Vicky and the guys begin to deal with the past events
[Lyrics from "Frozen" by Within Temptation, and "Move Along" by All American rejects. Some "lyrics" are mine (bold, italics) and some are my friend's, Robyn (bold, underline).]
Anyways, on with the story :D
We all watched minutes of this torture as the reality began to sink in. Ryan wrapped his arms tightly around me, and I clung on harder than ever. Sobbing crazily into his shoulder, I just couldn't bare to watch any longer. I couldn't hear anything: it felt like I was either going to faint or vomit.
I can't feel my senses
I just feel the cold
All colours seem to fade away
I can't reach my soul
I would stop running, if I knew there was a chance
It tears me apart to sacrifice it all but I'm forced to let go
These tears threaten to spill
They cloud my eyes, I feel blind
But my sense of touch is so much... stronger
Squeezing Ryan's waist, twisting his wrists in my fists, I released all of my anger, sadness, frustration and depression freely, continuing to cry horrifically. I think all of the others were too, but I can't really remember. I clenched Ryan's shirt. I had fazed out completely, thinking solely about Brendon. I was no longer his: there was no-one for me to belong to anymore.
Tell me I'm frozen but what can I do?
Can't tell the reasons I did it for you
When lies turned into truth I sacrificed for you
You say that I'm frozen but what I can I do?
Now its gone, its over
I've been cut off
A part of me taken away
Is it possible to have part of a soul?
A divided life?
I'll never be free
He has that part of me locked away
Stuck in another world
One with no love, not even whole
I can feel your sorrow
You won't forgive me
It tears me apart that you will never know but I have to let go
In reality, all of this - Brendon's heart stopping - happened within merely 2 minutes, but it felt like an eternity too long. Without my awareness, the surgeons laboriously beat violently at Brendon's chest, reluctant to accept his death.
Everything will slip away
Shattered pieces will remain
When memories fade into emptiness
Only time will tell its tale
If it all has been in vain
His voice is my sweet symphony and personifies my love and pain
Without him I'm nothing
Everything pulled away except the air
Thick with choking fumes of agony, deceit and failure, with the scent of life.
I love him, I can't hurt him
I can't put him in my shit
Time can't heal me, nothing can.
The weirdest thing happened next: Ryan began pulling away from me slowly, loosening his grip around me, a dazed, startled look on his face. Returning back to this planet, it seemed, sounds could be heard, colours reappeared; I could see a lot clearer. It was then that I became aware of a different sound: a beeping, nonetheless, but a regular beep. Each of the boys moved closer to the window, entirely perplexed. Mustering up some strength, I looked back through into the adjacent theatre, seeing a group of smiling surgeons and a fluctuating line across the heart monitor. None of us believed what we saw: we were afraid to believe it; and yet I did in fact begin to process the information, slowly. Brendon isn't dead?! But I thought I had just watched him die! How could this happen?... The only conclusion I could find was that Brendon wasn't meant to die yet: fate played its role, or Brendon had one amazing God watching him.
Waves of relief crashed into me, and I met them confidently, hints of a painful small smile appearing. All of us looked at eachother, exchanging glances of great hope before breaking into huge grins almost simultaneously, soaking my drenched skin even more, practically jumping on top of them all from pure blissful happiness.
He's alive! Brendon's alive! I love him so much!
No words were necessary; mutually, we all understood how we felt, and I felt as though speech would only ruin that.
"I'm sorry, excuse me, could you all wait outside in the waiting room for a minute please?" One of the surgeons appeared from the operating theatre briefly before returning back to it, smiling supportively. Ryan, Spence, Jon and I obliged and moved away to the main reception waiting area. This was a private hospital, so it wasn't huge.
We each took a seat awkwardly, feeling quite content: the remainder of the surgery went well. It felt good to sit down and be able to breathe naturally, not feeling so anxious.
For the first time in hours, Spence spoke: "I'm so glad he's ok now..."
I wanted to reply, but my throat had gone alarmingly dry; it hurt terribly. Spontaneously, I got up and filled a plastic cup with water from the dispenser, gulping it down hard. They all gave me questioning looks once I sat back down, but I simply shook my head, not willing to talk about it. Thankfully, they understood this and did not press the matter any further.
"I feel so relieved too..." Jon breathed huskily, before clearing his throat. "It was just... the worst thing I've ever seen..."
We nodded again in agreement, lost in our own thoughts. My eyes were small; mentally, and physically, I felt exhausted, drained.
After a couple of minutes of silence, a nurse came in looking for us; she led us to the room in which Brendon had been wheeled into. Even in that short time, they had wrapped clean sheets around his still pale skin and put an IV in his wrist, as well as other various drains and tubes. It was so weird to see: although I was able to get over the initial sick feeling, it still shocked me more than anything to see him in such a vulnerable position. My emotions were still running strong, and the feelings of pain and guilt hadn't yet left my veins.
A consultant rapped gently on the door before entering, striding purposefully to Brendon. He checked Brendon's drip, his monitors and his general comfort before even turning to acknowledge our presence. However, he did not apologise as he spoke in a vaguely annoyed manner. "Mr. Urie seems to be fine now. His heart rate is returning to normal, and someone will come to take his blood pressure in a moment. Except for the small set back we had in the theatre, the surgery itself went well."
"Why did his heart stop beating?" Spencer interrupted nervously, but with more confidence in his voice than before, arms folded across his chest, as if blaming him.
