Page 139 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
My hands flex slightly at my sides.
Clean.
Empty.
Useless.
I hate that.
“She’s going to wake up.”
Jackson’s voice comes from somewhere behind me, steadier than it should be, like he’s holding it in place with effort, and the word when lands in my chest before anything else can, because I need it to be true, because I don’t have room for anything else.
“I’m going to grab some of her things,” he continues, moving through the apartment. “Something familiar. Something she’ll recognize when she wakes up.”
When.
Not if.
I nod without turning, the movement slow, detached, like it takes more effort than it should, because everything feels slightly out of reach, like I’m not fully inside my body anymore.
Zach doesn’t speak immediately, but I feel his attention settle on me, the weight of it unmistakable, the way he watches when he’s trying to understand something that hasn’t been said out loud.
“I’ll help you,” he says eventually, directing it at Jackson, but it isn’t about Jackson.
It’s about me.
It’s about giving me space.
They know that I need some time with her.
Of course they know.
I don’t acknowledge it.
I don’t thank them.
There is nothing in me that can form that kind of response right now without something else slipping through with it.
So I take my keys and leave.
The drive back to the hospital is quieter than the one before.
There’s no urgency left in it, no sharp edge, no direction that requires force or control, and the absence of that leaves something hollow in its place, something that sits heavy and unmoving in my chest.
Paul is dead.
There is nothing left to aim at.
No outlet.
No release.
And without it, everything that had been held in place by that singular focus begins to shift, to settle, to spread into places I can’t contain.
She still hasn’t woken up.
Now there is nothing standing between me and that reality.
