Wicked Restless

“Andrew!”

I see him.

A dream.

Where am I?

My body. My arms. My head, legs, chest.

Owen is holding my right arm down against a bed, and my eyes are fighting to stay open long enough to see him. I see him. He’s older. I’m older!

The fight. I didn’t fight. I didn’t fight! That’s what this is. They think I was fighting, but I wasn’t. I left, and then there was a crash. And Nick. The devil was there, and—

He shot me.

“I need Emma,” I try to say, but when I hear my words, they’re mumbles, nonsensical—something is stopping them, choking me. I try to speak again, but it’s impossible, and it makes me start to cry in frustration. Owen’s hands are on me again, and I flail just wanting to yell, to scream. He needs to understand me.

“Andrew. Stop fighting me,” Owen says, his head close to mine.

Stop fighting.

Yes, that’s it. I breathe deep, everything hurts, the sensation of wires and tubes intubating me and poking me everywhere, but I keep my arms still. I will my legs to lay still. And soon my eyes focus—I see Owen. He’s smiling, and he’s talking to doctors, my mom’s voice coming from somewhere behind me.

I jerk with my arms, wanting to see, but so many people are over me now. My eyes find Owen, and grow wide. A man with glasses and a white coat is hovering over me, and my throat burns as I try to speak. He’s telling me to stop, and I finally feel it—the tube in my throat.

I hold Owen in my sight while the man removes the tube, and everything hurts. The doctor is telling me not to speak yet, but I ignore him.

“You flew here from Germany,” I say, my voice gravely and my throat raw. Owen laughs, sliding his hand down my arm to my hand, holding it like he did when I was a kid.

“Yeah, you shit head. I flew here from Germany,” he says, running his sleeve over his eyes to blot away tears.

“Where…is…is Emma here?” I ask, my voice still barely audible.

Owen smiles, though, hearing me clearly. He nods.

“Yeah, she’s here. She’s barely left this room, and man is she going to be pissed at me when she finds out I told her to go eat and that’s when you wake up. I’ll go get her,” he says, and I close my eyes, nodding yes.

Yes. Emma. I need Emma.

* * *

Emma

I hand the last kid in line three candy bars, because that’s all I had left.

“You should get a reward for being so patient,” I wink. He smiles, reaching into his pillowcase to inspect the three chocolates I gave him.

I thank the nurse closest to me for letting me participate, then I tear a corner away from my granola bar, pushing part of it through and biting into the salty end. My stomach rolls in appreciation.

“Emma!”

Owen’s voice startles me, and I jump, turning to see him racing toward me, his phone clutched in his hand.

“Andrew?” I ask, shoving the rest of my bar in my mouth, chewing manically. Owen nods, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I was going to text you, but I run faster than I type. Just now. He asked for you!”

I’m chasing behind him, trying to keep pace with his long strides as he takes the stairs three at a time.

“He asked for me,” I repeat his words, smiling and pounding my feet as fast as they’ll go. I toss my wrapper into a trash that we pass on our way down Andrew’s hall after Owen buzzes us in through the large double doors. I see doctors and nurses all moving in and out of his room as I get closer, but I ignore them, weaving through and under until I’m at his bedside.

The instant I see his open eyes, I know—this is one of life’s good parts, too, the kind of moment I will hold on to forever. My eyes swell with tears, and I lunge to his side, grabbing his hand and laying my torso across him, wanting to hug tighter but knowing he had so many open wounds underneath.

I feel his hand squeeze mine, his strength weak, but his movement very much alive and well.

“Oh my god I’m so happy to see you,” I say, stepping back for a nurse to take vitals. I move around every person who needs him, but I never let go of my touch on him. His mom is sitting on the other side, her hands wrapped around his arm.

“How was your lunch?” he teases. His voice is scratchy, but I hear him underneath it all.

“You ass. I leave your room for five minutes, and that’s when you decide to wake up?” I move my head to his shoulder, laying my face against his arm, feeling the beat of his heart with my hand. This entire time, his heart—it’s been strong.