I rise slowly from my chair, legs heavy, my body suddenly betraying me. The realization hits that I haven't eaten in hours - maybe even a full day - and the hollowness inside me makes itself known with a vengeance. My knees buckle, the floor sways beneath me, and I instinctively clutch the railing of his bed for balance, as though even in his stillness, he is the anchor keeping me from collapsing completely.
For a few terrifying seconds, the room spins; monitors blur into streaks of green and red, and I feel like a fragile leaf tossed about in a storm. I close my eyes, breathe deeply, wait for the dizziness to pass. When the world steadies, I force myself toward the restroom.
The first splash of water against my face is a shock - icy, biting, almost accusatory. It feels exactly like the room I just left behind: cold, clinical, unrelenting. As the droplets trickle down, I look up at the mirror and confront my own reflection. The face staring back is hollow-eyed, weary, foreign. A stranger who carries the same guilt I've been trying, and failing, to suppress. Is this what I've become? A sister broken not just by the fear of losing him, but by the crushing realization that I had already abandoned him long before this moment?
The questions claw at me: Is my guilt finally consuming me whole? Have I already lost the war against some invisible, merciless power that seems determined to widen the distance between us? Is fate mocking me - reminding me that I wasted years in silence, and now all I'm left with is this bitter theatre of grief, regret, and helplessness?
My vision blurs - not from tears alone, but from the hollowness that spreads like a fog inside me. My stomach growls, a deep, painful gurgle that echoes the emptiness I feel everywhere else. Empty, like the corridors I walked through earlier. Empty, like the conversations we never had. Empty, like the corners of my mind that ache to return to a simpler time.
And that's where my mind retreats - to the days when things were uncomplicated, when happiness was measured not in milestones but in stolen laughter, shared secrets, silly fights, and the quiet assurance that no matter what paths we took, we belonged to each other. Back then, we didn't worry about where life would place us or whether time would erode our bond. Back then, love was effortless, natural - taken for granted in the best way possible.
Now, that same bond feels like a frayed thread I am clutching with desperate fingers, terrified it will snap completely while he lies suspended between this world and another. And the cruelest part of it all? I don't know if I deserve the chance to hold on.