Beep.
Beep.
“Don’t listen to him, baby girl. You’re going to be right as rain. Just hurry up for us, will you? Please? We’re a mess without you.”
Whoosh. Whir.
A harmonica.
4
August 30th
My throat hurts. It burns.
It is on fire.
Whoosh. Whir.
“Sunday?”
My eyes are sticky, sealed so tightly that for a terrifying moment I think I’ve gone blind.
A distant memory of a harmonica flitters around my subconscious.
“Get the nurse, she’s moving!”
My toes flex out, but my legs are weighed down.
Whoosh. Whir.
A cough forms in my lungs, but it’s trapped.
Panic shrouds me, the darkness creeping in.
“Her vitals–”
“Then take that fucking tube–"
“Oxygen–”
Warmth wraps around my left hand, grounds me in this instance. It squeezes a tight, comforting hold.
“She’s ready. On three. Two.One.”
My insides are being tugged violently. I attempt to squirm and thrash about, but I still can’t physically move.
Pain.
My shoulder throbs. My lungs are in agony as I cough and cough andcough.
***
After the nurse leaves, I remain still for a bit longer, adjusting to the empty hollow feeling in my throat. I do my best not to fall back into another coughing fit, swallowing down the discomfort.
My mouth tastes like paint thinner and I nearly gag.
“Here.” Axel moves closer to me, presenting a water cup with a straw. His shaggy hair is unkempt, in disarray. There are thick heavy bags under his eyes. The exhaustion I feel radiates from him in crushing waves.
