I know, I'm terrible. Assuming more frequent uploads, and then uploading 956395 years later. I owe up to it.
So from here, things are going to get a little bit interesting. A little bit conniving in the next chapter or so.
Enjoy!
When Eli's eyes flutter open, he almost wishes that they hadn't. There's a faint beeping in the background, and he quickly realizes that he's hooked onto some sort of hospital machine- the ones you see in movies after some dramatic accident occurs. The weird thing is, his memory isn't all fuzzy like he had expected it to be. On the contrary, he remembers everything perfectly.
And for whatever reason, just shortly after the impact, he was conscious again and was able to open his eyes- just for a little while. He remembers seeing the pool of blood and jagged pieces of glass surround him. The glass was sharp, scratching and cutting him in every part of his body. Several places were severely gouged and scraped, but he was too disoriented to feel it hurting him. He remembers feeling oddly stiff, like he couldn't move. His seatbelt was still strapped across his chest, and it dug into him like a sheet of glass being pushed into cement. He was sure there would be an imprint left on his skin.
Then he saw Clare.
If he could make a sound with his throat, he would have let out a horrifying scream. He thinks that's when he fell back into darkness- the shock and fear of seeing Clare in that horrific state was too traumatic.
He could not see her pretty cinnamon curls, because her entire head had been drenched in fiery-red blood. His mind immediately flashed to Invisible Monster, and if that wasn't enough, she was still. She was slumped forward in a crooked position, completely out of her seat. Her seatbelt was not on. Her head must have crashed through the glass. Everything came onto him at once.
Alone in the hospital room, Eli Goldsworthy starts to cry.
He doesn't want to remember this. Even if this is one hell of a nightmare, he wants it eradicated from his mind.
He spends the next while trying to convince himself that all of this is too surreal to be real. He must be hallucinating.
"Clare?" he croaks. His voice is scratchy like a broken record, and it hurts to talk. He feels parched, like he hadn't drunk anything in ages.
"You're awake!" A nurse says in relief, bustling in with slightly winded look to her face. "How are you feeling, Mr. Goldsworthy?"
"Clare," he says again hoarsely, wanting to rub the tears away, but unable to. His extremities feel heavy like stone, and he feels beyond exhausted. He welcomes sleep. He welcomes rest. Only, he can't let himself rest without knowing one thing.
Eli endeavours to speak louder, more clearly, but if he attempts more words he's sure his tongue would crackle and dry out like a prune altogether.
The nurse wrinkles her brows together. "I'm sorry?"
"Clare," he repeats, a little more impatiently this time. When the nurse's confused expression doesn't waver, his frustration becomes visible on his face. I just want to see Clare, damn it. "Edwards."
"Oh, Clare Edwards," she says slowly, talking to him as if he's a five year old. "What exactly is your relation to her, anyway?"
My best friend? My lover? My flipping everything?
"My girlfriend," he says roughly.
"Oh, that's nice," she says pensively. "How long have you two been together?"
She's stalling, it's so obvious. "Where's Clare?" he demands, irritated.
"Why don't you drink up?" she suggests, handing her the glass. "I'm sure everything is quite muddled and confusing-"
"No, I-"
"It's cool, it'll soothe your throat," the nurse continues to push, helping him sit up and thrusting the glass at him. "You need to-"
"Fucking hell, where's Clare?" he growls, and in his immense frustration, his water goes tumbling down onto the throat indeed sears as if inhaling white-hot flaming oxygen, but he refuses to give her the satisfaction. The nurse gulps, glancing from the spilled water to Eli with a slightly fearful look on her face.
"Mr. Goldsworthy, please relax-" she implores, reaching out to adjust his pillow.
"Tell me what you know!" he shouts at her, not caring that his throat is blazing, or that his tongue may shrivel up any second. He roughly shoves her hands away, struggling against her, resisting.
"Please don't yell!" she begs.
"I just- I need to know!" he cries out in anguish, a rippling sob crackling down his spine. He inhales raggedly, as if tormented by his own ignorance.
A gentle knock sounds from the door, and it swings open shortly after.
"Elijah Goldsworthy?" another nurse asks, looking from her clipboard to him.
"What?" he says harshly, glaring at her through his agonizing tears. With much effort, he lifts up his left arm just enough to rub his eyes.
"There's someone here to see you," she says stepping backwards to reveal Adam. "The doctor will be in very soon to run a couple of tests."
"Do you mind?" he addresses the other nurse coldly.
She shakes her head, looking guilty, and leaves the room without a single word.
"Dude, what happened?" Adam asks at once, looking helpless. He appears dishevelled and frazzled, more messy than usual if possible. "I-what happened?"
"It was my fault," he croaks at once, burying his face in his palms. The walls come down in front of Adam. Eli doesn't care that he's ugly crying in front of him, no. He feels overwhelmed and guilty and distressed and everything bad that a person can possibly feel. "I hit the brakes and I was being stupid and we were disagreeing about something I shouldn't care for and it's all my fault-"
"Stop," Adam says, putting his hands out and wincing. "And slow down. How did it start? All I know was that you guys were out for breakfast when- when this happened."
