I Love You, I Hate You: Part 2

I stand and take Danika’s hands in mine. “I do, but I’m not going to push you. Whenever you’re ready my door is open to both of you.”

38

Danika

I turn my head to hide from the light and the muscles in my neck scream at me to stop moving. I reach my hand up to rub the sore spot and crack my eyes open. For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget the horrors of the last fifteen hours and I forget how insanely jealous I was last night.

As the memories of everything that went down yesterday floods back, my stomach twists, lurching bile into my throat. I run around Molly’s bed and whip the bathroom door open. I don’t make it to the toilet, but the sink is large enough to hold the acid that expels itself.

I turn the water on and run my hand under the faucet, letting a puddle gather in my palm before bringing it to my lips to rinse my mouth. The water is cold, like the room, but somehow feels good. I splash a few handfuls on my face then dry myself with a few paper towels from the dispenser.

I grip both sides of the sink and stare into the mirror. I barely recognize the woman looking back at me. Her eyes are puffy from a night of crying and blood-shot. Dark circles from a lack of sleep and makeup that’s faded away linger on my cheeks. My hair is a knotted mess, but unlike the rest of me, it’s not hopeless. I slip the elastic on my wrist over my hand and twist my long locks into a neat bun. This helps, but I still look like shit.

Someone knocks at the door.

“Just a sec,” I yell, running my hands over yesterday’s wrinkled blouse and buttoning the top button of my jeans again. The beep of Molly’s machines mock me, sounding with each step I take. I quicken my pace to see if it does too, but her rhythm stays the same. I find my place in the cushioned chair beside Molly’s bed again and yell, “Come in.”

The handle opens with a loud clunk and keys scrape against the wooden door. “Morning, beautiful.” Logan waltzes into the room, looking like he’s had a good night’s rest. I know he didn’t. He slept on the hard floor with an extra pillow and blanket, insisting I push the two chairs in the room together to make a bed.

“I thought you left,” I tell him honestly.

“Never.” Logan hands me a cup of coffee and a clear food container who’s plastic is so foggy I can’t see the contents inside. “Went for coffee and breakfast. I don’t know when the last time you ate was, or if you’re even hungry but…” He shrugs.

My stomach chooses that moment to rumble. The last thing I had to eat was a few bites of celery and ranch dressing at lunch with Molly before Tessa fed her strawberries. “Thanks.”

Logan settles into the extra chair I’d used to prop my feet up with last night. “Any change?”

I shake my head. “No and no one has come to check her vitals yet.”

Logan sips his coffee. He looks out the open door for a moment then finds my gaze again. “All of the nurses were gathered around their station when I passed by a few minutes ago. I think they’re doing shift change stuff. I’m sure someone will be by soon.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” I attempt to sip my coffee but my stomach twists again. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten since yesterday and my stomach has forgotten what sustenance feels like, but I don’t feel good.

“Also, mom and Walter are out in the lobby. Apparently there’s a two visitor limit per patient.” He smirks. I don’t think that’s a rule but I'm grateful for someone’s creativity.

I set my cup and the food Logan brought me on the end table and glance at Molly. She looks so helpless connected to all the machines. My heart breaks watching the ventilator breathe for her. I bite my lip, my eyes stinging with tears that won’t fall. I take Molly’s hand in mine and squeeze her tiny palm. “Come on, baby girl. Come back to me.”

“Logan!” I say too loudly, my words excitedly bouncing off the walls. I saw it. I know I did this time. “Her finger moved.”

Logan stands from his chair, stretching his arms over his head and walks from the corner of the room to be beside me. This is the fourth time I’ve seen something twitch. He probably thinks I’m crazy but I swear, she moved.

Logan slips Molly’s hand into his and waits. A few seconds later, his eyebrows jump to the top of his head. “I felt it!”

He reaches across the bed and pushes the panic button on the universal remote beside Molly’s leg. Two nurses run into the room quicker than I could take my next breath.

“What happened?” one asks, lifting the rubber buds of her stethoscope to her ears without waiting for a response. She presses the round metal part to Molly's chest and listens.

“She moved.” Logan’s voice booms with confidence while I’m over here cracking like an eggshell. What if this is all we get? Tiny acknowledgements of life without her fully coming back to us. Google is the devil in situations like this, filling my mind with doubt and a million worst possible scenarios. Logan steps out of the other nurse’s way and pulls my chair backwards.

“Molly?” The nurse lifts Molly’s

eyelid and flashes her light, checking pupil dilation. “Can you hear me?”

The other nurse records Molly’s vitals on a clipboard then slips her hand in Molly’s. “If you can hear me, Molly, squeeze my hand.”

Days tick by in a matter of seconds. I’m not crazy. We’re not crazy. Molly’s in there, fighting, trying to get back to us. I know she is. The nurse’s lip quirks into the tiniest of smiles. “Page Doctor Camberg, she’s responding.”

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