Chapter 99 - The Medical Situation (2/2)

”Is he still unconscious?” Claire says.

”Oh, he would have been, but some of the drugs he's on have strong sedative effects. So he's basically asleep, which is a good thing.” He turns to Miguel. ”As you can see, your brother gets the best treatment possible here.”

Miguel nods his head. ”Thank you for that.”

”So,” the doctor says. ”I'll let you know of any further development, okay?”

”Can I go in and talk to him?” Claire says.

The doctor sighs. ”I wouldn't advise that, for now. I suggest strongly to let him sleep. Maybe tomorrow morning, let's see. But for now, it wouldn't be good. He's still in a vulnerable place, as far as his body's immune system is concerned.”

Claire says nothing; inside, she wants to collapse. All these mumbo-jumbo seems meaningless if Gabriel's on that bed. There's something about what the doctor says that makes her feel like there's a lot more he isn't saying. How serious is a blood infection? What if Gabriel doesn't wake up anymore? That he stays in that state forever? Claire wants to cry. In fact, the more she tries hard to look fine, the more her face contorts into a sob.

After the doctor leaves, Miguel says, ”See? My brother's fine. There's nothing to worry about.”

Claire says nothing. She's trying to contain her emotions. The scenes of the past few days flash in her head, and in all those scenes, she pictures Gabriel's face, smiling at her—oh, if she only knew. She would have said a resounding yes. She would have given Gabriel everything he wanted—everything! She would have opened all the doors that lead to the core of her being. She would have kissed him all night long. But now, Gabriel's in that God-forsaken room with strangers, attached to tubes and drowning in drugs.

Slowly, even as she holds back her emotion, a tear peeps out of an eye. Then she sniffles, which turns into a small sob, that grows bigger. Until, finally, she begins weeping.

”Oh, my God,” Miguel exclaims. ”Claire? Stop it. Why are you crying? Gabriel's fine! It's not as if he's actually dead!”

Claire cries even more.

Miguel panics. He rifles through his pockets and somehow finds a handkerchief. He gives it to Claire, who snatches it and blows her nose through it. She tries to give it back to him, but Miguel smiles. ”It's all yours, Claire.”

People passing by are looking at them, intrigued at the sight of a girl weeping loudly and so openly. ”This can't be happening,” she sobs. ”This can't be…”

A lady who is passing by stops in front of them, gazes at her and Miguel. She taps Miguel by a shoulder and mutters, ”Please accept my condolences, mister.”

Miguel's jaw drops. ”No. I mean, thank you, but no one died.”

”Oh, sorry,” the lady says. ”I thought…” She moves on, confusion on her face.

”Please stop it, Claire,” Miguel says. ”Stop crying. Gabriel's fine, I promise you that.”

”Look,” he says. ”We've been here for hours. Let's go and have a bite somewhere. Coffee, perhaps. Anything. Let's just go.”

”No, I'll stay here until he wakes up,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. By now, Miguel's handkerchief is completely soaked, but Miguel gazes at his handkerchief in Claire's hand with envy and longing—how lucky Gabriel must be for a woman like this to cry over him?

”Are you sure, Claire?” he says. ”Because he might not wake up soon. He might not wake up tomorrow or the next day. He might not wake up for one whole week, a month.”

”Then I'll stay here,” Claire mutters, her voice broken, her eyes bloodshot with tears. ”I'll stay here until he wakes up. I'll cry until I can't cry anymore, but I'll stay here and I'll never leave him.”

Miguel says nothing; he gazes at her, his heart aching, his mind full of whys. Gabriel is in that room, deathly sick, but Miguel wants so much to be Gabriel right now, just so Claire would also cry over him like this; a woman so beautiful in her sadness.