Page 41 of Victorious: Part 2
Just one more moment.
Then, just as the first light of dawn begins to filter through the hospice windows, the machines begin to alarm.
Dr. Patterson appears as if from nowhere, checking her vitals, but we all know. The way his shoulders slump, the gentle way he turns off the alarms, the careful respect in his movements as he documents the time. “6:47 a.m.,” he says quietly. “I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.”
And just like that, Bella is gone.
But time doesn’t move. It doesn’t rush forward the way I expect it to. Instead, everything stands still, like the whole world pauses to mourn her.
The silence that follows is devastating. Ingrid starts crying silently, pressing her face against Louis to muffle the sound. Hurricane’s jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles jumping. Bayou pulls Novah closer as she sobs into his chest. Nash wipes his eyes roughly, trying to stay strong. Lock lowers his head and closes his eyes briefly, respectful, reverent.
I don’t cry.
Not yet.
My body won’t let me.
There’s a hollow ache spreading in my chest as if something is rotting from the inside out. This, this is what it feels like to lose part of your heart. Like you’re still alive—but barely.
I reach out and take Bella’s still hand in mine. It’s cool now, not cold. Not yet. But enough that the truth settles in like ice through my bloodstream.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything. For loving me,for accepting my family, for giving me permission to fight. I promise, Bells, I’ll make you proud.”
We sit in silence for a long time, each of us saying our private goodbyes. The sun rises higher, painting the room in soft gold light, and I’m struck by how peaceful Bella looks.
Too peaceful.
Too quiet.
Too gone.
I want to scream.
To rage.
To undo time.
To trade places with her.
Anything but this.
But all I can do is sit here, hand in hers, and wonder how I’m supposed to walk out of this room without her.
For the first time in months, she doesn’t look like she’s fighting anymore.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t know who I am without her.
But I’ve never wanted her to fight more than I do right now.
And I hate myself for that.
Eventually, though, the staff need to begin their procedures, and we’re gently asked to step out, and as we move into the hallway, Hurricane immediately pulls me into a fierce hug.
“I’m sorry, brother,” he says, his voice thick. “She was a good woman.”
“She really, really was,” I agree, my voice barely working.
Ingrid is beside me instantly, Louis still in her arms. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
