by Garcia, Amy
All rights reserved. © 2015 Amy Lynn Garcia
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in anything, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from Amy Lynn Garcia or her legal representative.
Authors Note:
This series contains adult content not meant for anyone under the age of 18. Those under the age of 18 are discouraged from reading this material.
To the people I live and breathe for, the ones who bring me laughter and joy, my daughters Alisha, Saidee, Cayla, Jaylynn and Sophia.
To the person who is always there being silly, encouraging and reminding me to take bathroom breaks and not to wash my face with my glasses on and to rinse my shampoo before drying my hair with a towel, Jaye Hart.
To the person who reminds me when to be where, and what to do when I get there. The one who is always smiling and cheerful drawing my street team together helping them to work together as one. The one who is willing to research and figure out anything for me anytime of the day or night until she’s got an answer, my PA Stephanie Hart.
To the best swag maker, promoter, supporter and most of all great friend my PA Julie Minton.
To the most patient, efficient and flexible editor and formatter ever Brenda Wright
To my beta readers who give it to me straight and put up with my incessant comma use and horrific punctuation. I thank you Jen aka ‘Just Jen’ Rivera, Shannon Pacsuta, Gayle aka ‘Gayla’ Williams, Julie Minton, Nikki aka ‘Nika’ Kusma, Erin Lewis aka ‘Maimeo’s Angels’
To my street team Amy’s Army who I can’t thank enough for tirelessly pimping my books all over social media and attending take over after take over, you ladies are the best!
To my fans who tattooed “You go, I go” on their bodies and will forever have a part of me and my story with them Jenny Ludwig and Gayle aka Gayla Williams. This was the ultimate honor and made my heart burst with pride!
To the person with endless ideas, technical abilities, encouragement and sales strategies, the goofball who is texting me good morning every day and good night every night, my marketing director and friend Kristyn Eudes.
I couldn’t have done any of this without all of you, thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me bring my baby to life. ‘The Two Sides of Me’ trilogy would be nothing without each and every one of you and so many more!
“Freight Train” by Sara Jackson-Holman
“All I Feel Is You” by Natalia Safron
The best part of my day is when I open my eyes and for a few blissful seconds nothing is wrong, nobody is gone, no one has died and left me all alone with a broken heart and an empty soul. But moments later, when my head clears, and I blink the sleep from my eyes the pain begins in my chest. It plows through my body like a freight train into every cell, saturating me absolutely. A lump forms in my throat and incredibly, even after such a long time, tears still spring to my eyes.
I lie silently, this particular morning, on my back and take a deep breath. I consider holding it long enough to pass out so I can wake up again and have those few seconds back, but I don’t. I decide that moment isn’t worth repeating, the sadness far outweighs the happiness of those seconds.
When my arms no longer feel like concrete, and I’m able to wipe the tears from my cheeks, I stare up at the canopy of Evan’s bed, our bed, now it’s just my bed. I wait for the crushing hopelessness that I know is coming and squeeze my eyes tight when it does. Just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that I roll to my side, pull my knees up to my chest and sob for the loss of my best friend, my most passionate lover, my husband.
If I thought I was dying when Evan and I were separated, I was incredibly mistaken. This is so much worse than death. This is torture, unending, unyielding all-encompassing agony.
When I ran away from Evan, there was a tiny ember of hope smoldering away in my heart. I had the comfort of knowing he was still a part of this world; he was somewhere tangible; I could return to him if I couldn’t bear the pain anymore.
An ocean of water has been poured on that ember. He is nowhere. His perfect, beautiful body buried deep in the cold ground of the family cemetery. His soul has gone wherever souls go.
I used to believe in heaven and hell, I thought we all left the earth and traveled into the light to be with God. God. How could there be a God? How could there be an entity that leaves one of his children so broken and in so much pain?
I will never again touch or be touched by his strong hands, never feel his warm breath on my neck when we lay in this bed, naked after making love.
