Worth Everything by A.Myers85 Romance Writing Contest contest entry |
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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language. A/N: Please enjoy this story, even though it's a long one. Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Beryllium. Boron. Carbon. Nitrogen. Oxygen. Fluorine. If I keep reciting, I won’t think about it. I won't think about the blood-strained road. I won't think about her death-like still body. I won't... An onslaught of memories attacks. Tires screeched. Horns blared. Her terrified shrieking blended with the resounding crunching of metal and shattering glass. Then silence. Deafening stillness. My fist slams against a nearby wall, and my head hangs below my arm. I force one calm breath in one after the other. Slowly, my clenched hand loosens, but my mind stays blissfully blank. Swallowing another calming breath, I step away from the wall. We're not thinking about that. As I resume limping down the corridor, the linoleum echoing my steps, I start again. Neon. Sodium. Magnesium. Aluminum. Silicon. Phosphorus. Sulfur. Chlorine. Argon. Reaching her door, I push it open and stare. An IV protrudes from her hand as numerous wires connected to a monitor crawl across her body. A breathing tube provides oxygen through her nose. Shakily I rearrange the array of “get well,” “we miss you,” and “please wake up soon” cards to make room for the vase of red tulips; she always said roses were too cliché. I then collapse onto a nearby chair, batting away several free-floating balloons, and press her hand—cold and clammy—against my face. Thick, white bandages cover her face, specifically the right side. Strands of blonde hair lie sprawled across the pillow, her skin ashen and lacking its usual rosy glow. I squeeze my eyes shut. I should've paid more attention. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Lily.” Monotone beeps echo through the room. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare.” If I’d known this would happen, I never would’ve agreed when another classmate suggested throwing her a surprise 21st birthday. Yet, I asked him to organize everything because I couldn't lie to her face, as she knew all my tells. As a result, her party was a huge success. Almost…it was nearly a success. Unbidden, the party night flickers through my memory. I was recruited to ensure Lily made it to the celebration. Unable to lie, I told her the truth: I wanted to treat her to dinner and had reservations at our town’s most popular and expensive Italian restaurant, Sapori D’ Italia. Before we left, she caught my hand and, pressing it against her face, whispering, “You’re a good friend, Jeremy. Everyone else forgot my birthday. You didn’t.” She grins. "You never have." I grimaced at her echoing kiss of death words: you're a good friend. Was that how she saw me? Pushing aside my thoughts, I hooked her arm through mine and escorted her to my car, the two of us joking and teasing each other. Back in high school, we started a tradition where, depending on whose birthday it was, the other did whatever the birthday person wanted. I tried to act like myself, grumbling about being her "slave," but her pensive gaze said she didn’t believe my charade. Thankfully, she never asked, and when we arrived, the hostess led us back to a private room. I slowed my steps, and when Lily glanced back at me, her eyebrow raised, I waved her forward. Frown deepening, she opened the doors and flipped on the lights; her friends and coworkers immediately leaped out of hiding. Watching the joy and excitement on her face made the whole setup worthwhile. As the DD, I avoided alcohol and ordered an Italian soda. Even though she began drinking after she turned eighteen—one of her Italian friends owned a bar and taught her everything she knew about alcohol—she still helped herself to several heavy drinks. A classmate later coaxed her into drinking six shots of whiskey and filmed it. “This is definitely going on YouTube,” he said, laughing as Lily rolled her eyes and then blew a kiss at the camera. She's always been playful and outgoing. Several hours later, she stumbled over and threw her arms around my neck. Laughing, I steadied her and groaned as she wiggled closer. You're killing me, Lily. Then, her blue forget-me-not eyes locking with mine, she leaned closer and kissed my cheek; the taste of a Long Island lingered in my mouth as she drew back and whispered, “Will you take care of me?” At that point, I would’ve done anything for her. Instead, I nodded and promised I would. Grinning, she dragged me onto the dance