It has been three days
Three days since Sara was rescued from underneath the wreckage of that red Mustang.
Three days since the call came through that the helicopter had finally spotted the car, after hours and hours of relentless searching, across the barren desert.
Three days since Catherine and I sped to that location, seeing the eerie silhouette of the car as we pulled closer.
Three days since I had lain on the sodden ground, clutching her hand, talking to her about anything that came to mind.
Let me tell you its pretty hard trying to think up inspirational conversation topics, when your very heart and soul is trapped beneath tonnes of twisted metal. But I tried. I talked to her about Bruno, how he'd chewed up yet another one of my Entomology textbooks, completely ignoring his ever growing collection of rubber balls and squeaky toys. I talked to her about a new rare species of Butterfly that had been spotted in Canada, and how beautiful it was. I talked about taking a vacation, Egypt maybe. I know she's always wanted to see the Pyramids. I talked about anything and everything, and the occasional slurred responses from her were enough for me to keep going.
It has been three days since Paramedics finally managed to get her out, shouting her vitals and trying to assess the damage and her injuries, as they wheeled the gurney onto the back of the ambulance, and pulled away quickly, blue lights flashing, leaving the terrible scene, and me, stood in its wake.
It has been three days since Catherine drove her and me to the hospital, following the ambulance, tears threatening to fall down her face at any moment, to match the rain persistently lashing the windshield.
Three days since she was taken into the Operating Room, where she underwent a gruelling six hours of surgery, to try repair her broken and battered body, whilst myself and the other CSI's sat stonily in the waiting room, drinking vile coffee and silently praying for our colleague, friend, and lover.
Three days since I first saw her, lying in that bed, with machines all around her, tubes running out of her arms, a tube down her throat helping her to breathe. Keeping her alive.
I'm sat in my office now. I feel at home here surrounded by cold hard science, where emotions and broken hearts aren't relevant. Only it doesn't make it hurt any less right now. The Nurses kicked me out of her room an hour ago; they need to run some more tests. There has been no improvement in her condition as of yet.
But she's still alive, still fighting and battling. That's my Sara.
And she won't give up without a fight, that much I can be sure of.
Its been three days since my world came crashing down. Yet it feels like three fucking years.