Heya ppls! So sorry it took so long to update this, but i've been hella busy. This will be the final chappy of this story, hope you like it! Happy New Year to all!!-Kik
The poorly cooked cheeseburger lay uneaten on the cafeteria tray beside his bed. His anxiety was so intense, Michael had to force a few fries down his throat, just to keep Donna off his back. The clock read one-thirty…he had no idea when Sara was coming, exactly, but he wished it was sooner rather than later. His eyes itched to see her again.
Drumming restless fingers against the plastic of the tray, his mind wandered through the many short-lived memories he had of her. From the day they met in the infirmary, to that horrible moment when Lincoln was killed…and she had held him.
The unsteady tray nearly toppled when the door to his room opened. Michael's eyes shot toward the sound of footsteps…but his brow furrowed when Donna entered.
"Done with lunch? Oh…come on now, you barely ate! You'll be starving by supper, Michael." The old lady's concern for him was touching, but he still would not make the effort to speak to her.
His words, for now, would be directed to one person only…
And that one person had just now stepped into the doorway.
His pulse seemed to beat through his ears, throat, and wrists as she took a few hesitant steps into the room.
Donna gathered the cold lunch tray and nodded in Sara's direction.
"Now if he tries to act out like he did last time, just press that button over by the doorknob. Someone'll come right away. I don't think you have anything to worry about though, Michael's never tried to hurt a fly in this place."
Sara seemed to find the nurse's words laughable. A small grin splayed onto her features as she held open the door for Donna.
"I know he wouldn't. Everything will be fine, thank you."
With a soft click the door closed, leaving Michael and Sara alone once again. How he wished they could be somewhere else, in a movie theatre or a ridiculously high-priced restaurant.
Not here, in a mental home. In a white room that looked and felt lifeless. But here they were, and the only thing he could do was make the best of it.
If only the tension would dissipate…
"Michael?" The word registered as barely a whisper, spoken with caution to test his current mentality.
He offered only a nod to show her he was listening.
Why he didn't answer, he was not sure.
The moment needed to come, when the right words were hovering on his tongue and he knew exactly what to say. Right now they were straining in his throat, burning for release.
Michael motioned for her to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. A desperate move, it seemed, but he was past the point of desperation now.
He HAD to end this silence…
He registered the weight on the bed beside him as she sat.
She was so calm, even after what had happened the previous day.
It was as if she'd completely forgotten it…..
Michael would get it right this time.
He would make sure that there was no need for a 'third time's the charm' scenario.
Sara smiled and seemed to be waiting with infinite patience.
And he had absolutely no idea what to say.
"I hope you're feeling better today, Michael."
He was relieved and frustrated at the same time upon hearing her words.
She was trying to make some kind of conversation, with a man that was thought to be mute. And yet, the way she said it, made him feel the full weight of her pity towards him. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want her to treat him like everyone else in the building did…
Like a mental patient.
She had to know.
He had to tell her.
"I'm not crazy…" For the first time in seven long months, he spoke to another living being.
Sara's eyes grew wide the moment she realized the whisper had come from him. Her mouth fell open for a hair of a second, before her lips closed and raised in the slightest of smiles.
"I knew that months ago when they put you in here. It's good to hear your voice, Michael."
Relief hit him like a category 5 hurricane. He had never been so happy to speak to someone.
Now, he felt as if thousands of different sentences were threatening to come rushing forth. And many of them started with 'I missed you, I love you….'.
Michael swallowed the latter part down quickly.
"Sara. I…I'm glad you're here."
He nearly smacked himself for not telling her that he missed her…
But his words had the desired effect, because the woman next to him reached forward to place a hand on his.
Just like the previous day…
Her eyes bore into his with anticipation, watching him for any signs of panic on his part. He sat perfectly still, moving only to wrap his fingers around her own.
His breath caught in his throat.
But he made no move to run.
Sara's eyes lowered to their joined hands, softening visibly, but containing a hint of confusion. Michael knew exactly why.
"I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. It's been so long, that part of me insisted that I was just imagining you there. And then, when you touched me…" His voice trailed as she nodded.
"I moved too quickly. But, Michael…if the nurses could see how much progress you can make in just one day, they'd know what I know. That you don't belong in here."
A sudden nervousness settled in his stomach at her words.
Talking so easily to Sara was one thing-- if there was ever anyone who could make him feel comfortable it would be her-- but….Donna, his doctor, the judge who sent him to this he really speak to them like this? After living in silence for over half-a-year?
"I don't know if I can, Sara. Not so easily. Maybe Donna, but…."
"Michael." Cutting him off Sara gripped his hand tighter in hers, getting his full attention and making him realize her insistence.
He forced himself not to stare at her lips as they moved.
"I'm not asking you to suddenly break out into friendly conversation with the staff right this second. But, please, listen to yourself. You aren't mute, and you aren't insane. Clinically depressed, yes. On the verge of manic depression, maybe. But not insane, Michael. You can be treated, you can go to therapy, and you can get out of this place. You just have to try."
Michael felt a familiar warmth tingle in his chest, the warmth that only Sara could cause, as he listened to her words of encouragement.
It was astounding how much faith she had in him, after not seeing or speaking to him in such a length of time.
In the seemingly never ending months he had spent in his little white room, Michael had lived in a self-constructed grave, a hole that trapped him in his own world of sadness and insecurity, so dark that not even the bright lights above him could seem to break through.
His nurses had tried to talk to him, work with him, and pull him out of the hole so many times before.
But none had succeeded. And now he knew why.
No-one could help him like Sara could.
It was just another reminder of what he felt for her, what they could have had…what they could still have. For the first time since his brothers' death, Michael smiled and felt something achingly close to contentment.
He and Sara sat in silence once again, but it was quiet moment of consideration and understanding. He felt his throat burn to say the three words that had been ringing in his mind for well over a year, but he knew to force them down as before.
It was not the time. But the time could come, he knew, now that Sara had walked back into his life and saved him.
"Sara."
He voice was smooth and clear now, re-energized with hope.
As her head raised from staring at their hands, Michael jerked forward on her arm.
And sighed in relief as they met in a much needed embrace.
"Thank you…"
He could feel the stray tear fall down her cheek onto his, but he did not move to wipe it away.
It was probably the first time Sara had cried out of joy, and he would not take that feeling away from her.
Instead he buried his face into her shortened auburn hair and breathed deep, the scent reminding him that she was there, and she was real, and one day, if he tried, he could walk out of this brightly lit room with her forever.
Michael opened his eyes and looked up.
The room has never looked so bright before this day.