He was actually stabbed in three different places, but luckily no major organs were hit.
I don't realize my finger is still pressed onto his lips until he's pulling his head back to turn his face away from me. My eyes flick back to his face, trying to get a read on him, but it's just . . . blank.
Emotionless.
I can still see enough of his eyes and face, even though he's turned away from me, and something isn't right.
I mean, I guess he could still be mad at me about what I had said that night of the fire. But he was coming to see me when the incident happened, so I don't think that's so.
I can't help but wonder if what he's just been through, this whole experience . . . maybe it's the thing that has finally made him break.
Maybe it was too much.
The tipping point.
“I'm so sorry, Jacob. This was all my fault. You got arrested because of me. You're here because of me.”
I watch as his eyes close like he doesn't want to hear this. Like he doesn't want to listen to my words. But I need to explain to him what happened that night. I need him to know what my father did to us and how bad I feel about it.
Before I'm able to speak again, the door to his room opens, and a nurse is walking in. Jacob opens his eyes again, turning his attention to her.
“Oh, good. You're awake,” the nurse says to him. Then looking over to me, she adds, “I'm sorry, you're going to have to leave for a moment.”
I want to argue with her, demand that I should be allowed to stay here while she checks on him and does whatever she needs to do, even though I'm not family.
But I don't.
Instead, I stand outside the room, thinking about the way he just looked at me, or rather, the way he didn'tlook at me. I'm worried that it's too late, that I've lost him.
I have no idea what my father did exactly, and to be honest, at this point, I don't care, but somehow he managed to get the whole situation erased as if it never happened. As a result, there are no police officers standing guard outside Jacob's room, and he won't be going back to prison once he's released from here.
He wasn't able to do anything about the original charge or being on the sex offenders list. Although, I'm not really sure if he even tried to do anything about it, but I'm okay with that. Jacob is alive, and he's free again. And I'm able to be with him right now.
I'm just about crawling out of my skin several minutes later when the nurse steps out of the room.
“He has a pen and notepad now,” she says to me. “So he'll be able to talk to you if he wants to.” And then she walks away down the hall.
After taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I make a few swipes of my thumb over my fingertips and then walk through his door again.
Jacob's eyes are closed when I walk in, and although I'm pretty sure that he's not sleeping, I don't want to be talking to a man that clearly isn't in the right head-space to hear me.
Instead, I lean in to kiss his forehead, pick up the pen that's sitting on the table by his bed, and write “I'll be back”on the notepad. I'll go for a walk and then when I come back I'll be able to explain everything.
After walking outside the hospital doors, I text Campbell that Jacob has woken up, and he replies that he'll come to visit him tomorrow.
He had been totally shocked when I told him what had happened over the past two weeks. He had wanted to come to the hospital right away, but I told him that it was a long drive to make when Jacob wasn't even awake yet and that I'd let him know when he woke up.
* ~ * ~ * ~ *
When I walk back into his room an hour later, Jacob is facing off to the side, looking out the window. I have no doubt that he knows it's me that just came through the door even without looking. I drag the chair as close to the bed as possible and take a seat.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “Did they say when you can start talking again?”
I get no response from him. It reminds me so much of back when I first met him. Those early days before the talking, before the kissing and the smiling, before I knew him.
I didn't expect him actually to speak right now since he can't, but maybe turn toward me in acknowledgment, or maybe write something on the notepad that is right there. I notice that the page I had left the message on is gone, which means he read it.
Deciding not to wait any longer, I prepare myself to tell him regardless of whether he's looking at me or not.