floor. Inner desires battled my protective best friend instincts as she pressed her back to my chest, her hips rolling to the music. Inhaling a sharp breath, I moved in time with her and hoped neither of us woke up the following day regretting our actions. Just after midnight, I helped her out to my Camaro. Halfway down the road, her eyes lit up excitedly when her favorite Country song played. Cranking the volume, she threw her hands up, combing her fingers through her hair and dancing in her seat. Although I wouldn't say I liked Country music, I tolerated it for her. Like the girl in the song, Lily wore a white tank top that night—one that not only accented her body but also left nothing to the imagination. Just watching her move, the sensual sway of her hips, and the movement of her lips as she sang, I didn’t see the semi barreling toward us until she screamed. Tires screeched. Horns blared. Her terrified shrieking blended with the resounding crunching of metal and shattering glass. Then silence. Deafening stillness. In the distance, I glimpsed familiar blue and red flashing. Lily! Where is she? The thought slammed through me, followed closely by pain lancing through me; an unseen object pinned my leg. Seconds passed as I lay there, scanning the area, desperate for my blonde friend. Then, black silhouettes hovered above me. Did I black out? Distorted voices. I couldn't make out what they were saying. Where's Lily? I tried to ask. My mouth refused to move. Then, I spotted her on a stretcher, one arm hanging limp before a paramedic placed it on her chest and pressed an oxygen mask over her face. Someone clears his throat. Startled, I see Mike, a friend from school, filling the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee dwarfed by his large hands. “How’s she doing?” “No change.” My gaze returns to Lily. “She looks peaceful, like she’s sleeping, but I can’t wake her up.” “Dr. Evans dropped by a little while ago and said her body’s still healing.” Mike approaches and hands me one of the coffees. “She did wiggle her finger earlier.” A slight improvement, but it’s an improvement, nonetheless. Hopefully, this means she’s close to waking up. “That’s great.” I haven’t slept much in the past 72 hours, so I welcome the liquid burning down my throat—a needed caffeine boost. Nodding, Mike grips my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jere. Lily’s healthy, and she’s a fighter too. She’s told me about surviving Pneumonia and Scarlet Fever.” I wince at the memories: the stillness of her body, her mom crying, her dad’s pained expression, the doctors offering their condolences, and me feeling numb at the thought of her dying. I hate thinking about those nights. “She’ll pull through this.” “It’s my fault she’s even here.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “What are you talking about?” Mike asks. Unable to keep looking at her unconscious body, I stare out the window. “I drove her home and got distracted. I should’ve known better. I’m supposed to know better.” Frustrated, I slam my fist against the wall and welcome the brief sting of pain. “Damn it, I promised! I promised to get her home safely, and I didn’t. She was my responsibility!” "Hey." He grabs my shoulder. I wince and try to pull away. Instead, he grabs my other shoulder. "Look at me." After a moment, I do. "Jere, sometimes things happen, and there's nothing—nothing—we can do to stop them." "Her worst fear is dying in a car crash like her parents the summer after our high school graduation.” "Lily isn’t going to die. She’s not! She’s coming back to us. We have to have faith. She will come back.” He waits for my half-hearted nod before pulling up another chair and sitting with me. We don’t talk much, but I appreciate his company until he needs to leave for his shift at the club. When he leaves, he grips my shoulder and whispers, “Don’t give up on her. She’s never given up on you.” I frown, my gaze snapping toward him, but he waves and leaves. What did that mean? What was Lily waiting for me to do? During the next hour, orderlies, nurses, several of Lily’s friends, and Dr. Evans drop by to visit. She remains unresponsive. Before they died, Lily's parents named mine her godparents, so Lily moved into my family's guestroom after that freak accident. Although the original plan was to attend a university after graduation, she enrolled in the local JC and threw herself into her studies. Disturbed by her zombie-like going through the motions of living state, I found the number of a local therapist, and after a bit of coaxing, she went. She still sees Dr. Kelsey weekly, and