Page 128 of Wrecked
I sit up from our bed and wrap him tightly in our blanket. I walk outside of my home, a shell of the woman who walked in moments ago. The men from the ship stand near the entrance, their eyes filled with genuine sorrow and sympathy.
“Can you help me move him? I need…I need to bring him home with me,” I say, tears streaming down my face.
The men gently lift Nate from our bed…from our home. We walk back toward the coast, toward the ship that’s going to carry my love to his final resting place. When we reach the ship, Igive them our story, how we ended up on the island, how we survived the year.
They call the U.S. Coast Guard and set sail toward the United States. They set up a room for me onboard, but I stay with Nate in the hull of the ship. It’s colder down here, and they need to preserve his body the best they can. They wanted to put him in the freezer, but I couldn’t stomach it. If the time comes, and he needs to be in there, then I will be there right beside him. I won’t leave him alone.
Not ever again.
CHAPTER 52
ELLIE (26 YEARS OLD)
Iwas taken to the hospital as soon as we reached the United States. I didn’t want to leave Nate, but they had to take his body to the morgue. I would have slept down there with him if they’d let me.
I was assessed thoroughly, giving several tubes of blood to make sure I am in good health. The doctors were surprised to find I wasn’t malnourished. I have a feeling all my tests are going to be normal. We lived a pretty normal life out there. We never went without food or water, not since those early days.
I sit in my hospital room, staring at the plain white walls. Such a stark difference to my last twelve months. It’s sterile, devoid of mud and dust. The constant beeping of machines keeps me awake, even though I’d rather succumb to an endless sleep. The mattress is too uncomfortable. Or maybe too comfortable. It just doesn’t feel like our bed.
Nothing will ever beoursagain.
It’s strange. I’m here, alive and well, but I feel dead inside. As if nothing is working quite like it’s supposed to. The only time I feel anything other than emptiness is when I think of Nate. The pain, the grief, it makes me feel alive. I chase aftermy thoughts of him, even though they hurt, just to fill this hollowness inside of me. I’ve never known pain like this. It’s visceral. It feels like swallowing acid and letting it burn you from the inside out. It’s a slow process. The pain is so intense, a knife to my heart would be more merciful. But I need the pain. Iwantthe pain. There is no cure for it other than to die an excruciatingly slow death. To let the acid consume me until there is nothing left.
It took three days to travel back to the states. We stopped at a port in Miami, Florida, and I’ve been in this hospital ever since. Reporters nearly chased the ambulance down, trying to get a glimpse of the girl who survived.
There should be two of us.
I know my mom and sister are waiting to see me. They arrived in Florida before I did. I’m just not ready yet. I don’t want to pretend to be okay. Pretend I’m not grieving the love of my life. Pretend he belonged to her. I don’t want to see her grief for him. Her pain from losing him.
He wasn’t hers to lose.
I know that’s unfair. I know she already grieved us both. But I don’t want to share this pain. It’s mine alone. It’s the only thing that keeps me alive. The reminders of how I failed him. How I left him to die alone, scared, and worried about me.
I imagine him waking up, knowing his time was coming. He probably called out my name, wanting me to hold him as he let go. I imagine the fear he felt knowing he was going to die, and the panic at not knowing where I was.
I try to tell myself his death wasn’t painful, that his infection took him in a painless sleep. But part of me knows he woke up for me. He woke up to say goodbye. He didn’t die painlessly because he would have fought it. If I wasn’t there, he would have fought. He died full of anxiety and fear, and I let it happen. I was off on a fool’s errand, trying to find a cure that didn’t exist. Nothing would have savedhim. He was just too sick. Rather than accept that, I was selfish with his last moments. Moments we can never get back.
He died scared, and alone, and it was all my fault.
“Ma’am.” My nurse startles me out of my thoughts. “Your mother and sister are in the waiting room. Can I let one of them in?” She’s an older woman, maybe in her late fifties. She has kind eyes. You can always tell a good nurse by her eyes.
“My mother,” I answer, my voice sounding strange. It’s empty, devoid of all emotion.
“Okay, honey. I’ll go get her.”
She steps back behind the curtain, closing the door quietly behind her. I don’t want to see anyone, but I can’t keep refusing. It’s not fair to them.
“Sweetie,” my mom’s tearful gasp rings from behind the curtain. She whips it open and runs over to me, dropping herself onto the bed beside me. She takes me in her arms and cries.
I cry too.
Not because I am home. Not because my mom is here with me. I cry because I miss home. I miss the simplicity of our life on the island. I miss Nate. His arms. His hugs. His comfort. I let her soothe me, even though she doesn’t know what she’s comforting.
“My sweet, sweet girl. I thought we lost you. I thought you were gone.” She sobs, but I feel nothing for her. I didn’t miss her. I didn’t care if she was grieving me. She isn’t my family. She was never my home. My home is gone now.
She asks me countless questions. I answer the best I can, but with no real effort. When I start yawning, she asks me if she can grab Katie and let her come see me. I agree, ready to get this over with.
A few moments later, I hear my sister enter the room. She takes one look at me, and her lips wobble as she throws herselfinto my arms. I hug her back, not realizing how much I’ve missed her. How much I love her.
