Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(39)

They thanked him, and were left alone at the door. Once again, it took on the visage of an unforgiving monolith.

“Let’s do this,” Emma said, sounding more confident than she looked.

“You first,” Micah said.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’d be the guy in the horror film who sends the girl into the basement alone.”

“Survival is the goal. But you’re not alone. I’m right behind you.”

Micah couldn’t even look at the bed when they first entered the room. He was immediately assaulted by the sound of machines beeping as they kept watch over Will, monitoring his every rhythm and maintaining his oxygen. They looked steady, or at least how “steady” was depicted on TV shows. Finally Micah looked at the boy in the bed.

It barely even looked like Will. Micah had last seen him on the field at a GetOut training session, and there was such a difference in him now. The tall, lithe boy Will Deanes had been now looked shrunken, supported in a medical sling to keep the weight off his back. Bandages still covered half his face from injuries caused by the accident. In fact, there was very little of his body that wasn’t bandaged or trussed up in some way. They served to make him look smaller than he was. Whereas Micah had grown and filled out since last December, Will seemed lost within the paraphernalia engulfing him.

“I think he’s asleep,” Micah whispered, even though he really couldn’t be sure.

Although his eyes wouldn’t open, Will asked in a raspy voice, “Who’s there?”

Emma looked at Micah, biting her lip, before moving around the side of the bed so he could hear her more easily. “Will, it’s Emma.”

“Emma?”

“Yep. I’m here with Micah.”

“Micah?”

“I think there’s an echo in the room, Emma,” Micah said, and immediately winced at his inability to be serious even when the situation demanded it. It was rote behaviour, and it was something else he had to work on. Add it to the list.

Will released a deep breath, which Micah thought was meant to be a laugh considering what he said next. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely Micah Johnson.”

“Mate, how are you?” Micah asked.

“Great starter question, Micah, seriously,” Emma huffed. She glared at him from the opposite side of the bed. “Why don’t you ask to take him for a walk next?”

Micah felt like pointing out that her berating of him was actually as insensitive as he was perceived to have just been, but the last thing Will needed was a war erupting over his prone body.

“It’s a fair question, actually,” Will mumbled. “I’m pretty fucked.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, and Micah hoped she would keep holding it together.

“How are you guys?” He slurred the last word, and Micah hoped his meds were still working okay.

“Talk about your stupid questions,” Micah said, and he looked for a patch of bare skin to lay his hand upon. Will didn’t even feel warm; his skin was cool and clammy. “Don’t worry about us. That’s not hurting you, is it?”

“I can’t feel anything,” Will said. “In fact, I can’t feel much of anything right now.”

Mirroring Micah’s actions, Emma found her own patch of skin on Will’s other arm and stroked it gently.

“Can’t believe you guys are here.” Will snuffled, and Micah realised with alarm that he was crying.

“Will, don’t,” Emma said, and the floodgates were opened with her as well.

Micah felt his own eyes start to prick with tears, and he blinked them away furiously. Someone had to try and keep it together. But a sniff betrayed him, and Emma shot a surprised look at him—as if she finally realised this was truly affecting him too.

“My dad won’t come and see me,” Will said, “but you guys came from out of state. This is so fucked.”

Micah wanted to cover more of Will’s skin in an effort to console him. He had an absurd vision of stripping Will of his bandages and his own clothes, and lying upon him in order to make him feel close to someone again. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was a bizarre nurturing fantasy that confused him. He didn’t even know what part of Will he could touch without hurting him further. All he could do was hold onto that small stretch of arm and say, “Of course we would come, Will. We’re your friends.”

“We’re acquaintances at best,” Will said. He wasn’t being snarky, Micah could tell. He just seemed overwhelmed.

“Hey, we’re all GetOut kids,” Emma reminded him. “We stick together. Even those of us who aren’t there anymore.”

“Oh God, Will, stop her,” Micah said. “She’ll have us singing next.”

Will gave an approximation of a chuckle. The tears seemed to have stopped, for now, at least. “I can’t exactly shake it off right now, Taylor Swift.”

“You’re being very brave, Will,” Emma said. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”

Micah knew it was because there was nothing else he could do. He was in that bed for the foreseeable future, and he had to deal or go crazy. Micah didn’t know if he could be that strong himself.

But Will’s answer was different, and just as obvious. “Because I’m pretending it’s not real.”