Page 104 of Five
“Meg collapsed, and we can’t wake her up.” That’s all Ferdinand told Rami.
Two hours later and still the doctors have nothing to tell us. She is being treated by the best team of doctors, Sari knows most of them, and Rami did a background check. Doctor Sallinger, the immunologist that is treating her lupus disease is also here.
More time passes. Minutes? Hours? Until a doctor wearing a white coat comes. I only hear three words: coma, cause unknown.
The air stops inside my lungs until I feel a hand touching my arm. It spreads a rush of dread. I’m suddenly assailed by a prickling sensation, like thousands of sharp, searing needles piercing my skin all at once, sinking in. I jerk my arm back, but the pain intensifies.
Get out!Bez screams.
I push away from the chair and run through the corridor. I don’t stop when I hear someone calling out for me. I keep going, bumping into people. Every collision push the needles deeper inside my body. Each one a stabbing excruciating pain.
I finally reach the exit. I don’t feel the rain at first, but when I do, I welcome the fresh wet sensation on my aching skin. I yank my t-shirt off and toss it on the ground opening my arms and letting the cold drops fall on me.
“Gabe!”
I turn my head toward the screaming voice. Lori is standing a foot from me. His curls are stuck to his face, black makeup rolling down his cheeks. His presence isn’t soothing the uneasiness this time. It’s making it worse.
“Go inside,” I rasp before I start walking toward my car. I need to leave. I need to get in control of myself again. Pain has its claws in me, I need to placate it. I don’t want Lori to see me like this.
I unlock my car and slide inside, not caring about the mess I’m making. As I turn the engine on, the door on the passenger side opens and in gets Lori.
“Get out, go back to the hospital,” I order him through my gritted teeth.
He locks his jaw and seems to mumble something under his breath. After a second, he replies calmly, “No.”
Force him to leave,Bez growls.
“Bez, shut up!” I grab my head and pull my hair, trying to clear my thoughts, but the agony I’m enduring is getting unbearable.
“Get the fuck out, Lori!”
“No,” he repeats with a trembling voice.
“Never do what I tell you!” I mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I hit the wheel with each curse. Hating myself when I hear a whimper coming from him. And when I see the silent tears rolling down his face? Shame hits me right in the gut.
“I won’t leave you. Stop wasting time.” His voice cracks, and he pauses a beat before repeating, “I’m not leaving you… Ever.” He adds that last word after a moment, and it holds so much meaning. So much hope. I fear it. It fucking hurts more than anything I’ve ever suffered.
My chest expands slowly as I suck in a deep, painful breath, then exhale it.
“I’d offer to drive, but you think I’m a maniac behind the wheel, so…” He sniffs, pushing his wet locks away from his face. His big brown eyes are filled with sorrow and anguish. His lips look wet.
It’s like I have a magnet in my chest that pulls me inexorably down toward Lori. And the more I fight the force, the more it tears through my bones and flesh, creating a cavernous hole.
The truth hits me with an implacable force: I love Lori. The knowledge is brutal, and it couldn’t have come to me at a worse time. But it assuage some of the suffering I’m feeling, like a soothing balm on an open wound.
“Lori.” His name is a prayer on my lips. To leave? To never leave me?
“Drive. Unless you want to stay in this hospital parking lot. Whatever you need.” His hand lifts, moving toward my arm, but he suddenly halts the movement and lowers it back on his knee. I can see a muscle jump in his jaw before he turns his head toward the drops of water rolling down outside the window.
The rain is still coming down hard as we leave the hospital behind. It takes me longer than usual to get home in this weather, the ache that keeps penetrating my body doesn’t help either. Just like in the car, the ride up to the apartment is filled with a grievous silence. I feel itchy and unstable, need something to stop the pain.
As soon as we step inside the living room, I grab the bottle of whiskey from the sideboard near the window and down two glasses, one after the other. The amber liquid burns on the way down, making it worse.
“What do you need?” Lori asks me, coming back wearing one of his loose t-shirts. He’s holding a pair of my sweatpants and tries to hand them to me.
“Go,” I say, even though I don’t want him to. I just don’t want him to see me this unrestrained. This broken.
I pour another whiskey, stretching my neck, rolling my shoulders against the prickling feeling. The hand near my side is twitching and flexing. I drink and drink. A fire is burning me from the inside, a visceral pain that will turn me to ashes.
