14) Hero by Enrique Iglesias
-_-
He was my hero. He would always be my knight in shining armour.
Seeing him here, broken and bloody, eye swollen shut, his beautiful face a multitude of bruised colours, purple, red, black, cut me deeper than any knife ever could.
'Does he know I'm here?' I asked, my voice hoarse with tears already shed, my eyes brimming with ones yet to fall.
The doctor shook her head, the glass beads on the ends of her many plaits clinking. 'NO, I'm sorry. You can go see him though. Talk to him, let him know you're here for him, you're not going anywhere until he wakes up.'
I wheeled my hospital issue wheelchair forward, taking his unbroken left hand in mine. The gold wedding band glimmered faintly in the artificial light of the hospital room.
My last reserves of self-control shattered like glass, and the tears began to fall once again. 'Please, don't do this to me, I don't think I could live without you, you're my everything. Give me a sign that you're still in there, squeeze my hand, anything!' I cried bitterly over our clasped hands, salty tears dripping from my nose into the ridges of our once soft palms, mine now heavily bandaged, his scarred from an explosion eight years ago.
He had cheated death so many times, why should this be any different?
A voice piped up inside my head, a nasty, malicious voice. 'Because it's your fault!' it kept saying, over and over again, breaking my heart into a million irreparable pieces, letting loose a flood of memories, one for every piece.
The day we met. It was raining heavily, and he'd ducked into a cafe to avoid the torrential downpour, bumping into me, tray in hand. Coffee slopped over the brim of the mugs, splashing on the tray and then the floor. I tried to swerve around him, but I stepped in the coffee and my feet went out from under me. As fast as a striking snake his hand was there, saving my dignity, but the tray went crashing to the floor, smashing the mugs. Even back then, he was my hero. I smoothed my uniform and looked properly at my saviour. Messy blond hair, carefully gelled into disarray, deep brown eyes that were wise beyond his years, and a friendly mouth, one that knew how to smile. That was rare in these dangerous times. He was still holding my arm, so I looked pointedly at it until he let go. 'Thanks.'
I crouched down, picking up the shards of china. One of the pieces sliced along the pad of my thumb, blood beading in a line. A warm hand enclosed mine, and a cotton ball appeared from nowhere, gently wiping the blood away, leaving a faint pink line. The mysterious man handed me a band-aid, before helping me gather the rest of the pieces. 'Greg Sanders.' He introduced himself.
'Amy Marsden.' I smiled at him, watching the concentration on his face as he picked tiny slivers of white china out of a rapidly spreading pool of cooling coffee. 'Excuse me.' I went for the mop, but when I got back, there was a pile of china balanced on the discarded tray, a business card tucked into the bottom of the pile, a mobile number hand-written on the bottom. Greg was nowhere to be seen. Smiling discreetly, I tucked his card into my apron pocket. I didn't know whether I would ever ring him, but the thrill of dating a stranger was there, ready to be taken.
The tears fell, the salt stinging the raw graze on my face, the one that had not yet been cleaned and dressed because I had come to see Greg as soon as I regained consciousness. Another memory struck me, the night he proposed, three years to the day we first met.
We walked into the restaurant, moving past the couples enjoying romantic meals, bottles of wine in buckets of ice, rose petals strewn on the table, Italians with violins serenading the room from a small stage at the back of the restaurant. The maitre' de showed us to a tiny table, separate from the rest, close enough to hear the music, but far enough away to speak privately.
I remember the sparkle in his eyes as he ordered the wine, the permanent grin on his face the dreamy expression as he pulled out the small ring box, opening it to show me the gorgeous white gold ring, a diamond set in the centre, surrounded by tiny sapphires, the exact colour of my eyes , the single tear sliding down his face as he told me that the last three years had been the happiest of his life.
I'd stood by him, through thick and thin, when our friend Warrick died and he fell apart. When Catherine, Gil and Jim died, I talked him down from a ledge so many times. It physically hurt me to see him like this, but it hurt more when he broke down in my arms, asking why it hadn't been him. It took a long time, but eventually, we got our Greggo back.
Tears falling down my face, mixing with mascara and happiness, I told him yes, I would marry him. We would be joined together forever, however long forever might be.
More memories, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.
Our wedding day
Together forever
Warrick's funeral
Together forever
The birth of our child, just over two months ago
Together forever
Getting the call about Gil, Catherine and Jim
Together forever. We were supposed to be together forever. I cursed God, and Allah, and every other God in the sky who took Greg from me, and I didn't know whether I would get him back. I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the ventilator breathing for him.
I couldn't do this. I reluctantly released his hand and wheeled myself awkwardly out of the room.
Stopping outside the door, I slid it shut gently, muffling the steady beep of the heart monitor, the sound of death inching closer and closer.
A tall, dark-skinned man in a white coat approached me solemnly, followed by Sara and Nick, holding their kits, Sara fighting back the tears, Nick not far behind.
'What happened?' he asked solemnly, looking sadly into his room, his large chocolate eyes swimming.
'We were walking home from the cemetery when I was jumped. Greg came to my rescue, but they kept hitting him and kicking him. I was screaming at them, but they wouldn't stop. I couldn't get to him, there were too many, this is all my fault-' I broke off, hysterical. Sara bent down awkwardly and hugged me. I could smell her perfume; she'd obviously been called in on her day off. When she drew back there were tears running down her face.
'I uh, I need to process you, Nick's gonna process Greg.' she said softly, setting her kit on the floor and opening it, pulling out a pair of gloves, pushing my chair back to my room, across from Greg.
She was scraping under my nails when it happened. A loud, high-pitched whine erupted from Greg's room, and Nick burst out, shouting for a doctor. I struggled into my chair again, wheeling feverishly across the hall, only to be told I would have to wait at the door.
I sat at the glass, watching the hands flying over his body. All sound filtered out, and all I could hear was the whining and the sudden burst of electricity, shocking his heart back to life. Ten minutes and fifty six seconds later- I don't know how I was so accurate, just that I was-, the hands fell still. One doctor, the dark skinned one from before looked at his watch and called the time of death.
My heart stopped. Icy liquid filed my veins, and I sat, frozen, until they pulled a sheet over his face, obscuring him from view. I sat there until Nick pushed me back to my room, the tears falling from his liquid coffee eyes.
I don't know how long I just sat. I remember the world moving past me, I remember Greg's body being wheeled down the hall, down to the morgue.
And then it came. The day of his funeral.
Out of the wheelchair by now, I stood by his grave, throwing a handful of dirt onto the coffin. Everyone had turned up, he was a well-liked guy. Had been a well-liked guy, I reminded myself.
We buried him next to Warrick, Gil on Warrick's other side, followed by Catherine, then Jim.
The inscription on the headstone was simple.
Greg Sanders.
1975-2011
Hero.
-_-
Okay, hands up those who weren't in tears. That's what I thought. I was in tears writing the thing :D
Also, I know I said this would be Hot n Cold, Katy Perry. I lied. So sue me.