Scared of Beautiful (Scared #1)(62)

Jackson walks back in, followed closely by Dr. Carson. In my few encounters with the doctor, I’ve always been reassured by his warmly optimistic nature. Today, his face is serious. My stomach begins to churn before he even speaks.

“Maia, your mother’s body has healed well. But I’m afraid I’m not overly optimistic about the brain activity we’re seeing. It is very minimal. We think it’s time to bring her out of the coma. Cease the drugs,” he says.

“What will happen?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“Well, we leave the ventilator attached, and see what happens.” He looks down as he says this.

“Is there a chance she won’t wake up?” I ask, almost in tears.

Dr Carson breathes a labored sigh. “Maia, there are moments in my job where I wish I could lie and give you the hope that you need, and this is one of them. Based on what we have observed, we think that it’s not likely that her brain function will ever restore. The more likely scenario is that she will continue to require the ventilator to live.”

Now my stomach drops completely. This is the absolute worst case scenario. Jackson stands behind me, with a hand on the small of the back. The only saving grace in this moment is the knowledge that he will catch me when I fall, not if, but when.

“We will continue to monitor her for a period of time, but if there is no improvement after a few weeks, we will give you the option to continue the life support, or to turn it off.”

Dr. Carson speaks quietly, sympathetically. As if he already knows her fate. Aunt Megs has moved over to the sofa, a solemn faraway look on her face.

“How soon will I have to make the decision, if it comes to that?” I ask with dread.

“A week or two is normally sufficient to determine the long term prognosis,” he replies clinically.

Dr. Carson leaves, followed closely by Aunt Megs, who promises to return in the morning. I take up my seat next to my mother and Jackson sits on the sofa in the corner of the room. He doesn’t say a word. He knows, always knows, exactly what I need from him. No one in the world will ever understand me like this man does. I give him a small smile before placing my head next to my mother’s on her pillow, the whooshing of the ventilator the only reassurance of life.

I’ve watched a thousand movies where the coma patient’s hands or eyes move, where they are about to turn off the life support and a miracle happens. That doesn’t come for us. Jackson accompanies me every day to the hospital, and sits in quiet support on the sofa. In the evenings he comes home with me, eats dinner, and makes sure I’m sleeping before he leaves. In the mornings, he arrives with coffee and some kind of breakfast. I haven’t really wanted to talk or laugh. He hasn’t forced me to. He has, as promised, been there, as my constant. The closest we come to intimacy is the gentle kiss I feel on my cheek just before I drift off to sleep. Then he either leaves or, if the day has been particularly bad, falls asleep on my sofa. We’ve run into Blake a few times at the hospital, and even though I see Jackson’s jaw clench as soon as he sees him, they have been amicable to each other. For my sake.

* * *

Two weeks exactly from the day of Dr. Carson’s pre-emptive prognosis, I hear the news I have been dreading. There is no brain function, and there never will be.

Jackson doesn’t need to be asked to leave. “I’ll give you some time,” he says before planting a soft kiss on my cheek and walking out of the room.

I call Aunt Megs, and sit down to bear my soul.

“So, now there isn’t enough time to have every conversation that we could have. Should have. I always thought I had so much time, for everything. I never guessed I’d be here, with so many regrets. I know most of your pain was caused by me. You just wanted me to be happy. So I promise you that I will be, I will try to be. God, what am I supposed to do?” I say, holding my head in my hands.

“Stop running away.”

Aunt Megs’ voice breaks through my pity party. I don’t turn. Enough people have seen me cry these past few weeks, and that pisses me off.

“Maia, you cannot keep running away. Your mother would not blame you for any of this. You are not responsible for other people’s choices.” Megs’ voice is stern, maternal.

“Then why do I feel like I am?” I ask sadly.

“Because that’s how you want to feel. That boy,” she says, gesturing towards the door, “is too scared to say boo, because he’s so afraid you’ll run away. Is that what you want to turn him into, a puppet? Because you will. He looks as though he loves you enough to become one, just so he doesn’t lose you.”

“I don’t know how else to be,” I say, now sobbing.

“No, fear is stopping you from being something different.” Megs reprimands. “Fear is what brought her here, not you.” She says, pointing towards my mother.

When Jackson comes back, Aunt Megs insists that we all say a few prayers, and we oblige. So much happens in the moment where the doctors turn off the ventilator. A single tear rolls down my cheek, Jackson wraps both arms around my waist and I allow my body to sink into his. My father now faces a murder charge. It has all ended, and it has all just begun.





Chapter 36




Jackson

Six months later…

“You are such a clown!” Maia says, whacking me in the arm.