Page 63 of Frozen Flames

And I don’t even have the will, the strength, the mental capacity to wonder about it or fight for it.

All I know is that I don’t feel good—nor like myself.

Everyone is trying to cheer me up, but I’m frozen in time.

Frozen in this perpetual hell.

I don’t want to be here, I don’t think I deserve to be here, and I’m not sure I have enough will to live to survive it here.

“That’s good, right?” he asks me. I think twice… I can barely focus.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, feeling as if I’m swallowing crystals. “For sure.”

I see it then. The look in his eyes. Call it pity or guilt or pain. He’s hurting for me. And I mean,of coursehe is. I don’t even know what I’d do if the roles were reversed and my younger brother were in my shoes.

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Harv.” He looks up, and I see the tears falling at wicked speed. He holds my hand tight until he remembers that I’ve got an IV. “Nobody deserves this,” he mutters.

Deserve.

There’s that word again.

The one that’s been toying with my mind on and off along with my consciousness the past few days or weeks.

“Harvey, say something, man.”

I got nothing.

Not even for you, brother.

The words won’t come out.

Instead, they’re building an empire inside my head.

I nod, and he lets out a pained cry before he wipes his nose with his forearm. “We’ll do everything we can to help you through this, okay? You’re not alone.”

Alone.

I don’t feel alone. I’mlonely. There’s a terrible difference between the two.

“Thanks, Hen.” I hold on to his hand with as strong of a grip as I can, though I know I’m weak.

As he tries to stem his tears, I can’t help but wonder if any of them have wished me dead. They’re grieving either way. I’ll never be the same again, and perhaps deep down, we all know it. This is as good of a funeral as any, and probably the perfect time to let my family shed their tears, as a part of me did die that night.

The pouring rain. The scream. The crash. The pain. The ringing. The burning smell.

Yet I barely have memories of the accident. It’s like a giant black hole. All my focus is on knowing that I heard this or smelled that.

But the rest is blank.

And yet I’ve held on to one thing during my hospital stay: the fact that Gemma survived, though with some injuries of her own.

Many bruises. A concussion. Broken ribs.

The thought that she could’ve died because of my recklessness breaks me.

“Gemma,” I whisper.

“Oh yeah! Gemma’s coming to see you,” he says as Dr. Kabera walks in, followed by my parents.

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