Awake

This is a challenge-response to Jester-Jami's challenge. I believe it meets all the criteria apart from the fact that it's bogus. XD My other story I planned sort of flopped (and I'm running out of time too) so I suppose I'll submit this one-shot.

Hope you enjoy. :)

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The sun's setting over the tawny bluffs cradling the Mississippi River, and the sky surrounding it is first pink, then orange, and somewhere in the far west I can still see the blue that had tainted the sky all day. I can hear the robins with round bellies hopping around the grass in search of a late meal. The only smell I inhale is the wet dew and dirt -- a layer underneath me. The leaves are my only cushion that secures me from the earth and its filth.

I touch the shards of the tree folding over me. I pull one of the reddish ones up, holding it in front of the sun, admiring the glow that surrounds it. With my other hand, I pick another that has more holes, more flaws, and hold that one up as well. It shines just as brightly against the golden rays.

"Timmy's inside," I hear you say.

My heart unfolds inside my ribcage like a newborn butterfly.

"He has a couple scratches, but he'll be okay," you reassure me.

I laugh softly, closing my eyes. "I wasn't too worried."

The leaves rustle loudly for a moment and then go quiet. No longer do the robins hop and peck at the dirt, and all I can see is the red coat under my eyelids. The leaves fall from my hands back into their rightful places, but one of my hands refuses to be empty. You gently place your hand into mine, and I smile. It fits perfectly.

My eyelids flutter apart, welcoming the setting sun. I look to one side, and there you are. I see your profile: one eyelid concealing your eye, rounded cheeks, angled nose, soft lips, delicate chin. Your hair is tucked under your back but a few stray strands rest over your shoulders. You wear your favorite hoodie -- that one you never have in your closet because you're always wearing it -- and an old pair of jeans that has tears at the knees and rips down by your shoes.

Even in all of your simplicity, you're the most perfect thing I've ever seen. You're beautiful.

"Did you just say something?" you ask me, keeping your eyes closed.

"No."

You laugh softly. "Yes, you did."

I swallow. "No, I... Did I?"

"'You're beautiful', I believe it was," you tell me, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I..." My face is warm, and I'm glad you still have your eyes closed. "I didn't realize I actually said that."

Your eyes come to life, and you turn your head to look at me. The grip of your hand grows tighter. "You probably didn't," you mumble, and there's no trace of your smirk anywhere. Instead, I see a frown.

"What's wrong?" I ask you softly. My hand reaches for your cheek, stroking the smooth surface with my fingertips.

For a moment, you forget what I say and lose yourself in the touch, closing your eyes again and exhaling into the cool air. Your fingers rest over mine, holding my hand there, and I don't mind at all. I just stare at you, mesmorizing your face for the millionth time so I don't ever forget you. So I don't forget this moment.

You open your eyes after the moment passes, and your eyes are soft but serious. "You don't remember, do you?" you ask me. Your voice is like your eyes: soft but serious.

"Remember what?" I hear the cries of the leaves below me as I scoot closer to you. I'm getting colder, and I remember how warm you are. Then I smile; your breath feels nice on my skin.

You sniffle and smile back, but it's not nearly as happy as I wish it was. "You were always forgetful. Naive. Innocent."

I say your name, becoming more confused by every word you say. "I don't understand."

"Do you remember that night at the library?" you ask me.

I smile sheepishly despite my rosy cheeks. "How could I not?"

Your lips twitch -- a nervous habit you have -- but you cannot stifle the smile any longer. The night at the library, practically our first date, was the best one we'd probably ever had. There wasn't much I could remember besides giggling and talking for hours, and that kiss in the bathroom stall that left us both breathless. I never felt so much going on inside my body at once, but the strongest sensation was in my chest, throbbing with the greatest excitement. And when you asked me about it -- "Is your heart racing, too?" -- I knew what was happening was magical. Surreal and beautiful. Magical.

"Do you remember the sleepover at my house?" you ask me.

"Which one?"

"All of them."

It takes me a moment to think. "Some of them," I confess, "but even those are a little fuzzy."

You nod, looking at our embracing hands in the pile of red, brown, and orange leaves. I stare at you, wishing that I could know what you were thinking. Then I see tears welling up inside your eyes, and I take back what I just wished.

"What is it?" I ask you softly, pushing away a tear with my thumb.

I hear you swallow roughly and sniffle again. "Do you remember what happened here?"

"Here?"

You nod, continuing to stare at the leaves and our hands.

I shake my head. "No. What?"

Again, you swallow and lick your lips. "We were at your house. Your dad told us to go outside and rake the leaves up, so we did. When we were all done, Timmy really wanted to jump in them. So we all started to jump in them, and Timmy scraped up his knee. I took him inside and cleaned him up, and I came back outside. We had some time alone, so we laid in the leaves. Just like we are right now. Do you remember yet?"

