Can’t feel. Thoughts gone. Who am I? Resurface. Turmoil. Pain. Terror. A scream. My own? Fall away. Bliss. Calm. Nothing.

Can’t feel. Refuse to see. Don’t feel scared—Just nothing. Cautious. Don’t want pain. Sudden warmth. Don’t move. Can’t move. Think. Feel. Skin against mine. Warm. Be still. Caution. Draw away. Don’t feel. 

Cold.

Wary. Smell. Just a moment. Death. Bitterness. Flee now. Can’t feel the pain. Don’t feel the pain. No more warmth. Where is she?

Outside is unknown. Inside is worse. Thoughts push. I resist. No. No more pain. Just want warmth. But cold. So cold. Slip away. Won’t feel the cold. Don’t feel the cold. Can’t feel the cold.

Thud. Noise wracks my mind. Thud. Doesn’t stop. Thud. Want it to stop. Thud. Know I won’t feel pain, only if it stops. Thud. Won’t feel anything. Thud…Thud……Thud.

Back. Feel her warmth. Her fingers tighten. She wants a response. Can’t give. My hands feel. Warmth. Wet. Tears. She cries. I listen.

Decided. I don’t like cold. Warmth comes only sometimes. I hear her words. Murmurs. Don’t make sense. Feel safe, try to reach out. Can’t. Draw back. Hear whispers. Three words. Memories spark. I run away.

Time. This word does not make sense. Voices say it. Time. They say to give it. To me? So confused. Give time? Try to listen again. Try to understand. Time. She leaves. 

I still resist. But they leak through. Thoughts flash, memories burn. She touches my hand. Been some time, hadn’t felt warmth in so long. Slowly thinking. Remembering. Three words I still don’t comprehend. I’m still warm.

Listen more now. They say to give up. I panic, the warmth withdraws. My fingers twitch. “James,” she says.

I slip away.

A new word I’ve added. Hope. She tells them not to give up. Says I need more time. They don’t believe it. Says I’m gone. She believes. They argue. I promise her I’ll keep trying. She can’t hear. I add hopelessness, too.

She leaves and I am cold again. I ache and let myself suffer. Toes curl, lip quivers. A screech explodes, wracks my brain. I want to scream. It’s all in my head. Flashback. Someone’s hands behind the wheel. Mine. Me. Crash, yell, dark, silence. Gone.

Here.

Comforting warmth returns. I’m not so lost and I want to sigh. Why can’t I be strong? My fingers twitch, or am I imagining it? She says those three words again. I can’t give up.

She won’t speak wasted words to me anymore. I fear she’s given up, but when her hand touches mine, I feel that warmth again. The doctors want to shut me down. I’m so close. She knows it too.

She’s different today. Her fingers are stiff, slender and laced through mine. I feel her tension. Warmth is breathed upon my face; my lips want to part. She smiles as she gently brushes her lips against mine, urges me to come home. Those words make sense to me now. I want to tell her I love her, too.

She doesn’t leave when the doctors tell her it is too late. I know why she needs to stay.

I

am

so

close.

She holds me as I sift through the memories I’d blocked for so long. So much pain. My body quivers, but she pushes the cold away. I see the crash. My vision was fuzzy, life flashing before my eyes. Then blood. Blood everywhere. Choking. Drowning. My sister’s ruined face, mouth agape as she stared at me with lifeless eyes. Then her. Saw her face as I was pulled from the wreck, heard her cries. I remembered her smile as I slipped into nothing, telling myself I’d come back for her. 

She rests her head on my chest, listens to the steady thump of my beating heart. I am ready.

I open my eyes.

My arms wrap around her.

She cries.

I say three words.