I hated this.

There was nothing worse I’d ever experienced in my entire life than having to visit my brother in the hospital. I didn’t even know— no one knew— whether Sam was going to pull through or not. Every time I came here, it was one big question mark with no answer in sight.

And yet, I loved my brother. I believed in him and wanted him to get better. So, I continued to come see him, even though being here was very difficult, to say the least.

The view of the hospital lobby loomed over me as people were coming and going, some on stretchers and some in wheelchairs.

Sam didn't deserve this fate— didn’t deserve to have to be here. My brother was big and loud and affectionate, and made a joke out of everything. He didn’t belong in a place like this, no matter how kind the nurses were or how cutting edge the technology was. He shouldn’t be lying still, with tubes running in and out of him, fighting for his life. 

I swallowed my depression and gathered as much courage as I could, but I still dragged my feet as I entered the hospital and retraced my steps back up to his room for what felt like the thousandth time.

The elevator would've been easier, but I needed to keep myself in motion until I laid eyes on him. Elevators were starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

I got to his room and shoved through the door. “Sam, you wouldn’t believe this new—”

His bed was empty. Oh, God, what had happened? 

"Nurse, nurse!" I ran to the small nurses’ station a few steps away from Sam’s door. "What happened to my brother? Why isn't he in his room?”

"Oh, Willow, calm down," the nurse said, getting up from her desk and hugging my shoulders.

Her tone and the way she kind of patted me on the back like I was a child let me know that everyone here was sick of how often I freaked out. But I couldn’t help it— I was known to speak my mind and be a little high strung and hyper no matter what the occasion, and who could blame me for being worried in such a situation? I was glad the nurses were kind but I was beginning to realize I was getting on their nerves.

"He's fine,” the nurse continued. “He was just moved to another room in the hospital."

I breathed a shaky sigh of relief and wiped my eyes.

The nurse took me to another station. While I stood to the side waiting, trying my very best to be patient— which certainly was not my strong suit— she leafed through some papers and clicked around on her computer.

Willow, stop being weak. You need to be strong. If something had happened, they would've called the family. Breathe. Sam will be fine. Then you can nag him again about his annoying tendency to leave the toilet seat up.

This wasn't fair. Sam was a good guy, and an awesome brother...when he didn't leave the bathroom a mess.

"Here we go, he's in the north wing of the hospital in room 24B. I'll take you there. It can get confusing trying to get over to that wing of the hospital."

She smiled at me, her humanity winning out— or maybe she was just happy to be getting rid of me— but either way, I was grateful.

I smiled back at her. "Thank you."

On our way over, the nurse started an idle chatter about her family. I guess it was to soothe my nerves. Every word she said went in one ear and out the other.

I tried to pay attention as she told me something about her plans for the weekend including a family barbeque, and then asking me what my plans were. I had tunnel vision, thinking that I would just be here all weekend, of course. All I cared about was my brother.

It was hard enough that Mom and Dad were too busy to come see him very much. But if I had to look out for him by myself, then I would. Lord knew he’d looked out for me often enough.

"Okay, we're in the north wing, and his room is right down the hall."

I ran ahead of her, counting the rooms as I passed each door.

There. I found it.

I waved at the nurse and she waved back, turning around to return to her station. Maybe she had never been annoyed with me, and it was all in my head. I seemed to be going crazy due to anxiety lately.

I pulled on the door and went inside.

"Sam! There you are."

He didn't respond. I knew he was in a coma, but every time I spoke to him, I felt like he'd magically wake up and say something.

Wake up, please wake up soon.

I wiped the hair from his forehead to the side. The bruises were going down, and he looked peaceful. They said he wasn’t in any pain, and I clung to that reassurance. I'd die if I knew he was in pain.

I settled into the chair next to his bed, getting comfortable for a long visit.

"So, I wanted to let you know that I'm trying my hand at bar tending,” I said, taking his hand. “It's at this weird strip joint, but I'm not a stripper. I swear.”

His hand was warm, a good reminder that he was alive and could still come back to me.

"I don't make money like the dancers, but the pay is decent and the tips are too. I had to drop out of school though. Money has gotten tight with the family. But I’ll go back, okay? So don’t yell at me for dropping out. It’s just temporary."

I rubbed his hand and looked at the monitors and machines that were attached to him.

"We're suing that person who hit you," I said with a sniffle, "but the courts are taking their time. We're doing our best. You'll be fine though. And maybe we'll have a bigger house and you'll have your own bathroom to mess up as much as you want."

Who was I kidding? There was no way I could sit here and pretend I was Ms. Emotionless. I had a heart, and it was being stabbed repeatedly.

I wished I could've stopped him from going out that night. But how was I to know he would be hit?

I began humming, and then singing a song.

Don’t worry, be happy…

The song was as much for me as it was for him. I needed to remind myself that worrying didn’t do any good.

But as I continued to sing, I couldn’t help but smile, suppressing a giggle. It was a weird thing to be trying not to laugh in a hospital room, at one of my darkest hours. Yet it was also funny that I was singing, because Sam always used to tease me that I was tone deaf. When we were little he would yell, “NO SINGING” at me, and I would keep going, just to keep annoying him, which was my job as his sister.

It was a game we would play sometimes, on long car trips when we were bored, or while fishing down by the creek. He would tell me to stop singing because I would scare away the fish— they’d have to swim away from me because my voice was so bad. Or he’d tell Mom and Dad to kick me out of the car for subjecting everyone to my awful voice.

Even though it was a joke that was exaggerated out of proportion, I knew he was right— I couldn’t sing to save my life. But now I was hoping that I could sing to save his. I knew how ridiculous that sounded, but I had to focus on something to keep myself from going insane.

Suddenly, there were a few soft knocks at the door. I zipped my lips—another phrase Sam used to tell me to do while singing— and I turned around, to see a middle aged man in a three-piece suit strolling in.

"You must be one of the Reigns. Related to Samual Reign, correct? How are you?" he asked.

"Yes, I’m Willow. His sister. And I guess I'm fine."

I looked back at Sam and his host of machines, wanting to ask the guy how he thought I was, but refraining. Sometimes it takes everything I have to hold back my sarcastic comments.

“I’m sorry, we were just moved to this wing,” I told him. “Who are you?”

"I’m with the hospital administration,” he said brusquely. “Ms. Reign. I'd like to collect some other insurance info from you for your brother if you happen to know it."

"You already have his info." I wiped my eyes.

"I know," he said, frowning, "but that insurance has called us and recently said they could no longer cover his medical needs."

I jumped out of my chair.

"That's impossible! He’s still on our parents’ insurance! What about that man who hit him? He was taken here too, right? Why don't you ask him?"

The man checked his clipboard.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Reign. But he passed away this morning."

I pushed past the doctor and ran down the hallway. Why did all of this bad luck have to happen? That was my brother in there, and all the hospital cared about was money.

I bumped into people, I tripped on a person's leg, but no matter what obstacle was in my path to slow me down, I had to get out of that hospital. I couldn’t sit there with Sam knowing that he would think he was one more bill we had to pay.

For the first time since the accident, I hoped he couldn’t hear what was going on around him. I didn’t want him to find out that there was no money to help him get better, because then he might give up.