"Vaguely," I tell you, my eyebrows knit together as I listen to you speak. I see bits of what you're talking about, but that's all. Everything's hazy. "What happened after that?"

You keep your eyes somewhere else and whisper, "We started kissing, and Timmy saw us. He told your parents."

My throat tightens up. I know now that this is not a good story. I know that the relationship we have isn't something we publish and share with the world. We label ourselves as best friends, but in actuality we're lovers. The truth will get us hurt, though, and that's why we keep it a secret. I don't want to see you get hurt because of me, and I know you feel the same way. Our love means a lot to us, but... Does it mean that much?

"Do you remember yet?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper now.

I shake my head. "It's bad, though, isn't it?"

You nod slowly. "Your father sent me home. He told you to never see me again."

I remember. The door had slammed, and I ran to my room.

"You cried and cried," you whisper, holding my hand and speaking ever-so softly. "When your parents went to sleep, you called me. You told me you..." You can't say it, but I can.

"If I can't have you," I whisper, remembering my words from before, "then I don't want to live."

Your lips quiver and more tears fall. "I couldn't let you do that. I couldn't let you go."

"How... How did I...?"

"You cut your wrists." You bring our clasped hands up and kiss the invisible scars that cover my wrist. Each kiss is wet and you cry harder. I feel my heart breaking to see you this way.

"I wish you didn't tell me this story," I whisper, pressing my forehead to yours.

You say my name again, longingly, and tenderly kiss my lips. Your lips are salty from your tears, and I feel the ache inside your chest with every breath you release. I know that it's killing you inside to retell the story.

"I'm sorry."

I hear you sob. "You need to wake up, okay?" Your eyes are clouded with tears, but I can see how urgent they are. "Please, wake up."

"Will you be there when I wake up?" I ask you, tracing your jaw with my fingers. Your breath is cooler upon my skin.

You swallow and give the leaves underneath us a final glance. "I love you," you tell me. Nothing in the world sounds sweeter than those three words from your mouth. Nothing.

"I love you, too," I say, kissing you again.

Your lips shake as you try to smile. "Wake up now, okay?" Your voice breaks, and your hold on my hand is loosened. "Wake up."

Suddenly, a thunderclap startles me. I look away to the darkened sky and ask you again, "Will you be there when I wake up?"

The sun disappears behind the bluffs. It's cold now. I shiver and feel for your hand. It's not there. I say your name and look back at you, but you're gone. You're gone.

--

"She's awake! She's awake!"

The light blinds me as my eyelids are forced back. I whimper at the sun, but I feel your hand holding mine. I say your name. I say your name.

You don't respond.

"Oh, thank goodness!" I hear my mother cry. "Oh, Lord, thank you!"

I whimper again and open my eyes some more. My mother's eyes are worn and there's not a trace of make-up on her face. She leans down to embrace me and when she pulls away, I realize it was her hand that was holding mine. Not yours.

I say your name again. "Where is she?"

"Andrew! Andrew, hurry! She's awake now!"

My father rushes in, and he looks just as exhausted as my mother. Timmy's thrown over his shoulder, and his eyes are half-shut when he peers down at me. "Oh, thank God," my father says, kneeling next to me. "We were so worried."

"Where is she?!" I shout at them, my voice cracking.

Startled, my mother flinches and covers her mouth with her free hand. Her eyes dart to my father's and she remains silent. I know they know who I mean, but neither of them say a thing. They only look at each other. Staring at each other. Mesmorizing this moment so they don't forget.

"Where is she?" I repeat through my teeth, angry tears burning in my eyes.

I hear someone say your name. Timmy does. "Daddy, she died, didn't she?" he asks our father. "Isn't that what the doctor said?"

"Wh-What?"

My father swallows and looks at me with wariness. "Honey, she didn't make it."

"What do you mean? There was nothing wrong with her! She was okay!"

My mother lets out a sob. My father continues by saying your name again. "She tried to kill herself, too, and she was in a coma, too. She just... She never woke up. I'm sorry, honey."

My breath is becoming shallower and shallower. "She never... She never woke up..." I repeat his words. "But she..."

"We're so sorry, baby," my mother consoles.

"Where is she?!" I demand through a sob.

Both of my parents look over to the other bed in the room, and there's a body laying there. Your body. Unlike me, you aren't connected to wires and machines. Your skin blends in with the sheets and the nightgown, and your eyelids are concealing your eyes. On your wrists are thick bandages. But everything about you is the same. Perfectly simple. Beautiful. Magical. But you're only sleeping.

"Wake up," I tell you. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up. Wake up. W-Wake up. Please... wake up. P-Please... Wake up, please..."

Why won't you wake up?