Ian held the long stems of the flowers tight in his hand. Small, not yet developed thorns felt rough and jagged against his skin, but he ignored them. Holding the flowers at his side, they swayed back and forth as he walked hastily to catch the elevator that a group of people had just stepped on. An elderly gentleman held the door open for him, and he jumped in quickly, noting that the man hadn't looked him down with disgust like many older people did. Ian supposed he gave off that aura sometimes, the rebel who didn't care about anything, especially with his black-pinned jacket and coal jeans. It elevated his spirits in the slightest to know that not all of the older human race was as judgmental as he thought they were.
The elevator came to a swift stop on the third floor where Ian was the only one to step out. Anticipation mounted in his chest, then, as he finally arrived on that floor and the elevator shut behind him. He took in a deep breath and walked in the direction of Erin's room.
"Please be awake today," he chanted to himself. "Please remember me."
He opened the door quietly when he entered, and was submerged in silence. Still, she was asleep. She slept peacefully against her pillow, auburn hair spread over the blue fabric. Ian reached out a hand and rubbed her forehead gently before bending down to kiss her head. He straightened up, then, and put the various flowers he had bought her in the vase by her bed, replacing the old ones. He had brought some by at the beginning of the week, but they were dead now.
Ian wanted nothing dismal; dead, in her room. So he brought the fresh ones. It was hard sitting by her bed, holding her limp hand and feeling its lack of warmth, but he had to. It was his duty as her boyfriend to be by her side no matter what; he needed to be the first one she saw when she awoke. In his mind, he wondered if she would awake, but he quickly shut those thoughts down. He felt like a weight was on his shoulders that he could no longer carry, and it was beginning to suffocate him. His mind was plagued with the same mental images over and over of her falling; of the nails shooting her. The accident had been horrific; anything that hurt his Pip was horrific.
Ian wanted to avenge her so terribly, but he knew deep down that if she didn't make it, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do that. He knew he would find it hard to get out of their bed, let alone try and build up the guts and courage to hurt someone else. He knew that the only person he wanted to hurt anyway was Wendy, but why take her life when Erin may still survive? She was strong, he knew; she could pull through. As hard as he knew it would be for her, it was even harder for him waiting and trying to be strong. The last thing he felt like was strong. He felt like a thousand knives were stabbing him in the chest…A thousand nails.
"Pip," he said softly. "It's pretty cold out today."
Weather. He scowled at himself. Why would she want to hear about the weather? But he continued anyway.
"I know you love cold weather," he rubbed her hand with his thumb, tracing small hearts. "I brought a jacket for you to come home in, so if you want to wake up today it's ready for you."
He paused momentarily, awaiting a response. None came of course; he felt stupid.
"I just want to know if my hoping is futile, Erin. I've always had faith in you, but I'm so so scared you're going to give up. Please don't- not yet."
His heart began to ache further as he pressed on with the subject of her waking up. These days spent without her had been the hardest days of his life; he didn't know what to do with himself. He hardly knew how to sleep alone anymore, how to cook alone, how to make himself warm. She aided him in everything; she was his biggest luxury and companion. It all broke him in that second, then. He buried his face into his hands as he leaned his head on the side of her bed. Hot tears flowed freely from his eyes as he tried to no avail to muffle his crying. He didn't know how long he sat like that, though, before he felt the movement. Finally, he looked up and saw her eyes, staring at him, wide open.
Her eyes weren't warm, though. The lack of comprehension there scared him- the way she looked right through him. Her first words hit him like a rather large brick to the chest, and his breathing hitched in his throat as he tried not to cry once more.
"Do I know you?" She whispered.