The Intensive Care Unit

The room is silent for a second, Timothy looking at me in a way that makes me scared he's about to spill our secret.

“Why are you boys acting so weird?” Her laugh afterwards is awkward, unsure. 

Miss Ann thankfully, interrupts us, flipping through papers, saying, “You should rest for some hours before you return to classes, William Smith.” Her voice is brisk, like she doesn't want to be in this moment either. 

She looks at the two of them, then at me before saying, “Do you feel pain in any part of your body?” 

I shake my head no. 

She starts walking. “Okay, that's good. Your test results came back fine. I'll be back later to check on you before you go.”  

She leaves, and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving Timothy and me to face the accusatory look on Jasmine's face. 

“So?” She says the word gently, a sudden undertone of fear in her voice. 

Timothy looks from her to me, his laugh is gentle, mocking. “So… what?” He rolls his eyes, kissing his teeth. 

“We're fucking,” I say with a straight face. Her lips turn down, a frown on the edges of forming. 

Timothy straight out laughs, and I follow his lead. I don’t stop laughing till she leaves in a huff, pissed that we’re mocking her. 

I’m grateful she didn’t notice that my hands are quivering. 

Timothy drags a chair to my bed when she is gone, taking my hand in his and kissing it. Even in this state, his touch does things to my body. I feel warmer, desire humming through my veins like a narcotic.

“Stop,” I whisper, “She could come in any moment now.” 

He smiles, rising in his chair to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. 

“Ahh,” I scream, before laughing, batting my eyes at him. He has a way of making me feel like a little boy whenever we are alone. 

“Should I lock the door?” 

“No!” I smile, and he laughs, and for a second I forget that my life is a mess right now, and that I shouldn’t be doing this. 

My phone buzzes from its place on the small table beside the bed. A text from my Dad, but before I can open it, I get a call, the ringing in my head makes me realize I have a headache. It's my brother, Jotham. 

I don't want to answer, but I do, stifling a sigh. “Liam,” he says, his tone urgent. 

He sounds like he's been running. 

“What is it?” 

“Mom's in hospital.” 

I groan, tightening my knuckles. “What did Dad do to her this time?” I get a sense of déjà vu. I've said these same words too many times. 

The fact that I’m saying it in front of Timothy makes me cringe for the tiniest second, shame curdling around my heart. 

His words come out in short bursts, the line breaking off and on. I make out a few words—not his fault… car accident. 

Jasmine enters the room, her face losing color as she registers the shock and despair on mine. 

She asks Timothy what’s wrong, but he doesn’t answer, their voices distracting me for a second. 

Jotham is still on the line, waiting for what I'd say. 

I croak out—my entire body trembling in anticipation of the worst, “Is she going to be okay?” 

“I… I don't know, Liam.” 

“I'm coming.” My voice leaves no space for a refusal. 

“I'll send a car to Aton.” 

I cut the call, feeling despair settle in me, what if my mother were to die? The thought makes me nauseous. Numb.

I sit for a while, feeling my chest tighten more with every second, as everything becomes clearer. 

I tell them everything, as Timothy rubs my hand slowly, Jasmine looking at our hands intertwining the whole time.

I almost take my hand out of his. 

Timothy leaves for a class and when Jasmine and I are alone, I finally break down, the reminder of our shared problem coming back to the forefront of my mind. 

She says, “I’ll tell you what I've decided when you come back.” 

I just look at her silently, and she takes my hand, “She will be okay.”

She sounds so sure. 

~

I pack two shirts into a small bag and leave before the bell for dinner is rung, my head banging. 

I send a text to Jasmine as I enter the car. Wait for me, I type before I can think. Then, I want to go to the school counsellor with you.

I watch Aton College disappear in the side view mirror, feeling weirdly wistful. My hands itch toward my phone, I want to talk to Timothy, but I don’t. 

~ 

At Serenity Memorial, the car park is so dark I can't see my foot where it lands. I walk slowly, cradling the hope that she'd be okay in my palms, and every step is an effort. 

My phone buzzes every few minutes with a text. Most from Jasmine, and a few from Boris, my roommate. There's even one from Timothy, but I can't bring myself to look at any of them. My body can no longer register the sensation of touch.

I get to the reception and the sudden brightness is disorientating for a brief second. 

I find my brother sitting beside a wall in the reception, his head in his hands. 

“Jotham,” I say, I almost touch him. His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is so pale. 

“Hey, Liam,” he says, his voice the texture of gravel. I help him stand up. “What's the latest?” 

“Not much progress has been made.” 

My stomach twists, “How did this even happen?” 

He tenses before speaking, like he's bracing himself for impact. “She was just going home…” 

He buries his head in his hands again, shaking all over. I have never met this version of my brother before today, and I feel pleasantly surprised. That he cares. That he could care so much. 

I touch him, tentatively, and his skin is so hot. Sweaty. I rub circles on his back as he calms down. His tremors reduce after a while. 

He sniffs, voice tight with tears, “She was on her way home when a car came out of nowhere. She had gotten to the estate already. I didn’t want to say it on the phone earlier, but they found a picture of mom in the car that hit her. The other driver is dead.”

I almost scream, “Why the hell was her picture—”

The door to the Intensive Care Unit opens with a loud bang, the sound reverberating. 

My father stands at the entrance, searching through the reception for us. He looks so disheveled. 

He walks over to us, and it’s only when he’s near that I see the bags under his eyes, and the slight limp in his step, and for a second I pity him. 

“How is she?” I say it before he is within hearing range, and I repeat myself, the words sticking to the back of my throat. 

His glowers at me, his voice carrying across the reception hall. “Why did you leave school?” A few people turn around to stare at us, wide eyed. 

My chest locks and I take a step back, tripping over the chair behind me.