washed over me—last night wasn’t a dream, and Myles was still the same as he was when I found him passed out in his Jeep on the side of the road.
Before I left his bedside, I dipped down, whispering in his ear, “I’ll be back, and I promise not to leave your side again.”
When I arrived at our apartment, the noise from the TV still played in the background, the living room still a mess from the night before, and the feeling ofhomehadcompletely vanished without him here.
After taking a shower and cleaning up, I packed a duffel bag with zero intentions of returning until he woke up. The small, hard, two-person couch in his hospital room would have to do as my bed for however long it would take.
From my one overnight stay, I learned that hospitals were fucking freezing. So, I packed every pair of sweatpants I owned. I threw my laptop and toiletry bag into my duffel,and before I zipped it up, I entered Myles’ room, sitting on the edge of his bed.
His woodsy smell wafted around the room, enveloping me in a cloud of calmness. I knew everything was going to be okay. Each moment without him may feel torturous, but in the meantime, I had hope. I had to, for both of us.
One of his flannel shirts poked out from the dresser—the black and red material catching my eye. Standing up, I stepped closer to his drawers, pulling out the soft fabric and bringing it to my nose, taking a big inhale.
Leather and sandalwood.
Folding the wool material, I set it on the top of my bag before zipping it up. There was only one last thing I needed to grab on the way out, something brighter, a way to light up the hospital room.
It was my turn to bring him wildflowers.
I’d flood the depressing hospital room with every shade of pink, purple, yellow, and orange until he woke up; that way, when he did, he’d feel at home again.
I could hearevery “I love you.” Every “I miss you.” Every joke she cracked to try and make light of a dark situation. I could hear the conversations she had with Paige and Declan each day.
Every day I wished I was able to respond.
I could feel her near me. I could feel the way her hand held mine and the way her body hugged around me when she laid by my side. I could feel her warmth encompass my whole body.
I dreamed of her being able to feel my touch in return.
I could smell the wildflowers, their aroma reminding me of home—reminding me of Emerald Lake and our last day together. I could smell her sweet floral perfume mixed with my sandalwood scent.
Each whiff transported me into a dream-like state of her and me meandering along a vibrant field of flowers, hand in hand.
I could taste her tears. With every tear that trickled down her cheek and rolled onto her lips, the saltiness became a taste I started to despise. I hated that I couldn’t kiss her back. I hated that she cried every day in my arms, yet I had no way of consoling her. I hated that she was still here, wasting her precious life on such a wasteof space like me.
She was my dream, but I couldn’t be hers.
Not like this.
