An annoying beeping sound wakes me up. I feel exhausted, like I’ve been asleep too long. My eyes blink open to bright afternoon light and it takes them a few moment to adjust. I’m in a hospital room, with butterflies on the walls. Lethargically, I look around, and I see someone slumped in a chair on my right, obviously deep in sleep. Upon closer inspection, I realize why he looks so familiar, and I jolt upright and try to scoot away as the beeping picks up speed. Worried the obnoxious sound will rouse him, I reach to get the pulse monitor off my finger, but a hand stops me. At first, I panic, thinking it’s Gerard, but that’s ridiculous because I’m still looking at him, and both his hands are dangling limp over the sides of his chair. Following the arm to its source, I meet the eyes of that brave teenage girl who had tried to talk me out of death. But my heartbeat doesn’t slow, because Gerard is still here.
“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl croons. “My name is Jamia. You’re safe now.”
I urgently grab her arm and hiss, “Why is he here? He tried to kill me!”
She looks surprised and confused. “Gerard?”
I nod vigorously.
She smiles, still puzzled. “No…he saved your life. If not for him, you’d be dead.”
“No,” I deny, uncomprehending, “he—he strangled me, and I blacked out.”
Jamia cringes slightly at the memory. “He stopped your neck wound from bleeding out. That was after he tackled that horrible woman to the ground and knocked her out. So in a way, he saved your life twice,” she tells me matter-of-factly.
“No—but—I—” I struggle.
Her face softens in sympathy. “I know he bullied you, Frank, but he visits you every day, and for the first two weeks he wouldn’t even leave your side except to use the bathroom. He rode in the ambulance with you—as did I. He sleeps here most nights. He’s been really freaked out, you know. Keeps asking the doctors if you’re going to be okay.”
I am flabbergasted. “Gerard? Was w-worried? About me?”
“Yes,” Jamia confirms.
I stare between her and Gerard in disbelief for a few seconds. “That does not sound like the Gerard I know,” I finally state doubtfully.
“You’re right,” Jamia agrees, “it is way out of character, but it’s still true. That’s still what happened.” Her tone gets defensive.
“I’m not saying you’re lying,” I backtrack swiftly, “just that it’s vastly unbelievable.”
She gives me a disapproving look. “That’s the same thing,” she snaps.
I shrug, but I don’t really care if I hurt her feelings or not. I watch Gerard warily, but since he’s asleep, I feel rather creepy. He looks distressed in unconsciousness. I start to doubt whether he’s really asleep anymore.
I’m about to make my escape when suddenly questions crowd my mind. “What time is it? How long have I been here? What happened after I passed out? When can I leave? And who are you, anyway? What were you thinking, trying to reason with that psychopath? And, my god, I have the strongest craving for chocolate pudding right now.”
At that final statement, I see Gerard’s lips quirk upwards at the corners. Before I can call him out on it though—or rather, work up the courage to call him out on it—Jamia answers.
“Here’s the thing, Frank,” she reluctantly admits. “You’ve been in a coma for nearly six months.”
A long, silent moment passes before I say blankly, “Right.” Not sarcastically, not in agreement, just simply acknowledging that she spoke.
She observes me anxiously. “Frank?” Her voice sounds panicked. That’s when I notice how fast and shallow my breathing is and that the heart monitor is beeping like crazy. “Help!” she cries; her voice is muted. Gerard’s face blocks out Jamia’s, hovering over me. I can’t breathe.
Suddenly, strangers in scrubs flood the room and push Gerard away from me, herding him out the door.
Yes, I’m safe now. Sleep overtakes me.

* * *

When I wake again, it’s just my mom beside me. Relieved, I slowly try to sit up, but I feel too weak to move. Upon seeing I’m awake, my mom pushes my struggling shoulders back into the pillows.
“You’re going to be very weak for a while, Frankie,” she tells me smoothly. “It’s been a long time since you’ve used your muscles. The doctors say you’ll need to gradually build up your strength.
I stare at her, at the tear hanging on the edge of her eyelashes. “Mom” is all I can manage, and she bursts into sobs, hugging me until I’m gasping for air.
“It’s okay!” we both start crooning to each other. After what feels like forever, we pull apart, sniffling.
“I…” my mom sniffs. “I thought you wouldn’t ever wake up. It’s been so long, I….” My mom lets out a large sob. I squeeze her hand. “I almost gave up on you,” she cries. “The doctors were urging me to pull the plug….” My blood goes cold at this thought. They almost killed me. “If it wasn’t for Gerard…” she goes on.
My eyes widen and I jerk up straight. “What do you mean by that? What’s Gerard got to do with it?” A terrifying thought occurs to me. “Did he try to pull the plug on me?”
My mother looks shocked. “Pull the—no. He’s the reason I waited. It’s expensive, you know, keeping a coma patient alive. Insurance doesn’t cover it after a while. But Gerard, he got another job, not bad pay either, and he gave all his money to you, to keep you alive. And well, in the grand scale of things, it didn’t help that much monetarily, but it was his determination that gave me hope. Otherwise I might’ve….” She throws her hand over her mouth in renewed horror over what she almost did.
“It’s okay, mom,” I say distractedly, mulling over this new information about my former nemesis. “I’m okay.”

Notes