The world blurred into view, first as lights, then as shapes, then, finally, he could make out the light fixture on the ceiling. Everything was numb, every sound came as echoes, and movement looked like ripples in water. Something was moving above him, and the echoes seemed kind of desperate, a little hysterical. He could feel himself frown, a line appearing between his brows, as he focused his tired eyes on the movement in front of him. A person emerged from the smudges. A familiar face.
Scott?
"Oh my God, Mitch!"
Wait. He'd thought the name, Scott, but hadn't heard his voice pronounce it. Why wasn't he able to speak?
"Mitch?"
His eyes moved to a new face: a doctor in a white coat.
"I am going to remove the tube in your throat. You think you can cough for me? Or give me a big exhale?"
He was horrified as the doctor gripped something near his mouth. How hadn't he seen it there?
"Ready?"
Then there was an unnatural sensation: a tugging deep in his chest and along his throat. He tried to cough, but it came out more like a gag, and it started getting difficult to breathe. Finally, the tail end of the tube was free of his windpipe, and he inhaled a pained, ragged breath.
"Are you okay? Try and take a slow breath on your own for me." The doctor just watched as Mitch coughed deep, hacking coughs that burned his throat, but he managed to slow down enough to inhale a clear breath, "Okay, good. Another." He ordered, his fingers gently placing a thin breathing tube under his nose and looped over his ears.
Mitch complied. It got a little easier to fill his lungs with each inhale. "Scott." He finally managed. His voice sounded small, weak, and barely stronger than a whisper, but he could speak again.
"Hey, Queen." Scott's blue eyes were brimming with tears. "You feeling okay?"
"I was shot. Wasn't I?" It hurt to remember, but he struggled to piece together the holes in his memory.
"Yeah," Another form came into view, her face blotched with tears and her hair pulled back. Kirstie. "I don't know why he did it. I just know he did, and that we almost lost you." She looked up at the doctor, "Can I hug him?"
"Sure." He nodded, "Just be gentle."
Scott moved so she could approach and warmly wrap her arms around Mitch's gaunt shoulders, "I love you, Mitch. Thank God you're okay," She half whispered into his ear.
He could feel her arms where they met his body, her chest pressed against his, and the warmth of her soft cheek against his jawline, but he couldn't lift his arms to return the embrace. They just lied there at his sides, useless, but he managed to turn his face into her neck. "I'm glad you guys are here."
When Kirstie pulled away, she had tears filling her gorgeous eyes. She was so beautiful, her face clear of makeup, and her hair in a messy bun, and she smiled despite the tears.
Mitch returned the smile.
Why did his eyes feel so heavy, and why couldn't he move? Everything felt as though he had a lead blanket over his body, pressing him into the mattress. He closed his eyes, relieving a little bit of the weight, and just felt the deep, hollow pain in his chest. It was okay. He almost didn't mind the pain. At least he was alive.
"Are you in pain?" The doctor touched his shoulder.
"Mmm." He nodded sluggishly.
"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate it?"
"Five." He murmured.
"Okay, I'm gonna give you some morphine. Is that better?"
A little bit of the burning ache dissolved, "Why can't I move?" Mitch asked, a touch of concern reaching his blurry mind.
"Don't worry. You might just be very weak from the trauma. You almost died. That's normal." The doctor slid an index finger into Mitch's palm, "Squeeze that for me?"
Mitch complied, closing his fingers around the doctor's.
"Okay, that was a little weak. It might take some time to fully recover your strength, but you're doing fine."
Kirstie, her arms folded against her chest, rocked nervously from foot to foot, "And if he can't? I've heard of people getting paralyzed from wounds like this. Are you sure he'll be okay?"
"The only reason he'd be paralyzed is if the wound threw a blood clot and it got caught somewhere in his system, blocking blood flow to part of his body. It is a valid concern, but," The doctor moved to the foot of the bed and pulled a pen out of his coat pocket, "Feel that, Mitch?" He jabbed Mitch in both thighs with the end of the ballpoint.
"Yeah."
"Any numbness?"