How could he leave me? I have no will to live; there is nothing left for me here.
He goes; I go. I told him. He knew. He promised to try, and he didn’t try hard enough. I used to be angry. I screamed and tore my hair out. I hated everyone until there was no hate left. My body hurts. My bones ache. I want Evan however I can have him. I want him, even if I have to die to get him back.
I’m in a bad bad place, and I don’t have the strength to care. I’ve held on for longer than I planned. My family begs me to get out of this bed. I can’t even look at them. The pity in their eyes used to make me sick so I just stopped looking. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, months have gone by now, this is so over, I am done. It’s time to go.
“Mia, Mia, don’t cry, baby, I’m right here. Look at me, honey.” I kneel down next to where my beautiful wife is sitting, why is she crying? What is happening here?
The noise in this room is deafening, alarms screeching, nurses and physicians scurrying around, yelling commands, medication doses. Someone is in trouble over there. Someone Mia cares about. That has to be why she’s crying. It’s so hard to put the pieces of this scene together. I do not feel right. This is not right.
“Mia! Listen to me! What is going on? Who is in that bed?! Damn it, answer me!”
Why is she not answering me? I have never raised my voice to her. She isn’t even flinching. I’m yelling right into her ear. I need to see what’s going on over there.
Standing, I glance toward the beehive of activity surrounding the bed. Gabriella is sobbing just outside the room crouched down against the wall with her hands covering her face. What the fuck is going on?!
“Doctor, what’s happening?” I ask a physician when he rounds the end of the bed; his focus is on the patient, though. He doesn’t answer. Somebody in this place is going to tell me what the hell is going on! I approach the bed and peer over the shoulders of two nurses to see another on her knees in the bed with the patient performing CPR.
Fuck, this guy is dying! No wonder Mia and Gabby are so upset, but who?
I don’t remember anyone we know being in the hospital. Actually I don’t remember much of anything at all. I move back a step as the nurses switch places. The one in the bed has sweat dripping off of her face from the exertion. She must have been at this a while.
Another nurse takes her place and when she moves I step in closer to see who the poor soul is in the bed fighting for his life. Who it is that my family is crying over. For a split second, I see the face of the man lying there, it’s me. Me? I’m not in that bed I’m standing right here. How can this be? This is not happening. My vision wavers and my body lightens as the noise around me becomes steadily louder.
I’m floating, weightless, but suddenly that sensation evaporates, and my feet are rooted to the floor. I stand and watch in utter bewilderment as my body stabilizes, a monitor above the bed shows that my heart has begun to beat, my heart.
I have a brain tumor, that much I do know. Maybe I’m hallucinating, that has to be it, just a huge elaborate hallucination.
&nb
sp; I turn and see my Mia stand and clutch her chest. She is hyperventilating, I try to go to her, but she still cannot see me, not this me, she sees theme in the hospital bed and the return of my beating heart has blessedly stopped her tears. Gabby embraces her. She is where I want to be, holding her, comforting her, loving her. I thank God for my twin sister right now more than ever. I have had my differences with Gabriella but since Mia drifted into my life on a whisper and conquered my difficult spirit, I have had nothing but appreciation and love for her.
I watch as they move to my side, Mia lays her head on my chest and reaches up to cradle my face. As soon as I see those delicate familiar hands touching me I feel her here, wherever here is. I feel her damp tear stained face against my chest, her hands on my cheeks.
My God Mia, don’t leave me now, don’t give up on me, I was listening I heard what you said, I go, you go and I am sure as hell not going anywhere.
“Open Your Eyes” by Snow Patrol
I really hate nightmares. They have been a regular disturbing part of my life for so long. I should be used to them, but I’m not. So I take sleeping pills at night to escape, but the effectiveness of the drugs decreases the longer I take them.
