Baker's mood drops considerably over the next few days. He's cranky during visits, and his eyes have dark circles underneath them like he hasn't slept in days. His cheeks are sinking in a bit as well due to the fact that he seems disgusted by the hospital food he's served every day. We try to bring him better things to eat, but he doesn't seem very interested in food at all. And when his rehab therapists come in to help him get his strength back, he tells them he's too tired or not feeling well.

It's frustrating, but I feel like I can't say anything about it to him. Almost everything that comes out of my mouth sets him off, and I don't understand why. We're supposed to be working on the speech together, as graduation is just a week away. Usually we work really well together, but right now I can barely get him to focus. He's just so uninterested in anything remotely good in his life. Sometimes it feels like he's giving up before he even really begins, and it really makes me mad. Those three weeks when he was in the coma were the worst three weeks of my life. And now it's like he's throwing his recovery away. I don't understand it.

The only person he seems to get along okay with is Ian, who spends hours at a time with him in the hospital. They play card games together or talk about... well, I don't know what they talk about, as Ian visits him when I'm at school. My mom and dad feel it's best to give Baker and Ian their space, so after they're finished visiting him, they leave Ian alone with his brother. This is when Baker seems the happiest. But the joy is short lived. Eventually, Ian has to go home. Back to his new life with my family. And every time he leaves, Baker seems to slip deeper and deeper into despair.

After a particularly bad visit where Baker snapped at me for trying to get him to actually help me with the speech, I leave early to go to Beth's house. We haven't seen much of each other since Baker woke up, and I've missed her. Her mom makes us a delicious dinner, and despite the fact that my boyfriend has been a bit of a jerk lately, I ask her if I can pack some to take to him the next day, hoping a home cooked meal will do him some good. She agrees and packs some up in a Tupperware container while Beth and I hang out in her bedroom after dinner.

"So how's he doing?" she asks me once we're comfortable on her bed together, our heads sharing the same pillow.

I shrug my shoulders as I look up at the plastic glow in the dark stars on her ceiling that have been there since we were kids. "I don't know. He's been so moody lately, which is not like him at all. The hospital keeps trying to do some rehab with him, but he turns them away every time. It's just... frustrating."

Beth rests her head against my shoulder and sighs. "He's gone through a lot, Summer," she says, and I frown.

"Yeah, we've all gone through a lot," I reply, my voice rising just a bit as my anger grows. "I mean, I spent weeks thinking he was never going to wake up. And now he's not even trying to get better."

"That's true," Beth says as she purses her lips in thought. "But remember, even though you've all been through the ringer, none of this really happened to you."

I wrinkle my nose. "What does that mean?"

"It means," she begins as she turns to face me, "that your pain comes from loving him and worrying about him. But his pain is actual pain. He lived through all this. And think of everything he lost in the process. He can't walk. He can barely talk. He can't go to college now, so everything he worked for is gone."

I shake my head. "He can't go to college right now," I correct her. "But he could if he just... put in the work."

She nods. "You're right. But, Summer, it's a lot of work. He didn't just get a little concussion. He's got some actual brain damage going on. His life will more than likely never be the same, even with all the rehab. And that's a lot to come to terms with. It's almost like... like going through the five stages of grief. Right now, I imagine he's probably feeling angry. Angry that it happened to him. Angry that after all the years of hard work he's put in to better his life, now he has to put in more work just to live his life normally again. I can't imagine what he must be thinking."

She's right, and I know it. "It's still frustrating," I say stubbornly as I fold my arms across my chest.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "I know. But even though he can't admit it right now, I do believe he needs your support. That's the only thing that's going to get him through this nightmare he's in. So just keep doing what you're doing. That's my two cents. Not that you asked."

I nudge her shoulder, and she laughs. "Thanks for being here tonight," I whisper. "I needed to get away for a while."

"Girlfriend, I'm here until one of us dies, okay," she says in her playfully sassy voice, and I giggle. "But really, I'm here for you. I love you, Summer. Bestie westies for life and all that jazz."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Bestie westies?" I ask as I roll my eyes.

"Just go with it, babe," she replies.

