The veins in his neck were bulging, throbbing and the look in the man's eyes was murderous. Arnold struggled to breathe struggled against the man who he could tell wanted him dead. "Mr. Pataki," Arnold managed to eke out, albeit hoarsely.

"If you knew what was good for you, you would shut up."

Miriam wrapped a slender hand around Bob's bicep. "Let him down B, he's just a little boy."

"Let me tell you what he did Miriam. He's the reason she's in here. He was supposed to be shot and she saved him. This coward let our little girl jump in front of a bullet meant for him." His voiced cracked thinking about his daughter.

Saying those words made Bob's fury stronger as he lifted the wriggling boy higher.

"You should be in there fighting for your life, not Helga."

Miriam pleaded with him but her words were falling on deaf ears. Meanwhile Arnold was struggling to breathe, his face shaded a deep crimson.

"This little fucking orphan has been ruining our daughter's life for years and now he—"

Bob didn't know what happened but he fell to his knees gasping for air. The wind was knocked out of him as two frail figures stood in front of him.

"Pataki, I heard about Helga and I'm really sorry but that gives you no right to lay your hands on my kid." Turning around, Phil Shortman helped his grandson up, asking a nurse to have him checked.

Bob grumbled and cursed but he couldn't move. The older woman had a boot to his throat and every time he squirmed she applied pressure to it. When Arnold was found to be okay, Gertie released him. The bad-tempered man was more embarrassed than anything. Pointing at Arnold he warned the shaken teen in a low, threatening tone. "Stay away from her. If you set foot anywhere near her again, I'll kill you."

Miriam gasped at her husband's statement. Sure he was grieving, they both were but it didn't give Bob the right to threaten a teenager, especially one Helga cherished. Phil with ice in his eyes and venom in his voice fired back, swatting Bob's finger away from his grandson. "And if you touch Arnold again, I'll kill you." Arnold walked towards his grandfather and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. This was getting out of control and none of it was helping Helga, this fighting wouldn't make her better. "He's right grandpa, what happened to Helga was my fault."

Dejectedly, Arnold walked towards the elevators, his eyes never leaving Helga's room. Seeing the pain in his eyes a nearby nurse slipped her card in Arnold's palm with a message to call if he wanted to visit Helga and she would let him know when Bob wasn't around. Arnold smiled his thanks and clutched the card in his hand.

One month later saw Helga making little progress and Arnold continuing his daily routine of visiting Helga 30 minutes before visiting hours were over. If he had it his way he would never leave the room, but with Big Bob lurking around he knew getting caught wasn't an option. Luckily the kind nurse who called him about the best time to visit always told him about Helga's progress.

Arnold's life became consumed by four activities. All he did was eat, sleep, go to school, and visit Helga. Everyone was worried about the teen, but he continued his ritual knowing one day Helga would open her eyes. His grand parents suggested he take a vacation to clear his head and rejuvenate himself. He balked at the idea; insulted they would suggest anything that would take him away from Helga. Gerald invited him to parties, basketball games, anything to get him away from the hospital but it only made the green-eyed teen more despondent. Even Lila who was now a passing acquaintance asked that he go to church with her, which he would have done if Sunday wasn't the only day the Patakis didn't visit the hospital. He needed all the time he could get with his catatonic friend. Although he felt guilty he hoped God could forgive him.

"Hey Helga, how are you doing today?" He smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead before sitting beside her.

"You look good. You're getting some color back in your cheeks." Placing his hand over hers he held it momentarily, his hands grazing the bullet wound on her side. "You're even healing quickly."

In the back of his mind he hoped this was some elaborate prank and she would just wake up and tease him for being so gullible. As time went on he knew the likelihood of it happening was slim to none. Despite visiting her every day, it was hard to see her like this.