"Well, mainly due to Brendon's discomfort and loss of blood, and his wounds being so open. His body closed down," the man replied a little more sympathetically this time, but he now sounded as though he was not telling the whole truth. "I will get a nurse to take his blood pressure now." He scuttled off, and a few minutes later, a cheerful nurse wheeled in a BP machine on a small stand. She spoke minimally, scribbling something down on her clipboard and wishing us goodbye, finally leaving us alone.
Surprisingly, I was the first to tread slowly from the door to Brendon's bedside, stroking his hair in my shaking hands. Hands are shaking cold, your hands are mine to hold, speak to me./ I willed myself to stay strong and not to cry, and I didn't! I stared into his unopened eyes, watching him peacefully. Leaning down, I brushed my lips against his, longing to feel his touch again. /But I can't. Who's to say that he will even want to be with me when he wakes up? If he wakes up... I forced myself not to think of such things: he's only in a coma, he has to wake up...
Another nurse came in to explain the situation to us all, and telling us general information about the hospital. "At the moment, Mr. Urie is in a coma, and it could take a few days, weeks, or even months for him to wake up. The best thing is to give him a reason to wake up. You know, being here, talking to him, reading, or even singing. Smells always help too; perhaps a favourite aftershave? Or music? Familiar things, in other words."
"Erm, when can we visit?" Ryan asked quietly.
"Visiting hours are from about 6 in the morning up until 10 in the evening. We sometimes allow close relations to stay overnight if they wish... How do you all know him?"
Spencer stepped in: "We are his band mates, and best friends, and she," he pointed at me contemplatively, "she's his girlfriend."
"Ah, yes, ok. Well it is now 7am. Personally, I would recommend going home to get some air, but of course you can stay if you wish."
"Thankyou, very much," Ryan said. She smiled before leaving. "Maybe we should go home for a bit, just to clear our heads."
"Yeah, I could do with showering," Spencer chuckled softly. I, however, didn't want to leave. My bag was in Brendon's car, and I didn't want to leave him alone; I wanted to be with him.
When I didn't speak or move, Ryan asked, "Are you ok?" I nodded, still afraid of using my voice for some reason. "Could you just come with me for a minute please?" Ryan asked, gesturing towards the door. I followed, leaving Jon and Spencer with Brendon.
Ryan led me to a hallway nearby which was quiet and looked at me, studying my expression, examining me. Analysis: "Don't you want to go for a bit? Get out of this horrible place?" I shook my head. "Why haven't you spoken?" he questioned worriedly, but in a very soft tone, before I shrugged my shoulders lightly. "Ok, if you want to stay, I'm not going to make you go. Don't feel like you're alone, because you're not. If you ever want anyone to talk to, I'm right here... Should I take your bag back to ours? You're staying with us, right?
Nodding my head, I smiled warmly, finally managing a hoarse, "Thankyou." Ryan smiled at that. We returned to Brendon's room and after Ryan explained to Jon and Spencer that I was going to stay, they went. I held Brendon's hand in mine and massaged it gently, crying painfully. The hot liquid burned my cold skin. Wake up, please, wake up... I need you...
The boys returned to the hospital about 2 hours later, having showered and changed, but the beards remained. I had spent the time staring at Brendon's once beautiful, welcoming face, reminiscing about times we had spent together to him. Thinking through the ways to make Brendon feel more comfortable, whispering to him was the only thing I could bare doing. I just wanted to make him feel comfortable and safe.
Clearly Ryan, Spencer and Jon were concerned about me because they peered warily around the door. Turning in my chair, which I had moved next to Brendon's bed, I smiled shakily.
"Hey, how're you feeling?" Ryan asked, resting his hand on my shoulder.
"I'm ok... are you all alright?" I questioned, uneasily. After they nodded, choiring a sequence of yes's, I asked what they did, attempting to break the stony silence and make myself talk properly again.
"Well, we just went home. We all feel better now really," Jon said briefly, eyes fixed on Brendon as he moved closer to him. We all shared the same feelings of pain; it's just that they all handled it a lot better than me. I was never good at dealing with my emotions, or traumatic situations mainly because nothing of great importance had ever happened to me before.
"Look, if you want to leave at all, get out of here, eat: just let us know," Spencer offered politely.
"Thankyou. I can't even think of food right now though..." Nobody spoke for a moment, so I thought aloud, "Maybe I should give you all some time with Brendon. I'll wait outside."
They all objected abruptly. "No, no, stay here, it's fine," Ryan insisted.
"Honestly guys, you deserve some time. You're his best friends. Like I said, I'll be outside if you need me," I choked. Knives clawed at my throat viciously as I stood up, stumbling, stepping out into the brighter hallway. Gently pushing the door shut, I continued to the waiting room; a small room with a few sofas pushed against the lilac-washed walls, it was where I sat alone, deep in thought.
He's alive: he made it through. But what happens now? My head felt so heavy, not just from lack of sleep. Besides, even if I did try sleeping, I wouldn't be able to; I'd probably wake up from some terrifyingly vivid dream. The mind is so powerful. My heart can't take this pain. I felt so disconnected from Brendon, from my friends, from the world. I couldn't imagine what my life would be like after all of this: even if he does wake up, how will he react? What will he do then? What about the band?!
With eyes like slits, I cried, silently, trying to leave those thoughts behind. I want to move past this; I don't want to feel like this anymore. I'm sick of moping!
But I can't.
Pulling my knees into my chest, I squeezed tightly. I brushed some stray hair out of my eyes and rested the side of my head on my knee. This relaxed me a bit, and my breath had evened out slightly because I was beginning to clear my head. All I really thought about was: how did it get this far? How did all of this even happen?