Since it's Friday, I decide to stay over for the night. I really do need to get away from everything. Spend the night doing something fun instead of writing a speech with someone who clearly doesn't want to write it at all. Beth and I spend the night watching movies and eating whatever we can find in the refrigerator, and we don't fall asleep until almost two in the morning. I wake up at eleven to find Beth snoring soundly beside me on her bed, her mouth open as drool leaks out of it onto her pillow.

"Gross," I whisper as I shake my head. Then quietly, I sneak out of bed and open her closet, pulling out a t-shirt that she borrowed from me two years ago before picking up my shorts off her bedroom floor. Then I tiptoe into the bathroom and get ready for the day. As I brush my teeth, I think of everything Beth said the night before about the five stages of grief. It makes a lot of sense, and has me thinking that maybe I've been handling this all wrong. So today, instead of trying to force him to help me with the speech, I'm going to bring him food and just talk to him. See if I can get him to open up to me.

An hour and I'm carrying the Tupperware full of food Beth's mom made the night before. It's cold, but I'm hoping the hospital staff will let me warm it up for him. I walk into the hospital room and freeze as I hear Baker moaning in what sounds like pain from his hospital bed. My heart leaps into my throat as I rush in, only to find his eyes are closed. He's tossing and turning, mumbling things I can't understand. He sounds a little frantic as he cries out in his sleep. A nightmare. He must be having a nightmare. Not knowing what else to do, I set the food on one of the counters and reach forward to gently shake Baker awake. He rolls over, swings his arm around, and catches me right in the nose.

"Ow!" I cry as I stumble back, my hand flying to my face as blood pours out of my nose. Baker's eyes fly open at the sound, and when his eyes land on me, I see a look of horror cross his face.

"S-Summer," he stutters, his chest heaving as he tries to steady his breathing. "Oh G-God. D-Did I... h-hit you?" I don't answer as I sit down in the chair and pull my hands from my face. They're coated in blood, and I search the room, looking for something to soak it all up with. "N-No. I... I di-didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," I snap as I reach for a handful of tissues and press it against my face. "Really. I shouldn't have done that. I should've known—"

But my words die in my throat when I hear Baker sobbing in his bed. Hard, heavy tears slide down his cheeks as he cries harder than I've ever seen him cry before. I get to my feet and rush to him, placing my hand on his to try and calm him down. But he shakes his head and yanks his hand away. "G-Go aw-away. Be-Before I h-h-hurt you ag-again."

My lips pull up in a sympathetic smile that's hidden behind wads of tissues. "You didn't. It was an accident. I'm okay. Look, the bleeding is already slowing down." That's a lie, but I don't like seeing him like this. He has to breathe before he passes out. "Baker, really. I'm fine."

"My d-d-dad is he-here," he says through his tears, and his eyes search the hospital room, as if looking for the man who tortured him his whole life. "H-He's g-going to ki-kill me. He s-said he w-was going t-to kill m-m-me. It h-hurts. Everything h-hurts."

"What hurts?" I ask him, disturbed by how frantic he looks. His gray eyes are wide as they dart back and forth across the room. "Baker, stop. It's okay. Just breathe, okay? In. Out. In. Out."

"D-Don't let h-him back in h-here," he cries, shaking his head. "P-Please t-tell the st-staff I d-don't want him h-here. I c-can't s-see him. Not n-now."

I shake my head as I pull the napkins away from my face. Now the blood really is slowing down. Thank God. "Baker, you were having a nightmare. That's all it was, okay? Your dad isn't really here. I told you—"

He buries his face in his hands as he continues to sob. "I d-don't know wh-what's real and wh-what's n-not real anymore! I s-see him wh-when I c-close my eyes! And I-I c-can't stop h-him!" His watery gray eyes look up at me. "Are y-you real?"

My heart sinks. "Yes. I'm real. But your dad isn't. Remember? I told you, he died. You're safe now. It's over."

Baker shakes his head. "N-No. I-It's not ov-over. He k-k-keeps c-coming in here wh-when no one else is he-here. H-His gh-ghost. Ha-haunting me."

I shake my head. "No. That's not true."