Where I used to be able to sleep six or seven hours dreamlessly, I can only now go for three or four. I don’t necessarily wake up when the medication wears off. I just begin to dream again, and my dreams are always terrors, never warm, soft, happy dreams. They’re horrible memories of my own personal accounts twisted into new distorted and mangled experiences.
Today, tonight, I’m not really sure which as there is no window in this room, I wake soaked in sweat and tears, frozen on my back in an uncomfortable cot. It takes a minute to reorient myself to my surroundings and when I do, the relief that washes over me is astonishing, completely overwhelming.
It wasn’t real. Oh, God, thank you! It wasn’t real. We’re still here, both of us. I look over and there he is, lying as still as always but alive, still alive. I pull the sheet around me and struggle from the cot and into his bed, the need to feel his warmth is immense and the magnetic pull between us is as strong as ever. I know the nurses will be pissed, but I don’t give a shit, I slip in next to him avoiding all the monitors and ventilator.
When I’m next to him I pull his hospital gown up on the side I’m nearest to and open the sheet I’m wrapped in, unbutton my nightshirt and press against his skin. Sliding my hand across his abdomen slowly I inhale his scent deeply. I never want to be without this; his warm skin, his unique smell, his heart beating under my cheek.
The nightmare I just had was so real, so detailed it’s hard to believe it was only a dream. I know in detail how unbearable it would be to lose my husband. That damn dream continues to haunt me over and over, each time becoming more realistic.
If I could have anything I wanted in the world, one wish, it would be for Evan to wake up and be the man I love. But if he doesn’t, I will accept that over the alternative a million times over. As long as he’s here, and I can still see him, touch him, talk to him, I’ll survive.
As I lay there listening to the soft hum of the ventilator and the beeping of his heartbeat on the monitor, I allow myself to daydream about the way it could be if Evan woke up, had surgery and remained permanently my Evan. We could travel, have a real wedding, a long luxurious honeymoon, go home to Seattle where I could work part-time in the ICU, spoil my husband, love my kitties, have family get together, set Isaac up with Lilly, well I’m not positive about that one but maybe.
Just as I’m drifting off with visions of miniature Evans and baby strollers, a nurse walks in and stops abruptly at the edge of the bed when she sees me snuggled with him.
I’m fully awake now looking across at her; I wait for a disapproving look, but it never comes. Instead, her big brown eyes are full of understanding, and she smiles, just a small one but it’s there, and I know I’ve found my favorite Italian nurse. A lot can be said with a look or a lack thereof and this woman understands my needs, her eyes speak to me.
I returned the sentiment with my own tiny smile, and a silent relationship is born. Her name badge says Mona, I tuck that away in my memory as my eyelids begin to slide shut; but before I fall to sleep again, I softly thank her using one of the few but important words in Italian that I have learned.
“Grazie, Mona.” I listen while she quietly changes his IV bag. When she is gone, the soft click of the door closing allows me to totally relax and enjoy the closeness.
Thankfully, I sleep two more hours in peace. Before I’m fully awake, I slide my bare leg between Evan’s and softly moan, running my fingers along the top of his boxers. I remember where we are. but before I pull away, I’ve gone far enough to realize one of my favorite parts of my husband is functioning this morning.
Hmmm, I wonder what’s going on in that mind of his, humph, it better be me. I lay my hand over him, unmoving, and tilt my face up to his.
“Good morning, husband. Do you feel me? I wish you would come back to me. I’m missing you so much.” When I move my hand away, I prop up on one elbow next to him. “You know it’s been far too long now, we need to go home. Home to Seattle. I miss my family, and it’s Christmas tomorrow. Are you going to make me miss the holiday with my family because you’re messing around in a coma?”
