Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Aiden’s breathing pauses again, his body going utterly still like it’s done countless times over the last handful of hours. I’m sick of the false hope within me, wanting a few more minutes with him, even though they’re minutes only for me. They do nothing for Aiden other than to keep him trapped in a broken body.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I call for all the strength within me. I don’t silently rail at him to breathe again and I refuse to hope.
Instead, I bring his hand up to my mouth and kiss it. “It’s okay, Aiden. You can let go. We’re all going to be fine, I promise. And you need to get on your way to a better life where you’re not in pain, free and happy. Dad, Boone and I will join you there one day.”
My dad jerks at that proclamation as it’s the first words that have been spoken in hours. But he leans over, kisses Aiden’s cheek. “Let go, buddy. Your fight is done.”
Boone’s head falls to his arm on Aiden’s legs. He doesn’t say anything but I know he’s wishing the same.
And then, it happens.
A tiny little jerk of Aiden’s body. His hand involuntarily contracts in mine and Boone’s head pops up because he felt it through his arm and my dad’s hand slides over to Aiden’s chest.
We all watch him, waiting for him to take in a breath, but it doesn’t come. I don’t expect it to either. When his body jolted, ever so imperceptibly, I think that might have been his heart stopping. Maybe a last goodbye to us?
“Can you go get the nurse, Boone?” I whisper.
He stands but before he leaves, he wraps his arms around me tight, hugging me from behind. “I love you,” he murmurs and then eases out of the room.
My head lifts, tearing my gaze away from my dad’s hand on Aiden’s chest and his eyes meet mine. “He’s gone,” my dad says.
I don’t even bother trying to feel for a pulse. I can feel it within the very essence of this small room that his spirit isn’t here anymore.
Aiden has left us.
And while I was ready for this just a minute ago, I now have all the regret in the world for giving my brother permission to die.
I bolt out of the chair and race for the door. My dad calls out in alarm, “Lilly!”
I ignore him and cut left, coming out of the door too quickly, slamming my shoulder against it. I bounce off and don’t feel any pain because my heart is broken and it hurts more than I ever expected.
I run with tears blinding me. It’s still fairly quiet on the ward without many people in the halls. Ahead at the nurses’ station, I see Boone talking to one of them but I cut right.
He too calls out to me, “Lilly!”
I run as fast as I can, arms pumping, right past the elevator bank to the end of the hall where the door to the stairwell looms. My hands slam onto the handle hard and the door crashes open against the wall. I start an immediate descent, rocketing so fast I’m in acute danger of taking a fall. I don’t care though. Part of me hopes I trip, hurtle end over end and break my neck. Anything to end the agony growing exponentially in the center of my chest. A weird sound starts to warble in my throat and I swallow it, afraid it will turn into a horrific scream. I vaguely hear footsteps chasing me from behind.
“Lilly,” Boone calls, my name echoing against the concrete steps and walls. “Slow down before you hurt yourself.”
I hold on to the rail as I push myself faster, using my other hand to wipe tears from my eyes. It seems like it takes no time at all for me to reach the bottom floor and I’m bursting out of the door, startling two doctors walking by. One snaps at me to watch where I’m going but I ignore them too. They mean nothing to me.
Sprinting across the lobby, the night receptionist, Connie, calls out to me in concern. She sees my tear-ravaged face, the anguish in my expression and the fact I’m running through the hospital like the devil is on my ass, and she knows.
Connie calls out, but it’s one of apology and regret. “Oh, Lilly.”
I have to slide to a semi-halt to let the sliding doors open and then I’m out on the sidewalk, protected from the pouring rain by the overhang. The children’s hospital is in the city and I turn right, running down the sidewalk. The early-morning rush hour is starting but hardly anyone is walking due to the rain. I’m soaked within seconds as I run and run and run.
There’s an intersection ahead and the Don’t Walk sign is in my favor. I push forward, not willing to halt for the cars but then something clamps on my arm and I’m stopped.