"Y-Yes it is!" he yells, his eyes still watery as hard, wracking sobs escape his lips. "I-It is! I-I'm afraid to sl-sleep. He's ev-everywhere h-here."

I've read about this. How sometimes when people wake up from comas, they have a hard time distinguishing reality from dreams. Baker is clearly struggling with this, although I didn't know how bad until just now. And I don't know if there's anything I can say to calm him down. "Do you have a hard time distinguishing what's real and what's not?" I ask softly, and he nods his head. "Well, I think I can help you with that."

"H-How?" he asks as he wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand.

I smile as I take a seat beside him. "Just ask me, and I'll tell you."

He shakes his head. "N-No. I d-don't want t-to look st-stupid."

"It's not stupid to ask for help," I reply. "Besides, remember when you forced me to go skating? And I said I didn't want to fall in front of you because I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of you?" He nods his head. "You said not to worry about it. That I couldn't. And that's the truth here. You won't look stupid to me. Just ask."

He looks at his limp hands on the blanket in front of him. Then he closes his eyes and takes deep, steadying breaths. I don't say anything. I just wait for him to speak. To ask me what he needs to ask me. "Y-You're real?"

I nod. "I'm real. With you, right now."

Another steadying breath. "W-Was my d-d-dad here t-today?" he asks shakily.

"No, that wasn't real," I answer. "Your dad is dead, Baker. He can't come here. Whenever you see him, I can promise you that it's not real."

"Wh-When Ian c-comes t-t-to play c-cards," he says.

"Real," I reply. "Ian is here every day almost all day."

"H-He's not dead?" he asks, my heart aches at the question. God, what is his brain telling him?

I shake my head. "No. He's very much alive. And he worries about you, Baker. We all worry about you." I reach forward and grab hold of his hand. This time, he doesn't pull away.

"Y-You st-still love m-me?" he asks.

I smile. "Very real."

He nods his head. Then his eyes catch sight of something behind me. "I-Is that T-Tupperware c-container real?" he asks, and I turn around and spot the food I brought him sitting on the counter.

A laugh escapes my throat as I nod my head. "Yeah. Beth's mom made dinner last night, and she let me pack some up for you. Thought I could find a way to heat it up and we can have lunch together."

"B-Bold of y-you to think I-I'm sh-sharing," he says, and for the first time in days I hear the teasing in his voice.

I smirk. "Bold of you to think you're getting any of it then," I reply, and he laughs. Really laughs. The knot I've been holding in my stomach eases just a bit as I toss the bloody napkins in the trashcan, wash my hands, and go out in the hallway to find someone to help me heat this up. Eventually I find a nurse who leads me to a microwave. After heating the food up for a few minutes, I walk back over to his hospital room and set the food on the tray between us before handing him a fork.

We eat out of the same Tupperware container. But I don't eat much, as I'm enjoying watching him devour the food bite by bite. And I don't know if I'm imagining things or not, but I swear his cheeks are getting fuller with each passing second. Once we're done, I take the Tupperware container and set it aside. He wipes his mouth on a napkin and looks at me, his gray eyes warm for the first time in a while.

"Y-You need m-my h-help writing a sp-speech?" he asks. "R-Real or n-not?"

"We don't have to do that today," I reply, not answering the question. "Today we can just visit. Spend time together. Graduation isn't until Friday, so we have some time."

He nods his head. "T-Tomorrow th-then?" he asks hopefully, and I feel like I'm finally getting my Baker back.

"Tomorrow," I reply. He spends the rest of the afternoon asking me questions about what's real or not, and I'm horrified with the nightmares he's been having. But it shouldn't be surprising, considering everything he's been through. Still, with every answer I give him, I feel him visibly relax just a bit more. Turns out he just needed a person to ask questions to. A sounding board of sorts. Good thing I've had a lot of practice giving the right answers.

Author's Note:
Only a few chapters left until I'm done with this story. I know it's gone on a really long time, but I had a lot of story to tell here. If you've followed along this far, thank you so much. It means the world to me. I've got another story brewing in my head already that I plan on sharing very soon. I'll keep you all posted. Next chapter coming out as soon as I can write it. Stay safe and healthy until then, my dears!
XOXO,
~Aly