My question is answered with silence as usual, and I drop my chin to my chest momentarily sighing, but I’m no quitter, so I keep up the one-sided chit chat, his brain needs stimulating. I don’t want him getting static. I give him a little dose of guilt every day along with a strict talking to about wasting our time, but so far, it’s not working. I button up my shirt and slip from the bed leaning over to kiss his cheek. I want to kiss his lips, but the ventilator continues to hold them hostage. After I dress and pull my messy tangled hair into a knot at the back of my neck, I tend to Evan, positioning him slightly on his side, brushing his hair away from his face. He needs a haircut, but we will worry about that when he wakes up. I wash his face and change his hospital gown, I gave him a full bath yesterday; today I’ll just spruce him up.
Tomorrow is Christmas. I’ll make sure he’s his normal beautiful groomed self for the holiday. Maybe Nurse Mona will be here and let me dress him in normal street clothes, just for the day. I’ll have to get my translating app pulled up on my phone to ask her.
When I’m finished, I pull out my iPad and choose a playlist I know he loves and turn it on, Jocelyn Pook’s voice fills the room, raspy and beautiful. She sings a classical rendition of Romeo and Juliet. I’ll have breakfast while he listens and then I’ll look up the news online and read to him about what’s happening in the world, what he’s missing. I usually give him a break after that and do some of my own reading, lunch, more chatting and usually a visit from Gabriella, Simone, Isaac and occasionally Mr. Saint and Cecelia stop to see him as well. This has become our daily routine for the past ten days or so. It gets lonely talking all the time with no response, but after last night’s dream, I know it could be so much worse.
“Knock knock.”
“Oh hey, Gabriella. You’re early today.” Gabriella stands in the door of Evan’s room arms loaded with gifts. “What’s all this?”
“Oh you know, I just did a little shopping. Christmas is tomorrow. If you left the hospital for 10 minutes, you’d know that, or if you watched the news.” She huffs and rolls her eyes.
“I can’t leave him, and I read the news to Evan every day. I know it’s Christmas, it just doesn’t feel right celebrating. When Evan wakes up, we can have a big holiday dinner with a tree and my family…”
I know what she’s thinking, I can see it all over her face and she knows she better not ever say it out loud in front of me. Evan is coming home, soon, and we are having a big, no make that an enormous tree and we will all sit down and eat turkey together. We will. She sighs and begins to unload the things from her arms onto the counter.
“I’ve got to run back outside and get the rest of it.”
>
“There’s more? It’s only the four of us, why so much stuff?”
“It’s not just the four of us, Mia. Mr. Saint and Cecelia are coming tomorrow, too.”
“Oh, well ok then.”
“Why don’t you come and help me carry them in?” I stop eating the rubber eggs I ordered from the hospital menu, fork in midair. I look at her and try to convey the importance of my not leaving Evan’s side.
“I promised him.”
“I know, honey, but it’s not healthy for you to be holed up in this room twenty-four seven. It’s only for a couple minutes, and the fresh air will do you good.” Now I place my fork on my plate; I’m not hungry anymore. She doesn’t understand, nobody understands.
“No,” I answer simply, and she turns on her heel to go, leaving me feeling guilty and angry.
“Buongiorno, Señora Lawson.” Nurse Mona enters the room to do round on Evan. That’s the first time someone has addressed me as Mrs. Lawson. Even if it is in Italian, I’m speechless. None of the nurses attempt to talk to me, and obviously they don’t have to talk to Evan, so there’s been no reason for anyone to use my new title or name. I wonder how Mona found out we were married anyway?
I find my voice finally and return the greeting, “Good Morning, Mona.”
While she checks his vital signs and does her assessment, she eyes me occasionally, once glancing toward my iPad, nodding her head up and down as if she’s approving of my music choice. I smile, and so does she. Mona has one of those warm maternal smiles that reaches her eyes. It’s genuine, and I love it. She makes me feel welcome in this unfriendly foreign place. Evan’s former reputation as always precedes him, and no one has been anything more than clinical, they do what they are required to do and leave. I’m alright with that as long as they are doing everything they can to make him better and wake him up. They can ignore me all day long and leave the daily care and TLC to me, I don’t really mind.
