Chapter 155

Chapter 155
Clara’s POV

By the time they finally let me see her, I had stopped looking at the clock.

There was only before and after now.

Before this accident, when she had been sitting across from me at breakfast, sulking because I refused to wait until the weekend.

And after.

“Ms. Alcaraz?” I looked up.

A nurse stood a few feet away, her expression gentle. “You can see her now.” I was on my feet before she finished speaking.

Mia stood too. “Can we come?” she asked.

The nurse shook her head. “One person for now.”

Mia looked at me. There was no question about who would go.

I followed the nurse down the corridor, every step making the pressure in my chest worse. She spoke as we walked, explaining things I knew I should listen to, but I caught only pieces.

Intensive care. Ventilator. Continuous monitoring. Medication. Neurological observation.

“She may look different from what you're expecting,” the nurse said gently.

I stopped walking. "Different". Such a harmless word.

“What does that mean?”

“There may be swelling and bruising from the accident. There are several lines and monitors attached to her. I just want you to be prepared.”

I stared at her. “I saw her car. I don’t think anything in that room can be worse than what I’ve already imagined.”

She gave me a small nod and continued walking. When she opened the door, I discovered I had been wrong.

The room was worse. Not because there was blood or anything dramatic. There wasn't.

It was the stillness. Ayleen was never still.

Even when she slept, she moved. She stole blankets. She shifted positions. She reached for me without waking up.

This Ayleen didn't move.

There was bruising along the side of her face, darker around her temple. A bandage disappeared beneath her hair. Another covered part of her shoulder. Wires ran beneath the hospital gown, and an IV disappeared into her arm.

But it was the tube that stopped me. My feet refused to move.

The ventilator beside her released a quiet mechanical sound.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Breathing for her.

I covered my mouth. “Oh, God.”

The nurse remained beside me. “You can touch her,” she said quietly. “You can talk to her.”

I couldn't answer. I walked toward the bed slowly. Every step hurt.

When I reached her, I stared at her hand lying beside her body.

The same hand that had been holding mine on live television days ago. The same fingers that had squeezed mine when I admitted we were together.

I reached for it. Warm.

Thank God. Her hand was warm.

I wrapped both of mine around it and lowered myself into the chair.

“Ayleen?”
Nothing. Of course there was nothing.

I knew that. The doctor had explained it.

Coma. Hypoxic injury. Neurological uncertainty.

But some irrational part of me had believed she would hear my voice and open her eyes anyway.

My thumb moved across the back of her hand. “I’m here.”

The ventilator answered for her.

I lowered my head. For several minutes, I couldn't speak.

I had spent hours speaking. To Mia. George. Sofia. Doctors. Police officers.

But sitting beside Ayleen, I couldn't find a single word. Eventually, I leaned closer.

“You're an asshole.” My voice cracked.

A broken laugh escaped me. “You really are.”

I wiped beneath my eye angrily. “I leave for Greenport for a few hours and you somehow manage to turn it into a full-scale emergency.”

My lips trembled. “This is exactly why I can't leave you unsupervised.”

I don't know what I expected. Maybe for her eyebrow to twitch. For her fingers to squeeze mine. For some tiny sign that somewhere beneath the medication and trauma, Ayleen was still Ayleen

I moved my chair closer.“You were right, by the way.”

“I should've waited.” My eyes dropped to our hands.

“You asked me to wait until the weekend. You said you'd come with me.”

I swallowed against the pressure building in my throat. “And I had to be stubborn.”

My thumb moved over her knuckles again. “I thought I was protecting you.”

The irony nearly made me sick. “I thought if I confronted him, maybe I could finally stop all of this before it reached you.”

A tear landed on her hand. I wiped it away immediately. “Look how well that worked.”

My voice broke completely. I lowered my forehead against our joined hands. “I’m sorry.”

The words came out muffled. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

My shoulders shook once. Then again.

I tried to stop it. There was nobody in the room to perform strength for, but apparently my body hadn't received the message. “I should have been there.”

The tears came harder. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it, and I still left you.”

For the first time since I had seen the wreckage, I allowed myself to cry properly.

I cried until breathing hurt, until my face was wet and my chest ached and the guilt became something physical lodged beneath my ribs.

I didn't know how long it lasted.

Eventually there was nothing left except exhaustion.

I stared at her face. “You would hate this.”

My voice was hoarse now. “You'd tell me I'm making everything about myself.”

I could almost hear her. "Clara, stop."

I smiled despite the tears. “And then you'd say something annoying about how you're the one in the hospital bed, so technically you're allowed to be dramatic.”

Another broken laugh escaped me.

I leaned back slightly, still holding her hand. “You know what else?”

I waited.

“You humiliated me on TV.” My lips twitched.

“In front of millions of people.” I glanced toward her face.

“You told everyone you tamed me.”

Silence.

“That was slander, by the way. I could sue.”

The monitor continued its steady rhythm.

“I probably will.”

I imagined her laughing.

It hurt so much that for a second I wished I hadn't.