"Pick up, pick up, pick up," I say frantically under my breath as I listen to the tone, hoping that I'll soon hear my brother's greeting instead of that incessant ringing.

Finally, he answers, and it's obvious by the way he groans, "What's going on, Gee?" that I just woke him up.

"Eve she—" I feel like I'm about to cry, I want to end this phone call as soon as possible. "Just get over here now."

Before Mikey can say anything back, I hang up. He should get here soon, anyway. He got a hotel room after a few days of being here— in a different hotel than where Laura's been staying, but still in close proximity— not wanting to go back home with the other guys, but also not wanting to be in the hospital 24/7. He wanted me to come and stay there too, but I refused to leave Eve's side. They brought in a cot for me to sleep on, but it's barely gotten used. I'm lucky if I've gotten more than a couple hours' sleep per night during the last two weeks.

My lifelines have been texting Lindsey nonstop, listening to music without headphones since I was told Eve might be able to hear her surroundings, and talking to her. Telling her "good morning" every morning, and "goodnight" every night, and subtly begging her to wake up.

I keep pacing up and down the hall of the ICU just outside Eve's room like I have been since they hurriedly kicked me out of there a few minutes ago. I hear nothing coming from inside. Either the room is incredibly sound proof, or I've gone deaf thanks to the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

I try and keep my mind off of what's going on beyond that wall, and send Laura a quick text, knowing that as soon as she sees it, she'll rush over just as quickly as Mikey is right now. I've gotten to know her well enough that I know she's probably lying awake right now, unlike my brother who manages to fall into a deep sleep even though there's so much to think about.

What am I going to be told when a doctor opens that door again? What's going to happen next? Are Mikey and I just supposed to go home like these last two weeks haven't even happened, while I deal with more sleepless nights until I can't take it anymore?

I wasn't as fine as I was letting on at home without Eve. I don't want to go back if she's not with me. Seeing her like that in the hospital bed after months, holding her hand as she lay unconscious, and then when everything changed in an instant just a few minutes ago, made me realize more than ever that I don't want to let her go, but I'll have to eventually.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when, finally, the door opens. A doctor slips out and the two nurses that rushed in with her earlier are close behind.

I look at the doctor expectantly until she says, "You can go back in the room now, Mr. Way. We had to sedate her, but she should be waking up again soon."

"But what the fu- what happened?"

I didn't know what think when Eve opened her eyes and immediately started panicking, tried to rip out her breathing tube. It all happened so fast, all I could do was hit the panic button and hope she'd be okay. But nothing I said calmed her down, it was like I wasn't even there.

"Some patients report that waking from a coma feels like they're drowning, so that may have been it. But whatever she was feeling made her panic. She probably won't even remember that happened," she explains patiently, then adds with a soft smile, "But she should be just fine, Mr. Way."

I'm so relieved at hearing the words "just fine" that I can barely get my quick, "Thank you," to the doctor and nurses out before I go back into the room.

She looks peaceful again, like the last fifteen minutes never happened.

"Evie, don't scare me like that again," I tell her as I sit down next to her bed again and take her hand. I'm on edge now, watching her eyelids, hoping they'll flicker open.

A few seconds later, I hear fast footsteps run into the room. Mikey stops in front of the bed and glances between me and Eve, the look of panic he entered with quickly falling from his face. "Gee, what the fuck is going on? You can't just make it seem like Eve is dead and then hang up."

"I'm sorry, something happened and I... I was panicking?"

"Yeah, so was I," he says, walking towards the window. "I really thought she'd—" he covers his face in his hands. "Jesus, Gee, think about what you're saying before you fucking do something like that."

He's right, and so I ignore the irony of comforting him about a mess that I made and let go of Eve's hand. I tell him, "She's fine. They think she's gonna wake up soon," as I hug him.

He pushes me off himself.

I furrow my eyebrows at him. "Mikes, I said I'm sorry."

"No, Gee, look." He points across the room.

I'm alive.

I think.

I don't know where I am and those white lights shining in my eyes from above only add to my confusion. I wish I could move. I feel weighed down, like my limbs are made of lead, like my head is full of lead, and my mouth feels full of lead— it's a tube. There's a tube filling my lungs with oxygen.

I feel like a science experiment. Like I've been poked and prodded at until every inch of my body is sore.

I twitch my fingers first, then try and raise my hand. If I can raise my hand, see it with my own eyes, then I'll know I'm not dreaming anymore. I feel like I've been stuck in a nightmare, drained as though I've been reliving it over and over again for weeks.

When I finally look at my hand I'm surprised to see an IV needle stuck in the back, but also that my eyes won't focus. Everything looks soft around the edges, I feel dizzy.

I need someone here to tell me where I am, what's going on, and what the fuck happened?

That's when I finally register voices coming from my right. Still, I just keep looking at my hand in front of my face, squinting like my palm might suddenly reveal the answers to all my questions.

Suddenly, there's movement directly at my side and a voice I think I should recognize. "Evelyn?"

I turn my head towards the voice. It makes the room spin. I feel nauseous.

I try and talk, but no words escape my mouth. I want to say, "Where am I?" or "What happened?" or "Who are you?" but I can't. Not with that tube in my mouth. I don't like this. I feel like I have no control over whatever's happening. My breathing picks up, a steady beeping somewhere to my left picks up speed too.

Just as I'm about to yank the tube out of my mouth, someone grabs my hand and stops me. The person who last said my name moves out of the way and is replaced with someone I recognize immediately.

"Evie, calm down, it's okay," dad says. "I'm here."

Tears immediately spill from eyes as I'm filled with relief at the sight of him. Maybe he'll be able to tell me what's going on and how I got here. The last thing I remember is going to bed the night before leaving to go to Rhode Island and the breakdown Frank walked into that day.

"I'm gonna go find a doctor, okay? I'll be right back. Mikey's here with you," he says, then rushes off.

Mikey crouches next to me. He has tears in his eyes too, but I'm not sure why. I'm the one attached to wires and needles. He seems at a loss for words, which also doesn't make sense, 'cause I'm the one with a tube down my throat.

"I missed you so much," he finally says.

It was just a couple days ago that we were watching Star Wars on the couch together, pretending everything was fine. How much could he have missed me after just a few days? Unless I'm the one missing something. There's something I'm not thinking of.

Think.

Why is everything so hazy? Why can't I remember what happened? Why were my dreams— my nightmares— so vivid, so painful, so real? Why do I feel so weak?

I'm panicking again. The heart monitor with its relentless beeping is getting faster again. I want this tube out of my mouth, I want to ask all the questions I'm dying to have answered, I want my vision to focus, and I want to know who that woman from earlier was. All I could see was dark hair and grey eyes that looked at me like they were afraid of me.

"Eve, you're okay," Mikey tries to calm me down, taking my hand and squeezing it lightly. "Your dad is gonna be back with the doctor in a second, and we'll see if they can get that tube out of your mouth."

The possibility of getting my speech back is enough to make my heart rate get back to normal.

When the doctor finally arrives, the tube is out of my mouth, and my bed has been put in a sitting-up position, I don't know what to say first. The doctor was talking a lot, and she's still in the room, waiting just as expectantly as everyone else is for me to say something. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Just sounds.

Then I start crying again.