"A little."
"You're fine. It'll be a rough road. Lots of physical therapy, lots of pain, but you should recover. Almost fully if you improve the way I hope."
Mitch exhaled, letting his eyes slide shut again. He was too exhausted to feel much of anything, too slow and weak to want anything more than to sleep, but the relief was enough to make him almost tear up.
"Almost fully? What does that mean?" Scott frowned, "You mean he could be in a wheelchair, what?"
"No," the doctor shook his head, and seemed shocked by Scott's conclusion, "Just, the scars of course. And maybe some weakness in his lungs. Won't be able to work out as hard as he used to, or exert himself too much without getting shortness of breath. We're looking for lungs, and Mitch is on the list for the organ bank, but since his is working okay, I doubt he'll get a new one."
"But can he still sing?" Kirstie asked thoughtfully, her finger twirling a lock of hair behind her ear, "Pentatonix is gonna be okay, right?"
"Come on. We should probably let him sleep." The doctor gestured.
"No." Mitch stopped them as they began to turn away, "I can still sing. Right?"
The doctor meshed his fingers together, "You should. You'll have to relearn some things. You may not be able to sing with the same power, and some things might be different. Hard to say."
A silence grew in the room like an unpleasant aroma.
But the doctor broke it, "Who knows. You might not even notice a change." He fidgeted with his tie, "But I'll tell you what: you're not gonna get any better if you don't get as much sleep as you can. Come on, Scott. Kirstie."
"I want them to stay."
He stopped, and looked like he might say no, but he glanced between the trio and smiled, "Okay. But promise me you'll get some rest." The man in the white coat left, the door hissing to a close as the pump gently pulled it into place.
Mitch felt terrible. He didn't feel like himself. He felt more like a zombie, or a vegetable, lying helpless on this bed. His personality was absent, and it left something behind that scared him; he was void of almost all emotion, and his body was so numb. When he spoke, a different voice came out-one that was hollow and dull. Tired. His mannerisms had transformed into someone else's.
"How are you doing? Want anything? I think there's a Starbucks downstairs." Scott sank into one of the chairs beside the bed.
Mitch had noticed that both chairs were imprinted with the shape of two distinct bodies: Kirstie's delicate, curved hips and back, and Scott's familiar sitting position. They'd both been sitting there for a long time.
"No. It's okay." Mitch managed, "I just don't want you to leave."
"We'll be here as long as you need us." Kirstie knelt by the bed and gripped Mitch's hand, her thumb tracing circles on his skin, "And don't worry. You'll be up soon, and your voice will be fine."
Mitch turned his head to see her eyes where they watched him with a mixture of concern and relief, then turned his gaze to Scott.
The blonde was...crying.
"Hey, I'm okay." Mitch reassured him, but it only made a tear run from one of his brimming eyes.
Scott wiped them away with an uneasy smile, embarrassed, but that didn't do anything to stop the flow, so he gave up. Instead, he leaned closer, his elbows supporting his weight on the edge of the mattress, and his shoulder touching Kirstie's. "You're not okay, Mitch. Someone tried to kill you." His face crumpled as the tears flowed freely. Maybe it was the stress and agony of the last two days, or maybe it was the overwhelming joy of getting to see those brown eyes again, but everything crashed down on him, and he lost the will to keep it back. His voice rose with emotion, "I almost lost you."
"Hey. No." Mitch pulled his hand from Kirstie's and touched the side of Scott's face. The motion made him dizzy and the muscles in his arm were already trembling with exertion, but he maintained the contact with Scott's jaw. "I'm fine. I don't want you to cry."
Scott just took the small, thin hand, and held it to his forehead as he dissolved into sobs.
Kirstie shed some tears of her own, and tried to disguise them by playing with a lock of hair that had fallen free of her messy bun. She stood and turned around when one fell down her cheek. Mitch didn't know why she was trying to conceal her tears; maybe she was trying to keep it together because he'd asked, or maybe she was simply ashamed.
"I'll go to Starbucks if anyone wants anything?"
Nobody answered, so she just watched out the window.