Elias learned, very quickly, that hospitals changed people.
Not just emotionally. Not just spiritually. Physically. Brutally.
By the time Mara entered his room for the first time, he barely felt himself anymore. Despite not being able to see himself, he felt alarmingly thin, his bones exposed to the cold air conditioning.
(Author's Note: Trying to capture a sense of his disquiet.)
The oxygen mask covered half his face, dark-tinted plastic fogged faintly with each assisted breath. Tubes framed his cheeks like punctuation marks he hadn't agreed to. The hospital gown hung from his shoulders instead of resting on them, fabric folding inward where muscle used to be. His collarbones pressed sharply against skin, unfamiliar and accusatory, like they were trying to escape.
He had lost weight faster than memory could keep up. When did this even happen? It's only been 2 days since he was admitted.
If he'd passed himself on the street now, he wouldn't have counted it as an encounter.
He wouldn't have counted it at all.
The door opened softly.
Elias didn't open his eyes.
He had learned this trick already. Eyes open invited questions. Eyes closed turned you into furniture. Easier to exist that way. Easier to listen.
"Good morning," a woman said, voice calm, unhurried. "I'm Mara. I'll be looking after you today."
There it was.
His name hadn't been said yet, but hers landed first, and it landed hard.
Mara.
He felt it everywhere. In his throat. In his hands. In the part of his chest that still remembered how to expand on its own.
She stepped closer. He could tell by the shift in air, the soft sound of rubber soles stopping near the bed.
"I'm just going to check a few things," she continued, like she spoke to everyone, conscious or not. "If anything feels uncomfortable, try to let me know. We'll figure it out."
If you only knew how much I want to let you know, he thought.
Her fingers were gentle but efficient as she adjusted the IV line, checked the monitor, noted the numbers without reacting to them. She didn't flinch at the sharp angles of his body. Didn't soften her voice into pity. She treated him like a person, not a problem.
That alone almost broke him.
She pulled the blanket up slightly, tucking it around his legs. The movement exposed his wrist briefly. Thin. Veins too visible. His hand looked like it belonged to someone older.
She didn't linger on it.
"Vitals look okay," Mara murmured, more to herself than to him. "We'll take it one step at a time."
One step at a time.
He almost smiled at the irony. If only his legs remembered how.
Mara didn't recognize him.
Not because she wasn't observant.
Because there was nothing left to recognize.
The man she had met in the bookstore had been upright. Warm. Alive in his body. He'd had color in his cheeks, a steadiness in his gaze, eyes that looked at her like they were cataloging joy.
This man was still. Pallid. His eyes closed, lashes resting against skin too tight over bone. The mask obscured the lower half of his face completely. Whatever expression he might have once worn was hidden behind plastic and tubing.
Even his scent was gone, replaced by antiseptic and sterile air.
There was no bridge between these two versions of him.
And so Mara worked.
She checked his chart. Read his name.
Elias Rowan.
The name meant nothing to her.
Names were common things in hospitals. They lost their magic quickly.
She adjusted his pillow slightly, angling his head more comfortably. As she did, his eyelid fluttered. Just once. Quick and involuntary.
Mara paused.
"Hey," she said softly. "That's okay. I'm here."
She mistook the movement for discomfort. Or dreaming.
Elias focused on stillness.
Don't open your eyes, he told himself.
If he opened them, he might give himself away. He didn't know how. He just knew he would.
Time moved strangely when you couldn't move with it.
Mara returned several times throughout the morning. Each visit carved something deeper into him.
She spoke to him while she worked, narrating in that way nurses did when they believed it mattered.
"I'm going to adjust your meds now.""This might feel a little cold.""Your friend was here last night. He seemed worried."
Daniel.
Elias's chest tightened. Not fear. Gratitude.
At one point, she wiped his forehead gently with a cool cloth. The touch was light, professional. But her thumb lingered half a second longer than necessary near his temple.
That half second felt louder than everything else.
A tear slipped free from the corner of his eye before he could stop it.
Mara noticed immediately.
"Oh," she murmured. "Okay. That's alright."
She set the cloth aside and reached for a tissue, dabbing carefully, respectfully.
"Hospital days can be overwhelming," she said. "Even when you don't remember them later."
If only.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
The sound sliced through him.
She stilled, just for a moment, then pulled it out, glanced at the screen. He sneaked a peak. Whatever she saw tightened her jaw. Not anger. Hurt, carefully contained.
She didn't say anything. Slid the phone away. Turned around and went back to work.
Elias screamed silently.
I didn't vanish. I'm right here.
His finger twitched.
Barely. Just enough to register as something not entirely reflexive.
Mara noticed again in the corner of her eyes.
She looked down at his hand, then back up at his face.
"That's good," she said quietly. "That means you're still in there."
Still.
As if he were something fading.
As if he weren't listening to every word she said, committing them to memory like borrowed time.