Griffin laid on the bed, motionless, his eyes closed. There were many cuts on his face, and his whole left arm was bandaged up.

I now realized that the monitor that was sitting next to Griffin’s bed was beeping.

My eyes began to itch again.

“So, when do you think he’ll wake up?”

The doctor didn’t say anything for a moment, but then spoke up.

“Well, um, he’s not really in a coma anymore. It’s actually much worse than that.” He paused. “Griffin’s on Life Support. We’ve lost him.”

I whimpered. Then I felt faint. I remembered I always felt faint around him, especially when he looked me in the eyes.

I collapsed on the ground by his bed.

I had always wondered when, one of these days, I would just collapse right in front of him, forcing him to catch me.

Well, he finally made me collapse. Except this wasn’t for the same reason, and there was no chance he was going to catch me.

It finally hit me hard. He would never be there to wipe away my tears when I was down. He would never hug me, or kiss me, or hold my hand tenderly in his ever again.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and realized it was the doctor’s. “Um, we’ll be pulling the plug in a half hour.”

With that, he left the room to give me privacy while I gave my goodbyes.

I took Griffin’s left hand into both of mine, brought his hand up against my forehead, and prayed.


***



Twenty minutes later, the doctor came in. I got up off my knees.

I looked at Griffin. I took his hand and kissed it one last time.

I ran to the elevator.

I needed someone to help me get through this, get through the pain; I needed my mom.

The elevator lifted to the third floor. I scrambled out and ran down the hall to room 423.

I didn’t bother to knock, but instead walked right in.

“Jackie, is that you?” my mom asked, getting up from her bed to make her way over to me.

“Mom,” I wailed as she pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s Griffin. A drunk driver hit him! He’s on Life Support, and they’re going to pull the plug in a few minutes!”

I broke down. My legs gave out from underneath me. My mom could barely hold me to keep me from falling to the floor.

She stroked my hair for a long time.

When I had given myself some time to calm down, I looked at the clock: 9:15. It was too late.

My boyfriend, Griffin, was now dead. Griffin, the boy who I had spent my whole evening with, and many other evenings like it. Griffin, the boy who I daydreamed about marrying someday. Griffin, the first boy to ever tell me that he loved me and truly meant it.

I twisted away from my mom.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ve had some time to cool down. Thanks, Mom.”

I began to head to the door.

“You’re going to make it home alright, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Mom, you don’t need to worry about me.” I assured her.