Chapter 19.5: Flowers
I wake up to the sound of birds chirping. They’re loud and obnoxious, but it’s good to hear something real and alive again. This sound is followed by a noise, a squeak and a rustle, like a mouse trying to escape after being spotted. Slowly and wearily, I rise and rest my back against the pale wall. I look around, searching for anything different within the room. But there is nothing. Light peers through the window, no different from yesterday. Yet today it feels lighter, warmer as if the cold burden has been lifted up and off my shoulders.
Tired, I lie back down on the bed, flipping the pillow over so I can rest on the cooler side. The room is quiet. Occasionally, the doctors and nurses walk by my room, giving birth to echoes in the once soundless space I occupied. Unlike the previous night, I rest in the bed well aware of the conscious world around me. Everything is clear, and I have control of my body again. The atmosphere is soothing and I fall fast asleep for the next few hours.
The sounds of footsteps draw closer and closer. Owen barges in through the slightly opened door.
“Hi, Lena,” he says as he enters the room.
“Hi, Owen,” I respond.
Owen walks towards me. He places his hand onto my forehead, exactly as I would do when he was ill.
“I don’t have a fever, you know,” I say.
“Just checking to make sure,” he responds.
“Where’s Mom and Dad?” I ask.
“Not here,” he replies.
“Then how did you come here,” I question.
Before he answers, I notice the sound of footsteps drawing closer and closer to my room. There is a familiar lightness to these steps, but I cannot recall who they belong to.
“I hope you’re doing well,” Jonah says.
“What are you doing here?” I snicker out of habit.
“I’ll just leave you two alone,” Owen says and quickly leaves.
“I brought you flowers,” Jonah answers.
Embarrassed, I can’t help but blush a little. The hatred I once felt for him is no longer there. Probably because I still remember the kiss he gave me in that dream I saw Hugh in.
“You’ve got the wrong girl, I don’t like flow…”
Before I could even finish my sentence, I noticed he was pressing his lips gently against mine. This feeling was familiar. It was exactly as I had dreamt it that day; soft, gentle, warm, and secure, as though he was not merely just kissing me, but protecting me at the same time.
“How are you getting away with this?” I ask as if this was that exact dream.
“You must secretly want me to.” He smiles.
Intentional or not, he answered the same way he did in my dream. I guess he really does understand, after all.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008