Page 61 of The Storm

I just really want to go home.

Over the shoulders of the people gathered in the hospital room, I catch sight of Nick. Someone’s talking to him. Asking questions, I think. But he doesn’t seem that invested in answering. Instead, he’s looking at me.

I hold his gaze.

For a bit, everything else fades. The noise. The people. The hands. The assurances that I’m fine.

He’s here.

I’m here.

Breathing becomes easier.

“I’m fine,” I say when somebody says my name.

This time it almost sounds like I mean it.

In the end,we’re kept in the hospital overnight for monitoring. A part of me wants to argue that I just want to go home, but then Mom starts to cry again, and I feel like an asshole, so the quiet hospital room starts to look so much more appealing.

I let the nurses check my vitals again and again. I nod whenever somebody says I’ve “gone through a lot” and that it’s a “miracle you’re alive,” and I try not to wince when people clap me on the shoulder or squeeze my arm.

I’m not trying to be a dick. Logically, I know it comes from a good place. A tornado tore through the outskirts of Annapolis. No one died. Seventy-nine people are injured. Numbers are not conclusive. But I’m also not going to pretend that the idea of hiding away from reality just for a bit longer isn’t starting to feel like a relief.

There are cameras out there, and the last thing I want is to have one of them shoved in my face.

Mom hugs me for a long time when the nurse comes in and gently starts to usher them out. Dia does the same. Dad lingers the longest. Even after he pulls away, his hand presses briefly to the back of my neck and his fingers squeeze gently, like he used to do when I was younger.

“Get some rest,” he says.

I salute him.

Dad looks at Nick, and Nick gives him a halting nod, still with that look of surprise on his face like he can’t quite believe everybody cares that he’s alive just as much as they care that I’m alive.

They’d probably hug the hell out of him too, if he didn’t look like he might jump out of the window at the prospect.

And then they leave.

The door clicks shut, and it’s just me and Nick.

We’re dressed identically, in sweats and T-shirts my parents brought with them from home.

I look at him, and he looks at me. He’s so far away now. All the way in the other bed. My legs and arms are restless. I’m itching to get to him, but I don’t know if I’m allowed. There’s too much space around me now, and I don’t know what to do with it.

“Hey,” he says, voice raspy like he hasn’t used it in a while.

“Hi,” I say.

That’s all. No other words. What do I say now? How do I go back to that quiet darkness where words came easily?

He clears his throat.

“That nurse,” he says. “Did she also tell you about the wig thief who escaped just as the tornado hit?”

I blink. “No?”

He nods. “Police are combing the area to find him.”

I stare, trying to figure out if I should call the nurse pronto or extra pronto to get his head checked before I realize that he… made a joke.