Just Breathe by Nat "Just breathe. That's all I want you to do, that's all I'll ask. Never again will I ever ask you to do anything. Just take a breath and find yourself. Please." You find yourself wondering why, questions roll inside your head and fill you as if you were an endless pit. You wonder why things must end like this, why the present holds this fate that you want to deny, why a greater power and a greater sense as said to you, "This is how it is, learn from it" and why you can't shut it out. It seems to you that everything you've done has been in vain and now as you gaze upon the person you love lying in a hospital bed in the intensive care unit, you question yourself on how much you really have done. Many have come and many have gone to say to you, "I'm sorry for it all" before anything has happened. Their doubts flash in your head and you wonder whether the optimism you have should be in you. "There's little hope," the doctors have spoken to you, "I'm sorry." You should have never let her go inside there first, you knew inside your heart it wasn't right, but you let her go and now you wish you'd been the one inside first, the one to be severely hurt, the one to be lying in the bed right then and there. Your hand slides to her limp one and you caress it with your thumb, letting the salty tears drip down your cheeks. She once told you that you had to be more human. Whenever you were around her before this, she saw a cardboard cut-out whose inner self never showed. As the months passed on, you began to show her yourself in ways only candlelight and privacy could, and you had finally found yourself. You had been in her all along. As she lay by your side one night, she had told you something you'd never forget. She had whispered softly, "I'm with child" and you had almost passed out. The news was more than you had ever expected, and now you remember your hand touching her belly gently, you had found yourself in your child as well. All of which happened before the accident seemed like a fairy tale, everything that was then was wonderful, you were living a story-book life, and she was your maiden princess. She thought of you as a hero and as her knight in shining armour, and you remember the smile that would spread across her face when you'd whisper in soft tones inside her ear in French, and she'd respond in a kiss. Then it happened. A mad man without a heart. She had been hurt badly, though you had shielded her from the weapon the man carried, and it was 24 hours afterwards that you finally realized that all wasn't perfect and all wasn't well as you watched her breathe a shuddered breath of the air into her lungs, you'd hope it wasn't her last. The child had survived, but it too would pass away if its mother did, and you grieve with a sense of anger and blood-hate against the convict your friend, a Chicago detective, arrested afterwards. But afterwards was too late for her as you wrapped her body in your arms, you could see the wound he made against her, and the red stains from her blood on her shirt as you prayed she'd make it to the hospital. You remember sadly, as you sit by her bedside now, brushing the strands of dark hair away from her face, something someone once told you a long time back. "Love is more powerful than hate," and "Treasure every moment you'll have." You had done the latter, but the first killed you inside. You knew you hated the man who shot her more than anybody in the world. You remember quietly her saying once to you when you felt uneasy about having the child as your own, "Rest assured, Benton. All is well." But you still had a queasy feeling in your gut when you remembered one of the Vecchio children and laughed at your own silliness for worrying. You'd have a happy family. You know now he must rest assured. But you can't. All you strength inside you was telling you that not only would you loose your love, but you'd loose your life. Your life in hers. You had only wished that the events of the horrid past would change. You had only wished she'd awake in your arms, and it had all been a terrible nightmare. You had only wished she'd soon find herself in this night of despare as the only thing you can finally say slips past your lips into a shuddered kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger against her baby soft skin: "Just breathe." Return to Due South Fiction Archive