The moon shines brightly through a small crack in the curtains of Rayna's hospital room, its light reflecting off of Deacon's watch. He sits quietly in a standard blue chair, his head falling to the side drowsily. In the glow of the pale moonlight, Rayna's face appears to be exceptionally pale. It makes her look eerily ghostlike. Deacon can't help but think that she looks like she is merely a shadow of her former self. He is used to witnessing her energy and passion. Now, he fears that he may never get a chance to see her behaving like that again. He may never get a chance to hear her voice, look into her eyes, or even see her alive again.
It has only been four days since the wreck but she has not woken up yet. The days have dragged by for Deacon. He has not left her side since being cleared with minor injuries just hours after the wreck. He feels guilty. He knows that it is his fault that she is even in this position. It is his fault that she is hovering between life and death. His heart breaks every time he looks at her beautiful face and sees the damage that he knows he is responsible for causing.
He always watches her closely, looking for any sign of movement. He has no reason to hope. She has remained completely still the entire time. The clock ticks slowly, counting the seconds. He hears it echoing throughout the room. He feels like it is mocking him.
How can time go on without her? There is nothing without her. Life is meaningless without her. Dark. Dead. Done.
The walls surround him. He feels their presence. He knows that he will always be trapped in this room if she doesn't make it out. He will relive these last moments for the rest of his life. He will never escape from the pain. Rayna is the only one for him, for better or for worse.
He knows that Rayna's injuries are numerous. He sees the bandages and the bruises. He hears the doctors murmuring when they stand around her, trying to cure her. It is possible that they may not be able to cure her. Deacon knows that she is fighting for her life. He knows that this might be the one fight that she doesn't win. He can't stand the idea of losing her forever.
He is still upset that she lied to him but he wants to have a chance to talk things out with her. He made a mistake when he turned to the bottle. It is a mistake that he will always regret. He wishes that he had just talked to her like an adult. He hopes that he will get the chance to make up for his mistake when she wakes up.
It has become a habit for him to frequently glance at the monitors that are surrounding her. He doesn't know what most of them mean. All he sees is red. The red numbers cut through the darkness. It reminds him of the accident. He sees black all around him and then he sees red. He sees her blood. He sees it gushing from the wound in her head. He closes his eyes tightly, forcing the images out of his mind. He sighs when he sees black again. It is black like the harsh night. It is black like death and despair.
I've killed the only woman I've ever loved.
Deacon cannot shake the thought. It plagues him. It follows him around, day and night, while he sits by her side. She is still breathing but he knows that her chances are slim. He knows exactly what the doctors spend their days murmuring about. They are discussing their options. They have already tried almost everything. They are searching for answers.
Why won't she just wake up?
Deacon looks at her intently, silently pleading with her to open her eyes. He wants to see them. He wants to remember exactly how it feels to stare into their deep abyss.
Without her, I will fall into the abyss.
He is already falling. The darkness surrounds him, suffocating him. She is his light. She always has been.
How can I find my way out without her?
He knows that he will not find his way out if she dies. He will sink further and further into the dark pit of despair. He will never recover.
Maybe I should just end it now so I never have to live without her.
Deacon shakes his head violently, trying to erase the thought. He knows that he cannot do that. He needs to be there for her when she wakes up. He needs to be there for his daughter.
Our daughter.
He corrects himself forcefully. Maddie is their daughter. He prays that they will have a chance to raise her together. He looks up at the ceiling, pleadingly.
Please, God. Don't let her die. Don't let her die because of me.
It is the first time he has asked God for something since he was a little boy. He is sure that it is the most meaningful thing that he has ever asked for.
