The void between survival. . .
When losing love feels like losing life,
Find your love and fly your white flag.
~◇~◇~
тнιѕ cнapтer ιѕ dedιcaтed тo divina108

I didn't die.

The last memory I had was of falling into a deep sleep, without ever being drowsy.

My eyes flicker open from my medicated sleep and I take in my surroundings. Feeling out of place in the smell and sounds, I close my heavy eyes again, allowing myself to drift back into calm.

"Hi,"

I look towards the direction of the voice, a guy wearing a striped tie is staring at me. Striped ties are my least favourite kind of ties but I'm too medicated to care .

"Ivan?"

I try to nod, I don't know if he can tell.

"My name is Michael," he says, "I'm friends with Boma. She asked me to check in on you, I didn't think you'd be awake though. She's been beating her self up all night."

She found me?

I shut my eyes, allowing what fluids I have left to sip out, as I sniffle quietly.

"I'll just go tell her that you're awake." I hear the doors slide closed.

Only to open up again, following the sound of shuffling shoes. It's Dr. Stubborn Chin.

"Mr. Adebayo. So we meet again." he pulls a revolving stool from the corner. "Suicide?" His brows knit as he shakes his head.

I don't think he expects an answer.

"That's a pretty serious thing you know, those combinations you took, it's a miracle you didn't stay dead."

I actually died?

He moves his stethoscope to my chest, listening to my heart. Then he picks my hand off the bed, checking my pulse, before focusing his torch at my eyes. The brightness burns, coercing the last few drops of tears to let go of my eyes.

"You're all stable now, so we'll move you to the suite. Lucky you, wealthy parents, wonderful family." He shakes his head again.

He's mad at me. I'm mad at me too. If I had died, it would have been easier. I don't know how I'm going to face them now.

He stands up, placing those latex powdered hands on my shoulder. As he leaves, I call out.

My throat feels so arid, like I've never had water for a day in my life. I force out the words, "can I see her?" It's a hoarse whisper.

"Boma? Sure. Once we settle you into the suite."

"Can you do me a favour?" I ask.

"What is it?"

"Can you make it possible that she sees me first before anyone else?"

He blinks, slowly, merely nodding, before walking out. I believe it was a yes. So I breathe deep, allowing my burning lungs to expand, then I let out the breath in one strained sweep, clearing my mind of the debris of thoughts that still lingered.

As the nurses roll me to the suite, keeping my eyes open is a struggle. Even though it's a battle against my deepest instincts, I count the bright lights we pass by, in an attempt to stay awake. As we approach the last bright light that will lead us into the elevator, it expands into the deceptive darkness that my sleep is.

°°°°°

"Hey," my vision is a blur and my heart races like someone whose fever has resulted in vertigo. I squeeze them and open them again. It's the Michael guy.

My senses kick in as the cool air from the air conditioner hits me. I look around. A drip line hangs from the top of the bed, connected to my hand. I notice how huge the suite is, the walls are a sombre white colour, giving essence to the four dim lights, placed on them. Next to me is a dim bedside lamp. The room smells of less antiseptic, and there aren't any beeping noises. I stroke the bed, it's also bigger than the generic hospital bed. Looks like a place my mother chose herself. I breathe down and reply, "Hi."

His lips curl into a slow smile, like someone about to present a trophy. I realise why, the moment he moves aside.

As I gander, my eyes draw water. In my head, the steady drumming of my heart is replaced by a smooth, angelic symphony of dubs. It's slow, just like everything now is.

The lamp's dim light is replaced by floating white aurae as the cool air creeps under my skin, spiking the little hairs resting on my arms and the back of my neck.

She stands transfixed, hands inside her sweater, hair wild and unbound, lips quivering furiously, face severely flushed. Her eyes are red and strained, it's not shocking when they slowly begin leaking.

Michael dramatically slides backwards, he turns to leave when she whispers, "thank you." He nods sagely, then bows before walking out, shutting the metal door behind him.

Minutes pass and she doesn't move, she doesn't speak, she's unbothered by the lake her tears have become. I'm trying to ignore mine, but it's hard to ignore the torrents of hot shame soaking the pillow underneath my head.

"Hi." She finally says, her voice still a hoarse whisper.

"Hi." I smile involuntarily, it's hard not to.

"How do you feel?" she pulls a tuft of curls behind her ear.

"High." I say. Her face brightens up as her lips curl.

"Come." I whisper, stretching out my hand.

I'm not prepared for the speed with which she rushes into me. Her hoarse whisper is replaced by deep silent howls as her head borrows into my chest. My eyes leak some more as I pull my hands over her back, stroking her to a calm.

I move aside in the bed, creating enough space for the both of us. She slides in without faltering, resting her head on my chest. I can see her curls beat in rhythm with my heart and I can feel hers beat on my ribs. She holds on to the hospital garb as I bury my nose in her hair. We stay that way for a couple minutes, sobbing, sniffing and embracing.

At this point, nothing prepares me for the way I feel. The warmth in holding her is undreamt of. The strength in having her fragile heart beating with mine is astounding. When she looks up, it's like I'm seeing those bright blue gems and meeting her sharp confident nose for the first time. Looking into her eyes, I wonder why I didn't let the warmth I feel now, stop me from trying to take my life.

"Nobody won." She says.

"Nobody won." I repeat.

She blinks, "we let them in."

"We did." I stroke her hair.

"Whenever you're ready. We'll start again. " she says.

~°~°~°~°~°

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