Soft Sounds and Hard Impacts
Are you there?
If so, where are you hiding?
I'm having trouble finding you.
- Oh me, Oh my. Imogen Heap
Jill sighed. It was a Wednesday. Exactly two years, one month, and three days, give or take a few hours, had passed since she had the need to be where she was. The hospital. Every Wednesday, she would enter the dreaded place. She'd breath through her mouth, as not to smell the "too clean" scent. She'd block out the noises, as not to hear people crying, groaning in pain, or the last breaths of the terminally ill.
Room 216 was the room she was headed for. Inside, unmoving on a hospital bed, was someone important to her. He was hooked up to many different machines. An IV was in his left wrist, pumping the nutrients he needed in order to keep living. He was pale, not having seen the sun for two years. He hadn't seen anything for two years.
Just like every week, she entered the room and sat in the chair that had a permanent position beside the bed. She sometimes talked to him. Other times, she'd bring a book and read, glancing up at his unchanging face between every page she completed. Some days she'd cry.
The man lying on the bed was her partner, Chris Redfield. Before his accident, they had been close friends. They knew each other well and could make each other laugh. They would comfort each other on off days and have movie nights at least once a week. But that had ended.
Instead, she had spent the last two years, one month, and three days, waiting for him to wake up. At the beginning, she visited every day, hoping he'd make a quick recovery. Months in, though, she had been forced to change it to once a week for her own sanity.
She worked alone in STARS, not wanting a different partner. She was still part of Alpha, but nothing was really the same anymore. Chris was the bridge between her and the others and without him, she just couldn't relate. Wesker had been promoted, so he was no longer the captain of Alpha. Irons had brought in some new guy named Tony Vegare. The only person she talked to at work for something that wasn't work related was Barry.
Jill jumped as her cellphone vibrated, alerting her to a text. She glanced at it. It was Payton, her boyfriend. She swore lightly and didn't reply. He knew not to text her while she was visiting Chris. Wednesday after twelve and until three, she was unreachable. That was the time she dedicated to sitting at Chris's side with hope that he'd wake up soon. Claire was losing hope for him. She had confided in Jill that if he didn't wake up after five years, she'd pull the plug. She didn't want to watch her brother fade away. Jill understood that. She hated watching her partner fade away.
Jill was reminded that she hadn't talked to Claire in a while. Claire visited on Mondays or Thursdays. It was rare for her to come on Wednesday. She knew that was the constant day the Jill went.
Jill wiped a hand over her face. Lately, she was depressed. It was something easily hid, even from Payton. And it had started two years and one month prior. Three days after Chris's accident. That was when they discovered he was in a coma that he might not wake up from.
It seemed like she'd be crying instead of reading that day.
An hour later, Jill found herself with her book sitting loose in her lap. Her eyes were on Chris's face, but flitted down to her book for a few moments, trying to focus on the worn pages. She brushed back a lock of hair. She had kept it short, but it was hard to keep it out of her face without a barette. Soon she gave up on her book and let her eyes rest on his face.
"Chris, I-"
She cut herself off. He couldn't hear her. There was no point anymore. She simply stared at him, silently willing his awaking. She just wanted to see his eyes again. She wanted to see that look he gave her when he was happy, where she could see it in the deep blue depths. He meant so much to her and he was, as much as she hated to think it, dying.
She focused hard on him. "Wake up," she thought. "Chris, please..."
Tears fell from her eyes before she could stop them. She swore and swiped at them, causing the small droplets to disappear. She hated crying. Chris wasn't dead yet. Tears were unneeded.
She placed her hands over her face and pressed her fingers against her eyes. She took a deep breath and let her eyes becomed glued to Chris's face.
His eye lids flickered. She grew alarmed. "That didn't happen, I'm imagining things." Her explanation to herself grew as a cruel joke. His face was unchanged.
But then his hand twitched.
"God dammit, Jill!" She pressed her palms against her eyes again. "Stop getting your own hopes up!"
She was afraid to look at him again. She'd just see more signs of false hope.
But when she did look, it was different. He opened his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and she staired at him. "Chris?" she whispered, almost afraid.
He turned his head towards her, confusion on his face. "Jill?" She couldn't breath and the tears that hid behind her eyes emerged and dripped down her face. She stood and moved closed to the bed. He looked up at her with the sudden realization that it was in fact her. In only a moment, he had her in his arms, hugging her tightly. "Oh God, Jill..." He kissed her forehead. "Are you okay? I thought you were dead..."
She pulled away enough to look at him. "Chris... What are you talking about?"
He looked at her. Really looked at her. Her hair was short and she looked younger. Her v-neck shirt showed no scar from her time in Africa. "What's going... I..."
She wiped away a tear. "Chris... You've been in a coma for the past two years."
"Wait... How old are we?"
"You're twenty-six and I'm twenty-four..."
He forgot to breath. "You... You mean it was all fake?" His arms dropped from around her. "N, none of it happened?"
"None of what, Chris?"
He didn't answer, but dragged his hands hard over his face. He was crying now too.
