I shake my head and sigh, leaning in to give Bear a quick hug. "Appreciate you guys being here." I hug Noelle next. "For real. Means a lot."
Noelle pulls back from the hug and rubs her hands up and down my arms, offering me a supportive smile. "We're here for you, Felix."
Bear nods his agreement. "I got things handled at work, Boss. Take time."
Riley leans in, stage-whispering. "Wehave things handled."
"Call me if you need anything," I tell Bear. "Yeah?"
"Course I will," he rumbles. "Go be with your girl."
Everyone except Riley and Amy files out of the ER, then. I hesitate, glancing at Amy. She swallows hard, looking physically ill.
"Fee," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."
My throat goes tight. "Amy, I…" I sigh, rub my face. "I don't know what to say, to be honest. I'm a fuckin' mess right now."
She licks her lips. "It's obvious you and me are…we're not—"
"Maybe we can talk another time," I suggest. "After things have settled. I dunno what's the future for either of us, but I do know we got some shit to talk through. At the very least, so we both get closure."
She nods, eyes watering. "Not why I came up here, I'll admit, but…" She attempts a brave smile, lower lip trembling. "We'll talk later. By Fee. Good to see you again, Rye."
Riley nods. "Yeah, you too, Aim." When she's gone, he shakes his head. "Haven’t seen her in almost fifteen years and we're Rye and Aim again? Like she didn't fuckin' ghost you and ruin your fuckin' life over somethin' you were a fuckin' victim in?"
"Rye," I say, letting out a groan. "I can't hold onto that shit anymore. I've been angry and guilty for a decade and a half. I wanna be over it."
He hooks his arm around my shoulders and shakes me gently. "About goddamn time." He guides me toward the elevator. "Let's go see your girl. You can tell me what the fuck happened with you and Amy."
Sixteen
EMBER
The darkness is noisy all of a sudden.
For a long time, there was just darkness. Soundless, warm, and infinite.
And then, slowly, there were sounds: beeps, whooshes, murmurs, coughs, laughs, squeaks. The sounds came and went. Became louder and quieter, interspersed with long stretches of thick silence.
At first, the noise is unwelcome; the warm, dense silence is luxurious, enveloping, restful. But then, when the sounds grow loud and the murmurs become voices and the voices become not just word-sounds but meaningful and real, the return to silence takes on a frightening quality.
One voice is a constant. A male voice. Deep and rough and familiar. That voice is always near. Comforting. Sometimes he whispers. Sometimes he's silent, but even in his silence, he's near.
The first major shift is the transition of the word-sounds and the voices into language, into speech patterns with context and meaning.
"…more severe than we anticipated, but she's showing signs of improvement."
"…Wake up, doc?"
"—To know for sure, as I’ve said, but I think soon."
"Can she hear me?"
"Again, there's no way to know for sure, but the coma patients I've worked with have told me that they do hear and understand sometimes. Not all of them, and not all the time, but those who say they heard their loved ones speaking to them all agree that they were comforted by the voices of their family. So yeah, I’d encourage you to keep talking to her."
I wonder who they're talking about.
Someone's in a coma? Poor thing.
