“Your brother is in a medically induced coma. We have no idea how long for, but he needs it to protect him from any further damage. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you right now,” the doctor said, in that same depressing tone.
Zane cursed, and Theo whispered in my hair that Nikolas was going to be okay.
It’s all going to be okay.
“What if he doesn’t make it?” Mom asked, as four pairs of eyes stared at her with fear.
“He’ll make it; he’s strong,” Zane said, his eyes brushing over me as he smiled. “He’s always been the clever one, and he’ll sort this. You’ll see.”
I closed my eyes, praying to a God that I didn’t believe in that Zane was right.
7
HANNAH
Standing at the end of the bed, I stared in horror at my big brother. His face was swollen and bruised, and all I could see were tubes.
They were everywhere.
The machine beside him beeped rhythmically, letting me know he was still alive.
“Nikolas.” I breathed, waiting for his cheeky grin or an eye roll as he ruffled my hair.
Nothing.
Beside me, Theo held both of my hands, which were shaking.
“Why so many tubes?” I whispered.
Theo sighed. “The main tube in his mouth is a ventilator. It helps him breathe.”
A sob rose in my throat as he continued.
“He’s on fluids, hence the cannula- they take blood from there too.”
My eyes moved up to Nikolas’s head, and fear gripped my heart. Something protruded from his skull, and it made me feel faint.
Theo grabbed me, leading me to a seat beside the bed. “I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.”
He left the room, and I allowed myself to peek at my brother again.
“What happened to you?” I moaned as the tears came, clouding my vision. I wanted to touch him, but I was afraid. Everything was bruised or bloody.
My sweet, adorable brother.
A pretty nurse walked in, sending me a warm smile. She leaned over my brother as she softly held his hand.
“Nikolas, I’m going to take some blood. You will feel a sharp scratch on your right arm, okay?” The nurse tapped his arm as she spoke, waiting before she began unpacking the things she needed.
“Can he hear you?” I choked out as she lifted her eyes to mine.
She inserted a tube into the cannula as she observed it. “Usually not. They say even if their ears work, it doesn’t mean the sound is working. I still speak to them, regardless.”
I nodded, relieved that Nikolas had such a caring nurse looking after him.
“What’s that in his head?” I asked as she glanced at his head.
“It’s called intracranial pressure monitoring. After an accident like this, we can’t be certain of the swelling of the brain. This allows us to measure it, and if needed, drain it.”
