open heart (iii)
You feel like you're floating and then like you've crashed into the ground, the world around you fading into quick, painful focus.
(part i | part ii)
The first thing you register is the pain, actually, the way your limbs feel as though they're lead, the way it hurts to breathe, the motion scraping through your chest. Trying to open your eyes feels impossible and takes a while to do, and then when you're finally able to do it, the room is blindingly bright.
You wince and close your eyes again, and it's then that your ears finally catch up with the rest of you. There's a steady beeping close by and the sound of your name gently being called over and over again.
You want to answer, try to, but the words get stuck. A cough fights its way through your lips instead and the voice silents for a long moment as you flinch and try to keep your body steady, the movement jolting you around.
There's the distant sound of something sliding and then a weight at your side, something warm pressing against the inside of your wrist. They call your name again. It sounds like the very syllables tremble, tripping over one another.
You realize that you know this voice - that you love this voice, that you've never heard it so broken with uncertainty, and a new type of pain surges through you.
Regret.
You attempt to open your eyes again. The room is darker this time around and you recognize that the sliding sound from before was the curtains, and the grip on your wrist is -
"Zayne," you rasp, and your voice sounds absolutely horrendous. You cringe, nearly apologize, but find it's hard to say anything else. Your eyes flicker across the room, taking it in.
Slivers of sunlight peek through small gaps in the curtains, illuminating the whiteboard that hangs on the far wall with your patient information. There's a vase with fresh water and your favorite type of flower by the window. A sleeve of crumbling crackers sits untouched by your bedside. And finally there's Zayne, sitting in a chair that he's pulled from across the room.
He's already ahead of you, holding a small plastic cup with a straw up to your lips, eyes watching you carefully. You take a small sip and the relief is immediate on the ache of your throat; you take two more sips before Zayne gently tugs the cup away.
You watch him as he returns the cup to your bedside, and find that besides the physical pain that makes you ache, the way he looks hurts you most.
He's still in the same clothes as he was last you saw him, though his white coat hangs haphazardly off the windowsill, leaving him in his plain clothes, wrinkled and nearly askew. His hair is out of place and his face is wrought with worry, making him look older than he is. His eyes are scanning over you, flicking from one point to the next to make sure everything is alright and correct, and yet it's easy to see just how unsteady he is, in the way he can't bring himself to look away or to let go.
One hand stays wrapped around your wrist, an anchor against the rest of him. You look down at his fingers and it's only then that you realize they're trembling.
"Zayne," you say again, voice no louder than a whisper. It's still not quite right, not how you usually speak, the word nearly foreign on your tongue.
He doesn't look at your face, eyes settling somewhere on the blanket that covers you. His grip on your wrist grows tighter but the shaking doesn't stop.
There's a long moment of silence. You watch him, wishing you could do something more than stare. If only you could wrap your arms around him or rewind time and maybe do things differently.
Zayne shifts slightly in his chair.
"You needed emergency surgery." He finally says, but his tone shakes too.
Your heart lurches - of course you did. You knew the moment you saw what you were up against that it was a mistake to continue on, and yet you still did. You wanted the truth, you wanted more answers, and instead you ended up bloody and cut open from the inside out.
"It took - " He clears his throat, words getting caught. You can see him close his eyes and the jagged inhale of his chest. "It took all night. They didn't know if you were going to make it through."
Another pause. He's still shaking, his hand, his shoulders, all of him now, and you gently pull your wrist out of his grip so that you can hold his hand instead. His mouth opens and then closes.
"I thought I lost you," he whispers as he finally meets your gaze.
A tear slips down his cheek and then is followed by another, and another. You can't get your body to react fast enough as you tug at his hand, pulling him closer. He moves with you and as soon as he's within reach you drag him close, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face into the crook of his neck.
His body shudders as he settles against you, arms sliding carefully around you. "You will never lose me," you murmur against his skin, determined as ever, heart nearly beating straight out of your chest. "You didn't lose me."
That's all it takes for the dam to break.
He tries to stifle the sob, to hide it, but the tears come all the same, and his body trembles and his grip tightens and his breath hitches.
You pull him as close as you possibly can, and you don't let go.
