Page 92 of #Lovestrong
Lena
"Merry Christmas, baby." I brush some stray hair out of Declan's face. It seems like it’s grown super-fast in the last week.
That's it though— it’s only been a little over a week since the accident. We only had four days of school last week before the holiday break, so I talked to all my teachers and told them I'd submit my work via email. I meant it when I said I wasn't leaving Declan, and I haven't. My grandparents come to visit every couple days, and when they do, they bring me clothes to last a few days.
I shower here, eat here, and sleep here. Whenever Declan wakes up and I'm reassured he's out of danger, I'll go home. Until then, the nurses and doctors have agreed to my presence. Not that they even have a choice in the matter.
His family was here earlier and even though they asked me to stay, I went to the hospital lunchroom for a few hours to give them some privacy with him. It's a little after eight in the evening now though. It's dark and cold outside, according to my weather app. A steady snow started falling about an hour ago, so I opened the blinds of his window.
The lights are dimmed lower than usual and a marathon of old Christmas cartoons are on the television, the sound up just enough but not too loud. Other than that, the only disruption to the silence is the steady beep of Declan's heart monitor and the whoosh of his breathing machine. They're keeping him on it while he heals so his body can just focus on damage repair.
Reaching over to my bag, I pull out a slim white box with a metallic blue bow on it. It's probably stupid to give him a gift given the state of things, but I don't care. I lean over and prop myself up on the side of his bed with my elbows.
"I don't know if I ever told you," I say, "but my mom is Syrian. I don't talk about her, but I've always been really proud of my heritage. I thought for Christmas, I'd get you something that is part my heritage, part of our faith, and a little bit of our love."
My hands shake as I open the box and sit the lid down next to Declan's arm. The dim light catches the gold chain and cross as I pull it from its coiled home in the cardboard box that is way too small for the twenty-six-inch rope chain. Holding it up in the air, the cross attached to it spins. The engraved message is unreadable to most people.
"Ahbik. It's Arabic for ‘I love you’." Tears sting my eyes as I stand and carefully hook the chain on the empty metal hook of his IV, right next to the bag of fluids that never seems to empty. Sitting back down, I wipe under my eyes, willing them to dry. I don't want to spend another night crying. So far, I've done that every night I've been here.
Between the regret of pushing Declan away and the memory of Cameron in the chapel, it's like my emotions are dialed to a hundred all the time. I hide it when people are here, but honestly, I don't think they really buy it. Everyone is emotional and they just go with the facade.
I gently pull Declan's hand toward mine and kiss each of his fingers and the back of his hand. "I love you, Declan Harp. Please come back to me."
Laying my head down next to his arm, I close my eyes and listen to Rudolph and the chatter of misfit toys on the television, praying for Declan's recovery, for his health and understanding, but also praying for sleep because I'm so exhausted I can barely stay glued together anymore.