though she has sporadic moments of depression, Lily’s spark has returned. During our spring semester, Mike and I stumbled across her sleeping in the shade of a large tree. Chuckling, Mike elbowed me and wiggled his eyebrows. "Your Lily has grown up so much, hasn't she?" I refused to take the bait, but I did notice. I’m not sure when it happened. Maybe it was when she started paying attention to her looks and wearing clothes that highlighted her womanly figure. Perhaps it was when our parents stopped our sleepovers, explaining that “boys and girls don’t do that.” Maybe it was when her gazes lingered seconds too long on some of the more popular boys at school. However, my Lily had indeed grown up, but she wasn’t mine. Shaking aside my memories, I scoot my chair closer to her hospital bed and grip her hand. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Lily,” I say quietly; part of me feels weird talking aloud when I know she won’t respond, but doctors believe coma patients can still hear. “I wish you were here right now.” Lifting my hand, I twirl several strands of her hair between my fingers. “If you were awake, you’d tell me to get some rest, but I can’t. I keep thinking about all the things that I want to say to you, but I haven’t because I’m afraid they’ll ruin our friendship: like how I love the way your eyes light up whenever you’re talking about your latest story idea or how your dimples appear whenever you’re laughing at me. When you were diagnosed with Dyslexia, and several people didn’t believe you’d graduate from college, you worked hard and not only achieved your AA, but now you're working toward your Bachelor’s in English. You’ve always been open-minded and accept people for who they are.” My grip on her hands tightens. “Every time I close my eyes, I see all the times—good and bad—we’ve shared.” Leaning down, I kiss her head before bringing our joined hands to my lips. “I love you, Lily. Please wake up, please.” * * * * * Almost a week has passed since Lily’s admittance. Pulling into my usual parking spot, I check my watch and sigh in relief. Even with that brief delay on the I-3, I’m only five minutes late. After locking my car, I enter the main hospital building, bypass the receptionist’s desk, and ride the elevators to the third floor. Potassium. Calcium. Scandium. Titanium. Chromium. Magnesium. Iron. Cobalt. Nickel. Comforted by my refocused mind, I hurry down the corridor, waving at the familiar nurses, and duck into Lily’s room. My parents are already there. “Traffic and construction delays on the I-3. How’s she doing? She looks a lot better.” Mom agrees and strokes her forehead. “Dr. Evans checked her earlier and said she’s healing, but he still has no idea when she’ll wake up…if she does.” My fists clench. "When she wakes up, you mean.” My parents exchange looks but say nothing. Why does it hurt so much to hope? For the next several hours, we stay beside Lily, talking and encouraging her to wake up. A short time later, two of her classmates—identical twins—visit. I never could tell the difference, even after Lily listed several; she always noticed things like that. “Please come back to us, Lils,” Sarah says quietly. Or is that Nicole? “You don’t want to miss the writing contest submissions deadline.” “Your ghost story is sure to win,” Nicole/Sarah says. With afternoon classes, both girls only stay about twenty minutes before leaving. Shortly afterward, Lily’s nurse pops in to check Lily’s vitals. At first, she tried flirting with me, but since I showed no interest, she stopped and now tends to her duties before moving to her other patients. After a while, I glance out the window and notice the skies darkening with the promise of rain. At first, it’s a light drizzle. Within minutes though, it erupts into a heavy storm. Sheets of water stream down the glass panes, distorting the silhouettes of trees and cars driving to or from work. The paging of various doctors over the loudspeakers echoes through the corridors, along with the footsteps of nurses, orderlies, and patients. At about half past six, Dad forces me out the door with orders to “eat something or else.” Robotically, I wander down to the cafeteria, grabbing random foods. After paying for them and dropping into a nearby seat, I stare at my “dinner”: bottled water, banana, and a bagel—some of Lily’s favorite snacks. Eyes closing, I force down several bites—enough to satisfy my parents’ questioning gazes, before returning to Lily’s room. When they see me, they trade worried looks but say nothing as they leave to eat, too. I scoot my chair closer and rest my head beside