"Noo," Eli moans. "I was so stupid, damn it!"
"I'm sorry," Adam says quietly, wishing he could be of some help. He squeeze's Eli's shoulder, letting go almost immediately when he flinched in pain.
"Have you seen Clare?" Eli asks desperately. "I need to apologize to her."
Adam shakes his head sorrowfully. "They're not letting any visitors in the intensive care unit."
"She's there?" he chokes, turning pale. What little blood left on the face quickly drains, leaving him whiter than a sheet of paper. Unable to console, unable to be of any help to his best friend, Adam scrunches his shoulders together in hopes of making himself smaller, somehow less significant. He guiltily watches Eli's lower lips quiver, yearning to comfort, wanting to reduce some of the pain.
"She…she wasn't wearing her seatbelt, was she?" Adam asks in a tiny voice, hating himself for having to ask.
"No," Eli whimpers. "Oh, God no."
He was already so far in, he might as well rip the bandage off right then and there.
"And I probably should mention… her parents are here," he says, wringing his wrists.
Eli looks as if he might hyperventilate and pass out.
"They're waiting outside her room," Adam informs regretfully, as uncomfortable as a person can be. "I past by them while walking here, and I think her mom recognized me. She was too shell-shocked to say anything, though. She and Clare's dad were just sitting there, blank-faced and not shedding a single tear- you'd think it some distant cousin in there instead of their only daughter by the looks of their- what do you think you're doing?!"
Eli, despite being attached to a machine by the means of a dozen tubes, begins to heave his sorry body off the bed. Every little movement made seems to have hurt him deeply, as he cringes and grits his teeth- as only a solider would, forcing himself to endure abysmal pain. To a certain degree, Eli's a fighter. He'll fight for what he wants. But more than that, he's a lover and he'll fight for who he loves.
And fuck, it really is a fight. Through his heavy bandages, he can still feel the tender stinging of his open wounds. He thinks of the time he thought it was a fucking fantastic idea to make lemonade with Clare after a deep paper cut. That pain, multiplied by at least ten. His knees wobble, and Adam hastens to hook his hands under his armpits before he collapses on the hospital floor.
"What the actual hell, man!?" Adam grunts, struggling to lift him back on the bed.
"I need to see Clare," he says stubbornly, pushing against him. The sorrow is replaced by blazing determination. For the umpteenth time, he scrubs his eyes raw, stopping the tears from rolling down his face. They're blood-shot, but determined nonetheless.
"Please, choose another time to be crazy," Adam begs, shoving him as gingerly as possible. "You're living off a machine right now, Eli. You're walking on insanely thin ice."
"I have to make sure she's okay," Eli says, not listening to a single word he was saying. "It's my responsibility to make sure she's okay."
"You're not a doctor, you can't do anything-"
"You don't understand," Eli presses obstinately. "I have to-"
"You don't have to do anything but lie sit your ass down and rest," Adam says sternly. The desperate, helpful edge of his voice lingers. "Please. There's nothing else you can do."
"But she's going to be okay, right?" Eli asks expectantly. When Adam doesn't immediately answers, he narrows his eyes. "Right?"
"Stay here, I'll go get you something to eat," he says, averting his gaze.
"Fuck, Adam, tell me the truth!" Eli growls, grasping his wrist before he could leave.
There's a long, drawled-out silence. Eli stares intensely at Adam, while Adam stares helplessly at the ground.
"I don't know," he whispers, shaking away Eli's grip. "Let me get you something to eat."
Utterly defeated, overwhelmed, and broken beyond comprehension, he plops back down on his bed. Face-down against his pillow, he lets out a roar of sheer anger, frustration, and hollowness.
He has no choice but to play the waiting game.
-x—
The amount of time that has lapsed from when he first awoke: inestimable.
The amount of patience he had to exercise to get this far without completely losing sanity: immeasurable.
The amount of frustration felt when people refused to update him on Clare's status: beyond anything he's ever felt.
Eli has done it all. He has thrown tantrums, broken down into tears at random, rejected mealtimes- you name it. Having to remain in the same bed from dawn to dusk was probably the worst part of it all, and when he was finally allowed to wheel himself to the cafeteria, he began the lovely process of finding hiding spots of where nurses wouldn't be able to find him. He hated being cooped up in his hospital room with passion, and for a while, snickering under his breath while the staff searched high and low for him served as its own source of entertainment.
After growing tired of outsmarting forty-year olds in scrubs, he embarked on a slightly more dangerous task. He decided it was high time to find Clare himself. He'd heard enough of the staff discussing her critical condition in hushed tones. He had done enough waiting. He was rapidly healing, and would be near perfect condition again soon. He had done what he was obligated to do.
