It was no good. I couldn’t wake my mind. I couldn’t reach over and press snooze. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying to me.
“I’ve lost her,” the words trembled from his lips. “I’ve lost her.”
I’m sorry, David, I whispered with weakened resolve.
And as if David had felt me give up, his cold hand slipped behind my neck and lifted my head. “Ara? My love, please be in there.”
“Mate,” Mike said. “It’s time to let her go.”
David’s arms wrapped me tightly, his hands searching, touching every inch of flesh as if to caress me back to life.
Then, as the panic reduced to realisation, his hands slowed and a cold drop of liquid fell onto the bridge of my nose. “Please? Fight. I can’t lose you.” He took a deep, strained breath and pressed his lips to my brow. “Je vous en prie, Dieu, sauvez-la.” He took another jagged gasp. “S'il vous plaît, ne l'enlevez pas loin de moi. Ne me l'enlevez pas.”
His words hung in the back of my mind, resonating with a tone of understanding; as if I were right in front of him; they looped around me, pulling me into him, and as I touched my face to his chest, they became suddenly very clear: “I’m begging you, God, save her. Don’t take her from me. Don’t take her away.”
His devastation broke my heart. Oh David. I’m so sorry. I love you. If you can hear me, please know that. Please take care of Mike—tell him I love him too.
He didn’t answer. I wanted him to answer just once—just so I knew he heard me, knew how much I loved him, heard the words I wished I’d said when he asked me to change for him.
David? Please?
Nothing…
David? My throat hurt.
“Ara?” Something moved under me as he spoke—my body, I could feel my body, feel the bulky, uneven surface I was laying on. A cold grip tightened ever so slightly around my waist. “Ara?”
“David?” I tried again. I could hear the terror in my cry, but it was real—my voice—it came from somewhere different than it had before.
David laughed from behind me, his lips on the side of my face. “Yes. Yes, my love. Yes. You’re talking. Open your eyes.”
They’re closed? Gravity pulled my skin, dragging it down. I fought against the push and lifted my eyelids, blinking rapidly.
Bright.
Light.
Tears rushed to my irises to protect them from this new experience, burning my vision into a white blur. I couldn’t focus on anything, but I loved it more than the breath I could suddenly feel through my lips.
“David?” I smiled. “Am I…am I out?”
“Oui, mon amour, oui, you’re safe.”
“You…you saved me. You pulled me out.” I held his hand tight over my belly as the gift of sight restored and I felt his arms become the cold that was restraining before. His chest shook under me; tears dripped from his chin beside my ear and fell onto my shoulder as I took in the room; a white room, a bed, a chair—a glass window looking onto the corridor of a hospital. “What…happened?”
“I—” he started, but couldn’t finish.
“We lost you, baby,” said Mike.
Oh, Mike! That’s when I felt my heart—it was still beating, and it was strong. “Mike?”
“I’m here, Ara. I’m right here.” He appeared then, by my side. The warmth, the hand I felt in my darkness, it was Mike. I didn’t imagine it.
“I don’t understand. What am I doing in a hospital?” I asked, rubbing my face.
David looked at Mike, then they both looked at me. “You lost a lot of blood—they had to put you on a life support system.” Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Okay, but, what happened to me?” My memory hit the foggy wall of perplexity. I didn't even remember getting up this morning.
“It wasn’t this morning.” David answered my thought.
“When?”
“Ara, you’ve been in a coma for three months.” Mike’s voice trembled; he turned away so I couldn’t see his face, but I only had to see his shoulders shaking to know he was crying.
What? Three months?
I tried to look around the room to get my bearings.
Three months?
I felt nothing then, except a throbbing in my head as I tried to piece together the last few months of my life. “Okay.” I took a few deep breaths, bringing myself to terms with this new information. “So, a coma—but why? How did I get in a coma?”
Mike’s shoulders rolled forward even more.
“Mike?”
He just shook his head, refusing to look at me.
I looked down at my hands, felt my face, my throat, checking for something, anything that would give me a clue. Then, I felt the silky, lumpy rise of gathered skin on my neck, and as I looked down, to nothing in particular, saw the horrid parallel lines of raised pink skin down the length of my forearm. I drew a breath, tracing the scar with wide eyes, afraid to touch it—not sure if it was really there or if this was some nightmare. “Did I do this to myself?”
Mike released the sob he’d obviously been trying to restrain, and David held his breath, cradling me in his arms—pressing his cheek firmly to mine with the same intensity as his grip around my waist. Then, with a wash of cold trepidation, the memory hit me.
Jason did it?
David squeezed me tighter.
I rubbed my head, letting the tears spill out over my lashes. Jason. He—he hurt me. The cold. The dark. I remember.
“Shh, hush, my love, it’s…it’s going to be okay,” David said.
“What’s happening?” Mike leaned over me and, placing his hand on my forehead, studied my face as I fell apart inside. “Why is she breathing like that?”
David stood up and laid me flat on my back.
“Get the nurse,” Mike ordered, moving a pillow from under my head.
“No!” I held my hand out, taking deeper, more controlled breaths. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“Ara, you’re as white as a ghost.” Mike folded himself around me, and the warm smell of home reminded me that I was safe, that I was okay now and the darkness was gone—Jason was gone. I rested my chin in the curve of his neck.
David?
He looked at me, his emerald-green eyes shining out under his low-pulled brow.
Did he find me, David? Did Mike find me? I clutched Mike’s shoulder tightly, studying David’s face for proof of a lie, trying to feel my heart beating—to steady it—but after months of sensory deprivation, everything was so loud and so bright. I couldn’t feel it beating anymore.