She doesn’t bat an eyelid. Her fingers fly over her keyboard, and, with a kind smile, she looks up and offers, “I’ll let those taking care of Mr Evans know. If you want to take a seat in the waiting area, I’ll come and find you when I have more information.”
Another nod, one she returns with a sympathetic smile as she watches me walk away.
The hard, plastic seat is a welcome discomfort. It keeps me in the present instead of allowing me to slip headfirst into the past.
True to his word, Leo comes back to sit at my side. His mammoth body dwarfs the chair, and from the way he shifts and rearranges himself every few seconds, I’d say he’s even more uncomfortable than I am.
People come and go. Time ticks on. And still no news on Macsen.
Part of me wants to get up and ask for more information, pester the woman with the sympathetic smile for answers, and demand they let me in to see him. The other part of me is willing to sit here and wait. Because, for as long as I do, I won’t have lost him again.
That feeling in my stomach that makes me nauseous hasn’t left. It’s only grown thicker and harder to keep down.
For a second, on that beach, I lost him.
And every second since, I remember what it feels like to lose him in so many lives, in so many ways.
Over and over and over again.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
The situations change, but that feeling stays the same.
It cleaves a gaping wound in my chest, cracks open my ribs and pokes at that painful emptiness I thought he’d finally filled.
This is what it feels like to lose Macsen, and I don’t think I could survive it again.
“Hi.” A voice snaps me out of my head. Both Leo and I shift on our seats to look up at the newcomer. “I’m Nurse Jenkins. Macsen is asking for an Ellis. Is that you?”
“He—he’s awake,” I croak. My lips like dust, my tongue like sand.
Her smile is genuine and wide. “He is, and he seems more worried about you than he does about himself. I’m concerned that if I don’t take you to him soon, he’ll be out of his bed before he’s ready, and wandering the hospital in his paper gown looking for you.”
“Sounds like Mr Evans,” Leo rumbles.
The news Macs is okay should lift some of the weight off my chest, but it doesn’t. All of this still feels wrong. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for all this calm to crumble to the ground.
I thank Leo for staying with me, and watch as he stands, unfolding his big body from the tiny, hard chair, cracking joints and stretching his muscles.
“I’ll let the guys on site know he’s okay. Give me a ring if you need anything, Ell.” One of his big hands gently pats my shoulder.
“I will do, Leo. And thanks again.”
On weak legs, I push up and stand, grimacing at the tightness in my muscles and stiffness in my bones.
“Follow me. This place is pretty quiet today, so Macsen has his own pod just off the assessment unit.”
“Is he okay?”
She turns her head, her smile polite. “He needs a few more tests, and we’d like to keep him in overnight, but he’s looking much better now he’s got some fluids in him.”
“Was it just dehydration then? Exhaustion?”
Another smile, this one a little tighter. “I’ll let Macsen fill you in on the details. Patient confidentiality rules, I’m afraid.”
A few moments later, after guiding me through a bustling ward where patients with all manner of ills wait on trolleys and sit in chairs, she opens the door to a tiny room off a narrow corridor.
“I told you I’d find him,” she announces to the prone figure lying in bed. From my view, I can only see his feet and legs covered by a sheet, and that need to vomit rises up my throat.
Nurse Jenkins steps to the side, giving me just enough space to walk into the tiny room.
When Macsen’s eyes find mine, his pale but handsome face lights up with a broad grin. When I make no move to enter further, that wide smile slowly slides from his face.
“Thanks, Jenny,” Macs addresses Nurse Jenkins, his gaze briefly leaving mine. “Would it be okay to shut the door for a little while?”
“Sure.” She steps around me. “Just hit the buzzer if you need anything or can feel another episode coming on.”
At her words, his eyes flash to mine.
“I’ll leave you both to have some privacy.”
The door clicks shut behind me, and the walls of the tiny room seem to close in.
“Ellis, come and sit. Please? I’ve been going out of my mind without you.”
I don’t move. I can’t.
“Listen.” Macsen pushes himself upright until he’s sitting up, pressing the button by his hand to raise the top of the bed. “I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. Please, come and sit with me.”
His hand stretches out to reach for me, but I don’t have the ability to lift mine and take it. The burning in the back of my throat intensifies until I’m shaking with the need to gag and expel everything bubbling and churning inside me.
He can tell. He can sense the turmoil that seeps through my pores, and with another long look in my eyes, he knows the reason why.
“Sit, please. Ellis. Let me help you. Don’t bottle this up. We need to talk about it.”
My head shakes minutely, my lips pressed tight. I clamp my teeth together so hard I’m sure I will crack them.
“Breathe, Ell,” he urges. “Please. I don’t want you to fall. Let me take this from you.”
I suck in a deep breath, the air burning my lungs. Then another, and another until I regain some kind of control over myself.
“Why are you so calm about this, Macs? How can you lie there and look at me like nothing has happened?”
“It won’t help if I fall apart, too, Ell. I’m trying to be strong. For both of us.”
“How do you know?” I whisper hoarsely, my eyes closing tight only to reopen and find him looking at me the same way. Calm and controlled. “How can you possibly know what’s got me in this state? You do, don’t you?”
Macsen reaches out again. “Please, Ell. Please sit. Tell me what happened. Explain it to me.”
“No,” I bark. “Why should I tell you when you already know?” My sharp voice echoes around the sterile walls, and Macsen doesn’t even flinch.
“I don’t—”
“Don’t you dare withhold things from me now. Don’t. You. Dare.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to let you remember in your own time and in your own way.”
“I remember, Macs! I remember it all.”
“What do you remember?” Macsen’s voice is soft and beseeching.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Use the heels of my hands to rub the grit away from my eyes, and the whole time he waits patiently for my response.
“Losing you,” I finally admit, my voice cracking down the middle. “I remember every time I’ve ever lost you.”
Silence, thick and cloying. I want to scream at him, punch walls, demand he tell me what the hell is going on.
“Why did I remember that? Out of every wonderful memory I could’ve recalled. Why that, Macs?”
His eyes close and his head shakes. “I don’t know.”