I had a really bad day. I'm really upset, but when I think about it, in the big scheme of things, it's a stupid thing to be upset about. Still, when I'm unhappy, I think unhappy thoughts.
Thus, this is born.
By the time I reach the hospital, he has had to have his heart restarted three times.
They said that there would probably be brain damage, that he would never be the same person again.
They had to amputate his left arm.
They told me that his last words, right before his heart stopped for the first time, were "Tell Ichi I'll be late".
They said he was texting when he ran the red light. Witnesses said there had been a little girl on the pedestrian crossing. The little girl is fine. He had swerved and missed her, but couldn't avoid the oncoming truck.
The text, which they found half-finished, said "omw but dont te". It was going to be sent to Renji, his best friend and co-host of his surprise birthday party.
Which, as it turned out, was not such a surprise because Renji couldn't keep his mouth shut.
Renji told me that he didn't want me to know that he knew so that I wouldn't be disappointed.
At the time the text was being composed, I was in our apartment fretting, wondering why he hadn't come home yet. I had twenty guests waiting for the birthday boy and I was beginning to feel annoyed. I was thinking why, of all days, why did he have to choose today to come home late.
I didn't know that, because of that, Renji texted him to ask him to hurry back.
I would never be able to look at Renji in the eye again.
I wish I could take it all back. All the spiteful things that I was thinking in my head as I waited for him. I wish I had never planned this stupid party. I wish I hadn't told Renji about it.
But I can only wait now, sitting alone in the waiting room while they race against time. He doesn't have any family left. His parents died in a car crash when he was still an infant, an only child.
Renji was here, but he left after taking one look at me. He looked devastated. They had known each other for almost two decades. I don't know who he hates more now - himself, or me.
If it weren't for me, Renji wouldn't have had to text him, and he wouldn't have had to reply. He would've seen the light turn, and he would be getting ready to celebrate his twenty fifth birthday.
Now, because of me, he might never see that day.
My throat feels dry and tight, like there's something lodged inside. Swallowing hurts. My eyes burn with each blink.
I can't imagine facing tomorrow without him. Just the thought makes me light-headed, unable to breathe.
I can't imagine never hearing his voice again; his mad cackles, his deep, booming laughs, his hushed murmurs in my ear, his nasally moan of my name when he comes.
I can't imagine never being able to gaze into his eyes and have him stare right back at me with that obnoxious, cocky grin of his plastered on his face.
Fighting him. Arguing, screaming, and then slamming the door in each other's faces. I can't imagine not doing that anymore.
I can't imagine not being able to touch him again. Not being able to thread my fingers through his soft, baby blue hair. Not being touched by him. Not having him on top of me, behind me, inside me.
If he wakes up - no, when he wakes up, will he recognize me? Will he be able to speak again?
My stomach twists and I double over. I throw up on the floor.
A nurse rushes up to me and catches me right as my knees hit the carpet. I can't breathe. I can't cry.
When I open my eyes again, I realize I'm lying in Rukia's lap. She doesn't say anything, doesn't look at me with pity. I sit up and settle into the chair next to hers. She laces her fingers with mine and gives my hand a squeeze. I nod and try to smile.
I fail.
I'm not a religious person, but I find myself praying. I will never scold him for leaving the dishes on the table again. I won't complain when he doesn't close his mouth when he's chewing. I'll let him channel surf to his heart's content. I'll let him use the pair of hand cuffs which I'd hidden in the closet. I'll listen to him when he asks me not to bite my fingernails.
I will do anything. Just, please, let him live.
I don't know how much time has passed.
When the doctor steps into the waiting room, I freeze. My mind goes completely blank as I stare at the man. I absently take note of his shaggy blond hair, the light stubble on his chin. He's using a walking stick, but his legs look fine to me.
Rukia pulls me to my feet. The doctor speaks, but I can't hear him. I swear I'm listening, but nothing registers. Rukia's hand threatens to crush my fingers. She has tears running down her cheeks, one hand clamped over her mouth. Her shoulders begin to shake.
No.
Please.
The doctor squeezes my shoulder and turns away. I stumble after him, Rukia dragging me and manhandling me into the hallway and towards god-knows-where.
My eyes widen when I finally see him through the glass. He's covered in tubes and bandages, and more than half of his face is hidden behind an oxygen mask. But it's him - I recognize his hair, even though one side of his head has been shaved. He looks ridiculous.
I start laughing.
I visit him everyday. I know Renji does too, but he never shows up at the same time. Maybe given some time, we'd be able to face each other again.
I'm sitting next to him, holding his remaining hand, when I hear a weird gurgling sound. I look around, wondering if it's one of the machines. Five seconds later, I finally realize it's coming from him. I jump up so quickly that the chair skids backwards and crashes into the other - thankfully empty - bed. I scream for the doctor.
As rapid footsteps approach, he makes that sound again. I grab his hand and call his name. I'm so frantic that it takes me another five seconds to notice something else.
His eyes are open.
Just barely, but I can see his blue irises.
My heart seems to have slowed to a stop and I fall silent.
He blinks.
I hold my breath.
He blinks again.
My throat constricts.
He moves his lips.
I cry for the first time in sixteen years.
He's smiling.
I hear people bursting into the room. I feel hands tugging on my sleeves. I slowly let go of his hand, but not before I tell him what I should've told him one month ago.
Happy birthday.
The End.
So much for angst and tragedy, heh. Anyways, this is just kind of to remind myself that I shouldn't be upset about something so small. The storyline is inspired by the "don't text and drive" infomercials on TV.