I enter the room, the bottoms of my stocking feet creeping softly to the
bed. Under the pale sheets and down-filled comforter lies the only man I've
ever loved and my heart bleeds in my chest, strained with the battle
against holding in tears. My mouth is a tight line, the rigid expression
wavering under the pressure I'm putting on it not to release an emotion-
filled sob.
I kneel at his bedside, doing my best to be silent. It's been two painful days, and he's shown no signs of waking. Clutching his hand in my own, my tears finally escape, filling my eyes and pouring down my cheeks in transparent rivers. I duck my head and weep, the tears falling onto my wrinkled clothes.
I haven't changed my outfit since they returned, bringing the marred form of him with them. He was laid on the bed in the sick bay immediately and they stepped back, grief filling every inch of their faces. I knew the minute I stepped into the home that something was wrong. The whole atmosphere had changed and the poignant feeling that surrounded me shocked all the exuberance from my system.
And now I sit, alone with his lifeless figure, buried deep in blankets. My thoughts tumble with pessimistic scenarios of what consequences could be facing him as I look on. He shifts, a soundless moan escaping his insipid lips in a whoosh of shallow air. I know in his dreams he's fighting some unknown force, one trying to pull him away from me.
I won't let it.
His icy hand moves in mine and I raise my head, wondering if perhaps he is about to awaken. My heart quickens, beating vehemently as I hold my breath. As my stomach ties itself in expectant knots, the breeze from the window flutters his flaxen hair, pushing it off his damp forehead. I'm waiting for those blue eyes to flicker open and peer up at me, while his incoherent mind speculates what exactly is going on.
I pray silently to whoever will listen, pleading for the young life slipping from my grasp. It's too soon, too early for him to go. He has to stay until he's fulfilled his duty to the world and justice is brought to the person who put his existence in danger. Everything else is insignificant until he is safe in my arms again. After that, I'll never let him go.
I don't know how long I sit there, staring at his tranquil features in the moonlight streaming through the parted curtains. However long it takes, I'll be here, at his side until he recovers. When that will happen, no one knows. But I'll be here when he wakes up, I promised his unconscious shape that I would be. I don't intend to break that pledge.
He stirs and I'm immediately on my feet, gazing down at him, apprehensive but hopeful all the same. According to the clock on the table across the room, it's nearly midnight but I don't feel the exhaustion wanting to overtake my body. His eyelashes tremble slightly, the lids not ready to unlock and expose his cerulean eyes. I squeeze his hand again, willing him to come around.
But he doesn't, and I sink back to my knees on the unsympathetic wooden floor. It's cold under my bare legs but I disregard the feeling and concentrate only on begging for his protection from whatever evils are skirmishing for his spirit. The hours tick by unnoticed as I stare at our entwined hands in a trance. My tears trickle noiselessly down my face and my vision blurs, leaving me with nothing but a hazy picture. The colours blend like diluted paints, bathed in the light of the moon.
When he wakes I'll be here, waiting to hug him and by no means release my hold.
I kneel at his bedside, doing my best to be silent. It's been two painful days, and he's shown no signs of waking. Clutching his hand in my own, my tears finally escape, filling my eyes and pouring down my cheeks in transparent rivers. I duck my head and weep, the tears falling onto my wrinkled clothes.
I haven't changed my outfit since they returned, bringing the marred form of him with them. He was laid on the bed in the sick bay immediately and they stepped back, grief filling every inch of their faces. I knew the minute I stepped into the home that something was wrong. The whole atmosphere had changed and the poignant feeling that surrounded me shocked all the exuberance from my system.
And now I sit, alone with his lifeless figure, buried deep in blankets. My thoughts tumble with pessimistic scenarios of what consequences could be facing him as I look on. He shifts, a soundless moan escaping his insipid lips in a whoosh of shallow air. I know in his dreams he's fighting some unknown force, one trying to pull him away from me.
I won't let it.
His icy hand moves in mine and I raise my head, wondering if perhaps he is about to awaken. My heart quickens, beating vehemently as I hold my breath. As my stomach ties itself in expectant knots, the breeze from the window flutters his flaxen hair, pushing it off his damp forehead. I'm waiting for those blue eyes to flicker open and peer up at me, while his incoherent mind speculates what exactly is going on.
I pray silently to whoever will listen, pleading for the young life slipping from my grasp. It's too soon, too early for him to go. He has to stay until he's fulfilled his duty to the world and justice is brought to the person who put his existence in danger. Everything else is insignificant until he is safe in my arms again. After that, I'll never let him go.
I don't know how long I sit there, staring at his tranquil features in the moonlight streaming through the parted curtains. However long it takes, I'll be here, at his side until he recovers. When that will happen, no one knows. But I'll be here when he wakes up, I promised his unconscious shape that I would be. I don't intend to break that pledge.
He stirs and I'm immediately on my feet, gazing down at him, apprehensive but hopeful all the same. According to the clock on the table across the room, it's nearly midnight but I don't feel the exhaustion wanting to overtake my body. His eyelashes tremble slightly, the lids not ready to unlock and expose his cerulean eyes. I squeeze his hand again, willing him to come around.
But he doesn't, and I sink back to my knees on the unsympathetic wooden floor. It's cold under my bare legs but I disregard the feeling and concentrate only on begging for his protection from whatever evils are skirmishing for his spirit. The hours tick by unnoticed as I stare at our entwined hands in a trance. My tears trickle noiselessly down my face and my vision blurs, leaving me with nothing but a hazy picture. The colours blend like diluted paints, bathed in the light of the moon.
When he wakes I'll be here, waiting to hug him and by no means release my hold.