The world of nightmares had become an almost daily occurrence since Hayden’s accident. It clashed with an equally dark reality that overlapped with my biggest fears, and it wore me down physically and mentally. I was so exhausted I dozed off as soon as I got here.
I ignored the pain in my back from the uncomfortable sleeping position as I sat up and looked at Hayden. The hope in my chest turned to ashes, replaced by a myriad of emotions that hit me each time I expected to see him awake.
He lay unconscious in a single-bed room in the ICU, surrounded with machines that kept him alive. His pale face displayed vulnerability and exhaustion, which made my heart ache. It was dark outside, so the hospital lights cast a sickly yellow light on him that added to his haggard appearance.
An IV drip was attached to his right arm, and it sickened me to look at the intravenous line ending at his elbow. He’d fractured his left elbow, so his arm was in a cast, and his previously bruised ribs were now broken. He slipped into a coma after his surgery nine days ago, and each new day brought more anguish as we waited for him to wake up.
I bit my lip and ran my fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. My gaze swept over the lines of his face for the umpteenth time, briefly halting on his scar that seemed more pronounced than ever. It was a tragic echo of the accident that almost took his life, which now told a story full circle. He’d had a breathing tube in his mouth until a few days ago when his physician determined he was able to breathe on his own. This was a sign of improvement I was clinging onto, along with his doctor’s words that he was young and strong so he had a good chance of making it.
It was absurd how easy I could lose myself in doubts and fear. Nine days felt like nine years. They represented an endless cycle of hope, anxiety, and despair, and it was almost impossible for me to focus on anything but Hayden.
I was barely able to make it through midterms, but extensive studying had been my only way of escaping reality for a short while. My every waking thought was about the uncertainty of his condition, which could last for one more day or forever.
I shuddered. No. I refused to think about that bleak possibility. He would wake up. He will.
This time I didn’t let myself fall into another “what if” phase. I had to be stronger than before, for me and Hayden. He needed us to believe in him and support him. I couldn’t let those old, negative thoughts trap me, so I’d decided to stay positive.
Hayden and I were together now, but our fight from nine days ago showed that we both needed to work on understanding and readjust the way we perceived each other and our actions. Things had escalated so fast I sometimes wondered if I imagined them or not, and it was hard to accept.
That Tuesday morning brought too many emotions colliding together. Everything was supposed to be good after Brad, my mother’s ex-boyfriend from New Haven, had gotten arrested for what he’d done to my mother and me. He was sent back to prison, and our attorney assured us he wouldn’t get out anytime soon after the kidnap and assaults. My mother was in a stable condition, and I’d been discharged from the hospital, on my way to create a brighter future with Hayden.
But then that morning happened, representing black and white outcomes at their finest. One minute, everything was wonderful. I could still feel tingles whenever I remembered Hayden’s kiss that pervaded all my senses, right before my heart melted when he gave me the most invaluable thing: his diary. I was amazed that he wanted to show me the deepest parts of himself despite his fears and insecurity. He even begged me not to leave him after I read it.
Then, Hayden got a call from one of the guys in the gang, and the cruel twist happened. He became uncontrollably enraged, which was further fueled when he misinterpreted my worry for him.
I didn’t want him to fight anymore. I wanted him safe, away from pain and that dark world, but he thought I wanted to control him. He lashed out at me and told me things I’d rather bury in the deep corners of my mind and never remember again, before he left me alone in front of the hospital.
And then... And then history repeated itself. By the time I noticed he was going to get hit, it was too late, and the car ran into him and sent him flying through the air. Hayden lost consciousness right away.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t help but envision the image of his immobile body interlaced with the dark image of Kayden and his dead eyes, both accidents coming together as one. Hayden had survived that first accident thanks to Kayden, but there was no one to take the hit for him this time. It was as if this accident was his punishment for cheating death back then, and I was afraid. A powerful fear haunted me in my dreams—the fear of definitely losing him this time.
I let out a shaky breath and shook my head to dispel these thoughts.
I looked at Hayden’s diary that lay in front of me on his bed. It was a precious piece of him I’d kept by my side since the morning he gave it to me. It was my treasure and undoing because it brought pain along with answers and understanding. I had a full insight into who he was, and just like he’d said, in some moments it was too intense and raw, while others displayed fragility that shattered me. I needed a distraction from my nightmare, so I turned the page and started reading a new entry.
“Date: October... Does it matter which day?
Here I am. Trying to sort out my emotions. Fucking impossible.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been different. I think differently. I feel differently. I act differently. I’ve always known there was something wrong with me. Something that makes me feel like I don’t belong anywhere. Like no one can understand me. Fuck, even I can’t understand myself. Wherever I go, there is that emptiness inside of me that paints the world black.
I have so many scars. There are so many things I’m scared and ashamed of, and if people knew even a fragment of who I am, they would run away from me like I was some contagious disease or worse.
Actually, yes. I’m a disease. There is nothing good about me. And even if I do something remotely good, I destroy it the next day so that it can never be recovered.
I’m sick and tired of it.
I’m sick and tired of this cycle.
Enough.
But it’s never enough, is it?
I see myself as those damaged goods sold in stores. Their flaws are so perfectly hidden, and when you finally see them, it’s too late. And what do you do with damaged goods? You throw them away.
I’m damaged. And I’ll always be thrown away.”
“Hayden, no.”
My heart beat fast in my chest, its pounding loud in my ears. Damaged. It sounded horrible. It sounded unacceptable, disposable. He was anything but that. He was a wonderful being who was worth much more than he would ever give himself credit for. He was caring, emotional, passionate, fierce, desolate, insecure... He was so many things, and I loved every single thing about him, even the bad ones, because they made him him.
Then again, I found a bitter truth in this single word. Now, brain damage had led him into a coma, which posed a crucial question—would he suffer serious consequences after he woke up?
The chances for a good outcome were slim to none. According to his neurologist, there was a variety of traumatic brain injury effects: paralysis, change of any of the five senses, memory problems, mood changes, difficulties with concentration and attention, irritability, aggression, and so much more. It would be a miracle if he woke unchanged, and the difference between what they showed us in movies and reality broke my heart.