"I have some bad news…I talked to your nurses. They told me you're a 5 on some coma scale. They said it means you have a 53% chance of dying." He grabbed her hand, squeezing it more for his own comfort than hers. Everything he read told him the longer she stayed in a coma, the smaller her chances for survival were. She was already past a month. Most people didn't wake up. If they did, they had life-changing injuries (loss of memory, speech, personality shifts and a decrease in mobility were some of the effects of being in a long-term coma). He knew her chances at this point were entering miracle territory, but something deep inside told him not go give up hope, so he didn't, and he told her he wouldn't every day he visited. "But that only means you have a 47% chance of surviving. They don't know you like I do. They don't know how strong you are." Reaching in his backpack he pulled out a small rectangular object, waving it in the air. "Alright are you ready?"

Helga was lying on the pier, feet skimming the water while holding hands with her beloved. She didn't know how long she'd been in this Shangri-la but she knew it had been the best time of her life. Everything was perfect here—perfect scenery, perfect weather, and perfect company. Looking over at him, his eyes closed and his smile contented she asked, "what are you thinking about?"

He opened up his eyes to peer into hers "You. How happy I am here with you. How I don't want you to leave my side." Picking up her hand he traced his lips over her knuckles, kissing each one. "Promise you'll stay with me," he whispered, voice full of fear and desperation.

She sat up slightly, alarmed by his tone. How could he think she'd ever want to leave him?

"Arnold, you're my dream. You're everything I ever wanted. I could never leave you."

He beamed then looking completely relieved. "Good, because I'm worried they'll take you away from me." His eyes began to well and her heart broke for him.

She wondered who he meant, wondered how anyone could tear her away from this. With eyes full of determination and love bursting at the seams she wiped his tear away, kissing the apple of his cheek. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away." He nuzzled into the crook of her neck at her words. This was his safe place and there was no way he was letting her go. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her side which made her wince. She never remembered experiencing pain. Everything was good here, pain never existed before this moment. And the feeling amplified now that there was a word to tie to the sensation. One minute she was smiling and the next she was doubled over holding her side with trembling hands.

Growing concerned Arnold leaped up and grabbed the spot of her discomfort, twining their hands together to apply pressure to it. The moment his hand touched hers the pain dissipated and she appeared to be fine.

She leaned back then, listening to the water underneath her and molding her body back to his. She tried to forget but she couldn't. She was naturally curious and still shaken up over the phantom pain. She tried to snuggle back into Arnold and forget it all but the memory of what just happened kept looming in her mind.

Closing his eyes Arnold let the pages from the rectangular book shuffle before picking a random poem. It became their daily ritual and he always thought it made Helga happy. It started when he found a book of poems that spilled out of her backpack during the shooting. The Pablo Neruda poem book seemed so out of character for Helga that at first he didn't think it was hers. When he saw the skull and crossbones sticker next to a doodle of a bouquet of wildflowers in the inner flap, he knew this book was unmistakably hers. Curiosity getting the better of him he picked it up when he grabbed her belongings for the ambulance ride and took it home. Every day he would pick a random poem and read it to her. "Today's poem is called: Don't go far Off." Clearing his throat he began.

"Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -
because - I don't know how to say it:
a day is long and I will be waiting for you,"

He closed the book and shook his head. This poem was making his heart race and eyes slightly water, but he continued. He had to.
"as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else,
asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home
will drift into me, choking my lost heart."

His body felt heavy and he began stuttering when he read. These words hit too close to home. These words were his own, bleeding on the page before him only to be heard by Helga's ears. He both dreading and anticipated the next lines.

"Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, "

He began reading, softer now as he internalized the words to his situation. Helga was life and love and light and he was dying little by little without her. Looking at her now, knowing her odds made every word he read divinely inspired, every letter assembled on the page became essential. It was more than a poem—it was a history lesson, it was a message, a declaration. They were the words nestled deep in his heart that he was conveying to the one who owned it.

"because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?"*

Putting the book down he closed his eyes for a second and drew a deep breath, emotionally exhausted. He slumped closer to her now needing close contact. He was dizzy, heady and angry with himself. He'd been so blind before, so stupid. How could he not have known what she meant to him? He only hoped he could tell her soon.

*The poem is Paolo Neruda's Don't Go Far Off.