The room was completely silent, except for a subtle beeping- a background noise. Cynthia lay, stretched out before me, on a hospital cot. I was frozen by the door, unable to force myself forward, to see her face. Shockingly, I was afraid. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I took those few steps forward that brought me to her side.
Her eyes were closed, and tubes were strung around her like weird appendages, breathing for her, living for her. Her beautiful black hair was tied back, hidden. I’d always imagined that she’d look peaceful when I was finally here- but she didn’t.
She looked dead.
That crashing realization hurt worse than anything I thought I could feel anymore. The tears built up and burst forth, dropping onto her beautiful face. I leaned down and kissed them off, imagining they were her own tears that I was kissing away, imagining that she could still cry.
I knew nothing about Comas. But I knew the girl lying before me was never going to be the Cynthia I’d known. The Cynthia I’d loved.