Consequences.
/
"Hey Connie! Just wanted to see you again! Gotta keep you updated in what's going on in Beach City, right?" Steven pushes the chair close to the bed and sits down, staring at her dark face.
She looks so peaceful. It makes him slightly better, because the memory of her fear-filled face had haunted his dreams for days.
"A bunch of teachers from your school said 'hi' and said I could use the therapist they have there, if I wanted to. But, I don't think I really need that. Talking to you has always cheered me up." He pauses for a bit, staring at her again, but the sound of the repetitive beeping is grating on him.
He doesn't understand why it annoys him. He should be happy at the fact it's still beeping, but it just makes him think of how mechanical, how unnatural it is compared to the natural thumping of a heartbeat.
"So, um, the author of the Spirit Morph saga is making a new book! It isn't Spirit Morph, which totallly sucks, right? But I think they'll do a good job on it. Oh, and dad is reading the first book! Isn't that cool? I wonder what opinions he'll have about it. Maybe he's secretly all booky like you are, Connie."
He takes a moment to hold her hand, careful not to touch the hospital band.
"Kiki, Sour Cream, and Buck brought you some books yesterday. I'm not too sure if those are the types you like, but one is about a girl who goes into the forest to save her baby brother! And there's magic and kingdoms and talking animals... wouldn't you like to read it?"
He feels tears prickling, but he knows they will not heal her. It feels selfish to cry.
"Wouldn't you like to be up right now, moving around and reading them? Playing with the rare figurine from your favorite anime, that Ronaldo got you? That's so nice of him, right? You should get up and thank him. Move around, do anything, b-because I heard if you don't move around enough, muscles can get all weak. Especially when you're in a... in a... c...c-c..."
He can't say the word. It feels like poison on his mouth. He doesn't want to burn his tongue, even when the saliva refuses to save her from her endless sleep.
Steven hiccups, using his free hand to wipe away tears and snot.
"P-P-Please, Connie, w-wake up. Everyone is so wor-worried about you... this isn't... nothing is fun without you, Connie... you gotta wake up... for me, please... please, Connie, I..." His words are replaced by blubbering cries. He lets go of her hand, so he can bury his face in both palms.
The heart monitor beeps.
Despite how tightly the bandages are wrapped around her head, as the wound is still healing, a few strands of hair poke through and move from the slight breeze.
Connie doesn't wake up.