I don’t want to stare. I don’t. But I can’t look away. I can’t make my eyes turn away from his face. My heart, which was already sinking with every step I took into this room, has just fallen out of my chest. I run my eyes over the man lying on the bed, still unconscious, and I want to break down and cry. I want to reverse it all. I want to make it go away.

It’s like a nightmare I just can’t wake up from.

Caiden is lying in the bed, unconscious, but he doesn’t need to be conscious for me to see the incredible damage done to him. He’s bandaged around the chest and arms, and he has a huge white patch up half his face. I can see the fluid soaked into it, and I know, by the red, angry skin around it, that he’s burned badly.

The doctor told me he has come to a few times now, but the pain takes him out again. He said pain from being burned is one of the most horrific things a human can feel. I know he’s right. I feel only a percentage of what Caiden must be feeling, from the burns on my abdomen. They’re agonizing; his must make him want to die.

He told the doctors he has no feeling in his legs, and they’ve been running tests. I don’t know much more. And I’m terrified. If he can’t walk ... God. My heart pounds so hard I can hardly breathe, as I near closer and reach for his hand, pulling it into mine. I can’t hear, my mind is still buzzing and screaming at me constantly, but I don’t need to hear. He just needs me here.

This is all my fault.

I squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t move, of course he doesn’t. I close my eyes and the tears slip down my face. I told my father last night what happened, I had to, the police wanted a report. I couldn’t lie, I knew Caiden would eventually share the truth, and figured he didn’t need that extra burden when he woke. It was up to me to be honest. My father told my mother, and now I’m sure everyone knows.

A harsh tapping on my shoulder has me spinning around to see Caiden’s mother staring at me. Well, she’s not staring, she’s glaring. Her eyes are as cold as ice. She used to love me. She used to think I was the best thing in the world for him. Now she’s staring at me as if she wishes I was never born, as if she wishes I would just vanish right here and now never to be seen again.

She yells something, but all I hear is a high pitch and the distant sound of her voice. I can make out a few words, just barely. I try to stare at her lips, to figure out what she’s saying, but she’s talking too fast. I’ve never had to spend time looking at how words are formed before, and now I realize just how hard it is. I get a few “yous” and “ands” but that’s as much as I can read.

My fingers are trembling, and tears are still flooding my cheeks. I want to curl up and die. I don’t need to hear what she’s saying to know it’s full of scorn. She hates me. And she is quite within her right. The road ahead for Caiden is long, and full of pain and agony.

I look at him through my tears, and I wonder for the first time, just how much he’s going to hate me too.

Someone takes my arm; it’s my mother. She’s looking between Caiden and me, and then she glances at his mother. She says something. His mother says something. And then they’re yelling at each other. A jumble of angry voices blurs its way into my vision and I slam my hands over my ears. I can’t take it. I can’t.

I lower to my knees, ducking my head, and clenching my eyes shut. I keep my hands over my ears and I pray. I don’t know what for. A miracle maybe. Something to make it go away. Something to make me wake up from this nightmare.

I’m scooped into a familiar set of arms.

My father.

Thank God.

He carries me down the hall and back into my room, placing me on my bed. I’m hysterical, I know I am, everything in my life has been turned upside down and I don’t know how to correct any of it. I can’t hear anyone, I can’t communicate, I can’t help Caiden. Everything is out of my control and I feel helpless.

And broken.

So incredibly broken.

My father takes my chin in his hands and forces me to look up at him. I do, staring into his eyes, eyes I trust so much. He mouths, very, very slowly, “You can still talk. Your hearing is gone. Your words are not. Speak, and I will listen.”

I shake my head.

He keeps hold of my chin. I hold his eyes. “Open your mouth and speak.”

He is mouthing the words so slowly I can make every one of them out.

I shake my head again.

“Amalie, this situation is here whether you like it or not. Use your words, they’re the only thing you have.”

I cry harder, and he squeezes my chin just a little until I stop. My father is kind and gentle, but he is, and always has been, my voice of reason. So, I stop my crying and take a deep breath, closing my eyes. I open my mouth and mutter, “Daddy?”

I open my eyes, and he’s grinning. “Sounds just the same, albeit a little quieter. Keep going.”

“I’m s-s-s-scared.”

I can’t hear my voice, not clearly, and it’s terrifying. I don’t know what pitch my words are coming out, if they’re clear, if they’re not.

My father’s eyes grow soft, and he looks at me. “This is not your fault. This accident is not on you. That’s why it is called an accident. Do not let this ruin your life. Caiden will recover. You will recover.”

I look into his eyes.

And I want to believe him, I do.

But he’s wrong.

It is my fault.

And Caiden might never recover.

~*~*~*~