So after he sent Adam to fetch him his favourite comics at home, he hobbled over across the hall with his cane. Perched atop the wooden stick was a skull; a piece of Morty that a kind police officer had given him after checking out the scene of the crash. Though sadden by the death of own of his very best friends, Eli took it in stride, and soldiered on. He was grateful that nothing worse had happened, and shouldn't dwell too much on what he could have done better.
Now limping down the narrow hall with the wall as extra support, Eli glances around to see if any nurses are nearby.
Empty.
Biting down on his lip, he looks around for room 206 (eavesdropping had never done him so much good before).
"Aha," he mumbles in triumph, hobbling down the hall with his eyes fixated on the very room that occupies his girlfriend. All his waiting would be rewarded shortly…
Four steps away from the cool slickness of the knob, realization suddenly dawns on him. Eli freezes like a deer in headlights, the memory of the last time he saw Clare crashing down on him like hail. Flashes of the blood, of the shattered glass attacks his mind, sucking all the moistness out of his mouth. Images of how hurt she looked when he accused her of wanting space pounds on his skull, flooding him with a wave of fresh guilt and regret. Maybe there was a reason why he hadn't seen her in nearly two weeks- maybe she had already woken but had chosen not to see him. Maybe she was still upset.
Thirteen days of reflection had him realize how stupid he behaved. Thirteen days without him is enough to drive him against the wall. He needs to apologize, and he needs to do it now.
Mentally bracing himself for the worst, Eli twists the shiny golden knob with slightly shaky hands. Seeing Clare in a hospital room is almost as nerve-wracking as seeing her in English class, prior to when they first started dated. He doesn't know what to expect.
And what he sees is the good kind of unexpected….and the bad kind.
The good news is that he isn't as badly-bandaged up and wounded as he feared she would be. There are several cuts and scrapes across her face and arms, and probably more where he could not immediately see, but most are brown and healing well. Her curls, to his immense relief, are just as they were before- springy, cinnamon-brown, and not a drop of blood marring its soft colour. Her eyes are also opened.
That's part of the bad news.
So she chose not to ask for me, he thinks sadly.
The sadness, however could not keep him from limping closer to the bed where she lay. It's been too long, and so he insatiably drinks her in. Her creamy ivory skin is as luminous as ever, though there are ever-present bags under her eyes. Her usual healthy flush of color is missing, and her eyes are slightly faded from exhaustion, but overall she looks well.
"Hey," he says softly, unable to keep the longing from his voice. He misses her so much, he can't help it.
She glances up, cocking her head to the side. Neither startled nor upset, happy nor angry at his presence, she looks at him with a serene type of kindness that weakens Eli's knees.
"Hi there," she whispers gently, gaze traveling over his cane. "Hopefully soon, I'll be able to move around like you."
"You'll get there soon," Eli reassures softly, smiling sadly at his wistfulness. He warmly peruses her face, no longer seeing the scars or slashes. He sees his Clare, his lovely, compassionate girlfriend whose presence he had been unfortunately deprived of. He sees the gentle dreaminess of her demeanor, the patience, and the undying humility in her. He misses every bit of it.
"Are you looking for anyone in particular?" she asks gingerly, sitting up a bit.
Eli looks at her with confused amusement. "I was looking for you, silly. Who else do you think I'd want to see when I haven't heard your voice in nearly two weeks?"
It's Clare's turn to look confused.
"What are you talking about?" she asks, knitting her brows together.
"What are you talking about?"
"You act like we've spoken before," Clare frowns.
"But we…I don't understand what you're getting at, Clare," he shakes his head slowly, never tearing his gaze away from her.
"How do you know my name?" she inquires warily, clutching her blanket tightly, and pulling it up to her chin.
"What?" Eli says helplessly, now panic-stricken. His palms are clammy against his cane, his fingers slick with sweat and sliding off little by little. "I'm not a stranger-"
"I don't know who you are!" she cries, alarmed by Eli's unconscious advances.
"Sir!" a nurses says, rushing into the room. "Please do not distress the patient! I'll have no choice but to ask you to leave."
"No, she's my girlfriend," Eli says weakly, beseeching Clare with his eyes. She recoils, and to his terror, she displays no signs of recognition.
"I don't know him!" Clare says to the nurse, eyes widening in fear.
"Sir, please step out of the room-"
"Clare, you know who I am! I'm your-your boyfriend- stop pushing!" He cries, struggling against the nurse. His weak leg serves as a disadvantage, and he gets towed away easily.
"Please calm down sir!" the nurse says loudly, reaching out to close the door behind them. "The patient-"
"CLARE!" he yells desperately, not able to comprehend any of this. He can't process what's happening. Why is Clare pretending she doesn't know him? Why is she treating him like a stranger? This isn't some cheesy chick flick. This isn't The Vow. Obviously, there's a reason why she didn't want to talk to him, a reason different to what he's thinking.
He casts one more pleading look in her direction.
She just shakes her head, looking both apologetic and frightened.
So next chapter: you'll probably going to hate Helen. Even more if you already do. Cheers to bad parenting!