Broken Bones and Broken Hearts

Part Two

I practically ran back from the bath room, the door of our private room ajar. Had the surgeon already wheeled him off?

The bed is still there. The body is still on it. I'm no longer alone. The kind nurse is back with a man who looks surprisingly like Mr. Grumpy from the Mr. Men. As I walk slowly into the room, eyeing them suspiciously, the nurse carefully hides whatever she was holding behind her back. I feel like a lion coming back to a feast, only to find another lion has it. Something inside me wants to attack the poor lady.

The man isn't so kind. Just as I am sitting back in my defensive position next to the battered body, he takes something from the nurse. A razor. What is he doing? Why would that kind of person need a razor? It's not as if anyone in this room needs a shave. Then I realize: It isn't a razor. It's a pair of clippers. If they dare -

He turned them on. I couldn't watch. The nurse positioned herself so I couldn't see. Even though she stopped the view of the utterly barbaric behavior of the man, she couldn't stop me from seeing his mangled curls falling to the floor. The tears came in frozen rivers down my cheek. I looked at the nurse for support. She gave me a weak smile and then turned her back to give me privacy. She handed the man something else. I couldn't stop looking at the blood stained hair on the floor. Why, why had they done that? Are they trying to embarrass him? Are they mocking him in his weak and helpless state? Getting at him while he's powerless to stop them?

The man left the room. The nurse stayed. She bent down and pulled a sandwich from her bag. She handed it to me.

"You have to eat. He wouldn't want his pain to stop you from living. I know how you feel. I tried to tell them for you but it had to be done. It will grow back. It will look the same, I promise."

She walked towards the door, reinstating my view of the bed. I wish I could have screamed. Under the hair had been deep, glaring gashes. They where now agitated and bleeding from the clippers. Dried blood surrounded them but the cuts were too deep for only scabs. Not only had they taken away his hair, but they had marked out where they wanted to slice him open as well. These people where meant to be helping him! All I could think of was the time we watched The Human Centipede together. Maybe all surgeons really are evil.

The nurse calmly left the room. She sensed that I would need some time alone.

I took one of his cold, limp hands. Why was it that it was always me in this situation? The person I love on a hospital bed and all I can ask for is for them to squeeze me hand and tell me it's all going to be okay. Now the room has settled, I could concentrate of the constant beeping of the life support machine.

Beep…Beep…Beep.

I ate my sandwich with one hand, the other still clinging to his fingers. My eyes couldn't move away from the markings and cuts on his head. The head with the mouth I kissed. The head with the eyes that I now couldn't spend my whole day gazing into. As I stood up to go find a bin, my feet refused to move. They couldn't bear to tread on a lock of hair or jog the bed. It took anll my effort to force them to move, me to the door. I didn't want to leave him. I glance behind me. He's as still as a corpse but I know he is still alive.

Beep…Beep…Beep

The sound fades as I walk toward the kitchens to find a bin. My heart's racing. I hear wheels. I pivot on the spot. They are wheeling him. Wheeling his bed away from me.

Run.

I run towards the people taking him. Taking him away from me. But there's someone there. Someone holding me back. I lash out. I'm kicking. I'm hitting. People are staring. They take the body through some doors. The doors that are locked. The doors that you need a code to enter. I go limp. I come back to reality, I look up. The nurse is rubbing the side of her face. Shit. She was trying to help me. She was trying to make it better. I'd hurt her. I'd been blinded by anger.

I'm crying again. I turn and I throw my arms around her. I press my face into her shoulder. I can't hold in my pain. She doesn't push me away. She puts her hands on my back and comforts me.

"Shh, it's okay."

She walks me back to the room. She lets me walk into the corner and slump to the floor. I pull my knees under my chin, feeling completely drained of everything. She comes and sits next to me. She puts her arm around me.

The room is warm. I feel like stone, heavy and cold. My jumper seems to have lost all its use. The nurse reads my mind. She gets up and walks to a duffle bag. A duffle bag that I haven't noticed before now. She opens it and rummages. She pulls it out. His jumper. His favorite blue jumper. She passes it to me. I don't put it on. I hug it. I take in the scent; it relaxes me. I pull it over my head. It's far too big, but I don't care. I'm slipping away. I'm not fighting it. I fall into slumber. Where everything is normal. Where everything is calm. Just before I completely fall unconscious, I hear the soft thud of a door closing. The nurse has left me to enjoy my sleep while I can.