Lily’s, my eyes focusing on my fingers as they play with hers while listening to the rhythmic and soothing ping of rain hitting the roof and flowing down the windowpanes. Sometime later, my eyes snap open, and I glance around, disoriented. When did I fall asleep? What woke me up? Then I feel it again—a gentle tightening around my fingers. Glancing down, I inhale sharply. Lily’s awake. “Hi, Jere,” she says, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “L-Lily?” I stare at her, unsure if this is another one of my wishful dreams or reality. When she nods, I can’t resist pinching myself. Then, I let out a relieved laugh at the swift flare of pain. I’m not asleep this time. “You’re awake. You’re all right!” I jump to my feet and hug her, careful of her injuries. She clings to me. Pulling back, I run my fingers through her hair and caress her face, most of which is still hidden beneath bandages. As her eyes fall shut, she leans into my touch. With a gentle smile, I kiss her forehead before standing up and heading toward the door, intent on calling for Dr. Evans. Lily’s hand stops me. Confused, I glance down, but something in her expression silences me. “Wait. I wanna say something." Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. As I step closer, a hint of color returns to her cheeks. Dr. Evans enters the room before she can say anything else, followed by my parents. Loud cries of joy and happiness ripple through the air. Lily's blocked from my view as Mom and Dad engulf her in their tight hugs. Part of me wishes we hadn’t been interrupted, but as her hand slips off the bed, finds my hands, and links our fingers, I can’t help the swell of relief and gratitude. She’s awake. She’s alive. She’s still here. * * * * * Several days later, when Dr. Evans removes Lily’s bandages, the whole right side of her face is scarred by long, thin gashes. Several raw red cuts run diagonally across her cheek while another splits her right eye. Unfortunately, the marks are permanent, and when Lily sees them, the room echoes with her horrified scream. I move to comfort her. She flinches. “Please don’t...” Swallowing hard, I drop back, hurt by her rejection. Days later, released into my parents’ care and with instructions on caring for her still-healing wounds, Lily only allowed my mom to touch her, carefully combing her hair over the right side of her face. She never looks at or speaks to me. Where did my Lily go? * * * * * She hates me. A week has passed, and Lily’s still avoiding me. Yesterday she started a conversation with Mom, and for a brief moment, she smiled…a weak, barely there smile, but one just the same. Yet she excused herself when I tried to join them and fled the room. If I’m cleaning the kitchen or making something to eat and Lily enters, she makes some weak excuse and hurries out. She’ll pass through the room when I’m sitting on the couch reading or watching TV. She won’t even look at me when we walk by each other in the hallway. She does everything to avoid being alone with me. She must hate me. My parents and Mike disagree, but I know it’s true. She can’t stand the sight of me and doesn’t speak to me anymore. Abruptly the grandfather clock chimes six times. I jump. With a sigh, I lean forward and retrieve my book, groaning when I realize I’ve lost my place. Yawning, I close it and place it on the coffee table before resting against the couch and rubbing my eyes. For a moment, I debate whether I want to stay here or go out. Maybe meet up with Mike and some friends. With Lily ignoring me, perhaps I should reconsider Mike’s suggestion of rooming with him. I graduate next fall, and I can afford to move out with the money I’ve saved living at home. At the sudden crash, I bolt upright and see Lily frozen in the doorway. Multiple glass splinters surround her. Water seeps from the broken cup across the floor, darkening the blue carpet. “Lily.” I stand up and notice her bare feet. “Stay there; don’t move.” Her eyes track me as I move closer. She tenses as I bend down and collect all the big pieces before mopping up what I can’t. Once reassured she’s safe, I hold out my hand. Seconds tick by as she stares and bites her lip. Just when I think she won’t let me help her, her fingers slip into mine. Grateful, I guide her across the soaked towel. I give her hand a brief squeeze a safe distance from the spill. Startled, blue-forget-me-not eyes snap to mine, and our gazes lock. This is the first time she’s even looked at me for longer than a second. Then she looks away, breaks our connection. As she turns to leave, words I’ve tried to say since her hospital release