Cam's point of view
I remember where I was when I heard that you were hurt. I was at football practice when the ambulance sped by, it's red lights whirring. All the other guys whooped right back, but I stared, wondering what had happened. When I got home, my mother was crying. You were hurt, she said, and in a bad way. You were hanging in there, she said, but you were weak.
Of course the person in the ambulance would turn out to be my very first girlfriend. We'd only been dating for two weeks when you got into the car accident. And now I'm laying here, thinking of you. You and your gold-ish blond hair and those shiny green eyes. Your pale pink lips pressed against mine and those little notes you sent me in Mr. Cheese-man's room. I smile before drifting off to sleep, because you're the only thing that makes me smile these days.
Mother's taking me to see you. And your parents don't want me to go in, but your mother finally caves. They're crying, crying more than I've ever seen anyone cry. You're laying on a white cot in the ICU. You're in a coma, they tell me. They don't know if you're okay. I cling to the railing by your bed, not wanting to leave. Five minutes, my mother says, before taking one last sorrow-filled look at you and I. You have bruises on your face and a cut on your lips. You've got a bandage around you head and your arm is wrapped in ACE. I whisper the words I've never said to anyone but my family, words that you might not ever say to me. 'I love you' I say, before kissing your cheek, a small square of flesh where you're not hurt.
The next day, I buy flowers for you. You haven't woken up. The doctors say you might not ever. I cry for the first time that day. Hot salty tears slither plumply down my cheeks. The flowers are daisies, white and blooming, and beautiful. Just like you.
My mother says I have to go to school today. I don't want too, but I have to. In Mr. Cheese-man's class, everyone whispers around me like I'm not here. After school, I rush home and do my homework. And then it's off to the hospital. You look better. Your face isn't swollen, but you still haven't woken up. I talk to you for a while, then leave. You're slowly drifting away from me. And I don't want you to.
They're taking you off of life support tomorrow. Please, Taylor, hang in there for me, I beg you, kneeling by your bed and cursing myself for everything. I hate that you're alive but it's not you. I'm there when they take you off of the machine that's helping you breath. The machine makes a bunch of boops and beeps and suddenly, you're alive. Still in a coma, but alive. And I smile. You're alive! Just barely though.
