Through My Window(Hidalgos #1)(94)

Minutes pass, hours, I lose track of time. The doctor comes out, with a face that makes my heart clench in my chest.

Please . . .

The doctor sighs.

“He was very lucky. We pumped his stomach, and he’s very weak but stable.”

Relief floods through my body. If it wasn’t for my mother holding me up, I would collapse to the ground. The doctor talks about referring him to a psychiatrist and a lot of other things, but I just want to see Yoshi and make sure that he’s okay and that he’s not going anywhere. I need to talk to him and convince him that he can never do anything like that again, and to apologize for pushing him away, and for not trying to make things right between us.

Maybe if I had been . . . he wouldn’t have . . .

Maybe.

The doctor tells us that Joshua will be unconscious for the rest of the night, and that we can go rest and come back in the morning, but none of us move. My mother gets us an empty room where we can rest. This is her hospital, and everyone knows and respects her. She’s one of the longest-serving nurses in the place.

My mother caresses my hair as I rest my head on her lap.

“I told you he’d be okay, baby. It’s going to be all right.”

“I feel so guilty.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Raquel. Blaming yourself won’t do you any good, now you just have to be there for him, to help him get through this.”

“If I hadn’t pushed him away, maybe—”

“Raquel, people with depression don’t always show what they feel.” My mother interrupts me. “They can appear happy even if they aren’t well. It’s very difficult to help them if they don’t ask for help, and sometimes for them asking for help makes no sense because life has lost meaning.”

I don’t say anything. I just stare at a window in the distance, watching the snowflakes fall. My mother caresses my cheek.

“Get some sleep. Rest. It’s been a hard night.”

My eyes burn from crying so much. I close them to try to sleep a little, to forget, to forgive myself.

“You’re going to fall!” a little Joshua yells at me from below as I climb a tree. I stick my tongue out.

“You’re just upset because you can’t catch me,” I say. Joshua crosses his arms.

“Of course not. Besides, we said the trees weren’t allowed, you cheater.”

“Cheater?” I throw a branch at him. He dodges it.

“Hey!” He gives me a murderous look. “Okay, truce, come down, and we’ll continue the game later.”

Carefully, I climb down the tree. When I’m standing on the ground, Joshua touches me and runs away.

“Got you! It’s your turn to catch me.”

“Hey, that’s cheating.”

He ignores me and keeps running, and I have no choice but to chase him.

A squeeze on my shoulders wakes me up, ending that pleasant dream, full of games and innocence. My mother rubs my arm and offers me a coffee with her other hand.

Caramel macchiato, my favorite.

It reminds me of Ares and our first date at the hospital. I haven’t dared to call him, to say anything to him, because I know he’ll come running, and I don’t want to ruin his New Year. I know that’s the least of it right now, but I don’t want to involve anyone else in this painful situation.

“He’s awake; his parents have just been to see him. Do you want to go in?”

My heart clenches, and my chest burns.

“Yes.”

“You can do it, Raquel.”

My hand shakes on the door handle, but I turn it, and step inside. My eyes are fixed on the floor as I close the door behind me. When I look up, I cover my mouth to stifle my sobs.

Joshua is lying on white sheets, an IV hooked up to his right arm. He looks so pale and fragile, like he could break at any moment. His honey-colored eyes meet mine and immediately fill with tears. With big steps, I approach him and hug him gently.

“You idiot! I love you very, very much.” I bury my face in his neck. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

When we separate, Joshua averts his gaze, wiping away his tears.

“I have nothing to forgive you for.”

“Joshua, I . . .”

“I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to feel obligated to be by my side just because this happened.”

“What are you . . . ?”

“It was my decision. It has nothing to do with you or anyone else.”

I step back, staring at him, but he doesn’t look at me.

“No, you’re not going to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Push me away,” I state. “I’m not here out of obligation. I’m here because I love you, and yes, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before to try to fix things, but I had already decided to look for you before this happened, I swear.”

“I am not asking for anything from you.”

“But I want to explain, I want you to know how much I’ve missed you. How much I care about you.”

“So I won’t attempt suicide again?”

Where had that bitterness in his voice come from? That disinterest in life? Had it always been there? I remember my mother’s words: asking for help makes no sense because life has lost meaning. Maybe nothing mattered to him anymore.