spill out. “I’m sorry.” Her foot pauses in midair. “I know nothing I say can fix what I’ve done, but I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you.” Silence hangs between us. I hate this strain between us. All I want is for her to be my friend again…maybe consider us being more. Even if I’ve screwed up my chance with her like that, I will do anything to keep her in my life—even as just friends. I miss the easiness between us: the jokes and the laughter. If I could redo that night, I wouldn’t let myself get distracted. “I thought you were repulsed by how I look.” I jump at the unexpectedness of her voice. Then her words register. Repulsed? Why would she believe that? “I’m not repulsed by you, Lils." As she faces me, a strange, hopeful emotion flickers through her eyes before disappearing. “Jeremy,” her voice grows hesitant, “can we still be friends even though I’m not pretty and I’m an embarrassment to be around?” “Lily!” Does she believe that? “Lily," I take a few steps closer, "you’re beautiful.” “You don’t have to lie.” She ducks her head and toes at the floor. “I know what I look like.” Unable to stand her sad tone, I cross the floor with quick strides and grip her shoulder, lifting her chin with the other. “You are beautiful.” I play with a few strands of hair and then circle them around my finger. “I don’t care how you look on the outside. I know who you are in here.” My hand drops to her chest, feels the quickening of her heart. “What happened in that accident doesn’t change anything because you’re still my best friend.” She stiffens as my hand lifts and nears the hair covering her face, so I stop. Waiting. I’d never do anything to hurt her. How we move forward is her decision. Uncertainty dances across her face; her lip caught between her teeth. Seconds tick by, but I don’t move. I want her to trust me, understand I want her permission. Moments later, the tension melts away, and she nods slowly. Carefully, I brush aside her hair and tuck the strands behind her ear. “There’s my Lily.” Her gaze snaps to mine, and she swallows hard. I trace her scabbed-over cuts. “My beautiful Lily…I still see you.” Her eyes widen as unbidden tears slide down her face. “Jeremy…” Growing more confident, I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her closer. She lays her head on my shoulder, her fingers gripping my shirt. “I heard you…what you said while I was in a coma. I heard everything. Why did you wait so long to tell me?” “I didn't wanna lose our friendship...I didn't wanna lose you." “Jeremy,” she draws back to look at me, “I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, but I didn’t want to risk losing you either. You not in my life….it scares me. When I thought you hated me…” Her grip on my shirt tightens. “You don’t have to waste your time on me… I’m not—” My hand covers her mouth. “You’re worth everything to me, Lily.” While holding her gaze, I lean forward, my lips hovering over hers before connecting our foreheads. Saying the words while she slept wasn’t tricky. They’re just three words, a simple eight-letter phrase, yet speaking them aloud in person is hard. “I want to be with you, Lily,” I whisper, closing my eyes and forcing myself to breathe. “I love you.” Her body stiffens, and her nails dig half-moon shapes into my skin, but she stays quiet. Eyes still closed, I wait, breath held. Hopefully, she believes I mean it. I’m not bothered by her scars. If anything, they’re a testament that my girl is still alive. Seconds stretch into minutes. The wind tickles nearby chimes as the ever-present tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock echoes behind me. Lily still says nothing. Unable to stand the silence, I glance up, and our gazes lock. She stares at me, eyes wide and searching mine, while her lips part in surprise. Then she’s shaking her head and averting her face. Instinct flares inside me, and with it, the urge to leave. Although she said she’s always liked me, it may have been more platonic than romantic. Fingers drift across my cheek, trailing up the side of my face and brushing aside my hair. Lifting my head, I watch a slow smile spread across her face, and then she shuffles closer, pressing against my chest. Unbidden, my hands fall to her hips. She burrows her head beneath my chin, her face nuzzling my neck. Warmth washes over me as one arm loops around her waist and the other slides up her back, cupping and massaging her neck. A familiar sense of love and joy swells in my chest and intensifies at her whispered response, “I love you too, Jeremy.”
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