Holding On To Nothing

Holding On to Nothing Copyright © 2023 by Savannah Schmidt All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Contact Information: https://www.savannahschmidtbooks.com Front Cover Design by: GetCovers Editor: Whitney Morsillo ISBN: 979-8-218-17799-7 First Edition: May 2023 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Contents Contents Now Now Then Then Now Then Then Then Now Then Then Then Then Then Now Then Now Then Then Now Epilogue Thank You Acknowledgments Newsletter About the Author Dedicated to my loving husband. Thank you for always believing in me. Now Connor I scowl in frustration at the many cars that refuse to drive around the very large puddle of water that forms because of the uneven street, splashing me as they race by. In defeat, I close up my umbrella and stand in the pouring rain, patiently waiting for the pedestrian signal to change. Another car speeds by, and the puddle sprays my face again. “Oh, come on!” I scream, annoyed. “Go around it!” The rain is not what's bothering me. In fact, on any other day, I would laugh at the situation. It’s the fact that I am mentally and physically drained from everything that can possibly be going wrong right now. The dark clouds clash above and are followed by a flash of light. The city is drowning, and I can’t help but think to myself how much of a coincidence it is that it’s been raining ever since our accident. I raise my arm, checking my calculator watch. It beeps, letting me know that another hour has passed. It has been three weeks, two days, and an hour since I last talked to both of them. And it has been three weeks, one day, and twenty hours since the sun has shined. Lillian and Jasper both suffered traumatic brain injuries, leaving them in a coma, and the doctors tell us all we can do is wait. Just wait. They say they can hear you even in the depth of their slumber, but I doubt it. I hope they’re dreaming of somewhere nice and warm. Somewhere safe and wrapped in each other’s arms. I only walked away with a few bumps, but a lifetime of trauma. Trauma from the never-forgetful event. I was the only one to get through it all, and I have to watch the world live on while they lay there. Motionless. It honestly angers me. Why am I not lying in a bed somewhere too? It seemed to happen all so quickly. Like ripping off a bandage from a freshly cut wound. There’s no way that Jasper could have seen the truck coming. It came out of nowhere, then all at once, knocking us off the side of the road. The light finally changes, and I am welcome to cross the street, to continue my journey to the hospital. That’s all I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. Every day, I trek through the pouring rain, hiking across town to see them. I’m tired and might as well live here because I don’t want to be anywhere else. I cross the parking lot and scuffle my feet through the front doors, the cold air conditioning embracing me. The smell of lemon fresh cleaner fills my nose, followed by a hint of coffee from the cafeteria. The lobby is kept occupied by strangers and the patients’ family members. I wince in embarrassment as my shoes begin to squeak across the tile floor, leaving wet footprints behind. I reassure myself that I’m not the only one and continue on my way past the front desk and down a long hallway to the elevators. The hospital staff is kind enough, I think. They take great care of my friends and Jasper’s mother, who refuses to leave her son’s side. They also have become accustomed to seeing me every morning before I go to work. Once on their floor, I make my way toward Lillian’s door first. I knew Lillian just enough, but not enough to sit and have a conversation with her in her sleep. I still find it odd but want to be respectful and say hi. She would kill me if she knew that I didn’t. I wave to the usual staff members and pass the nurse’s station. My shoes come to a quick halt, screeching loudly against the freshly polished floor as I hear my name being called down the hall. “Hey, Connor!” I twirl in place, the head nurse standing in the doorway of another patient room. She leans against the doorframe with a smile on her face and a clipboard in her hands. “Lillian is on a different floor,” she gushes. “She’s awake! She woke up last night.” I feel as if my lungs are deflating. The air escapes as I gasp silently to myself. “D-do you know what room?” She shakes her head. “Check with the front desk. And congratulations, Connor!” I sprint back down the hallway to the elevators and press the button a thousand times, impatiently waiting for the doors to burst open. Excitement radiates through me, escaping through dancing feet. I eagerly watch the numbers descend until it dings at my floor. I ride the elevator back down to the ground floor, sprinting to the front doors. I ignore the line of people who are patiently waiting, sliding in next to an elderly woman who holds herself up against the counter. “Lillian Abernathy,” I huff, breathless. “There’s a line, you know,” the elderly woman snaps. “Lillian Abernathy, please.” The woman behind the desk blows a bubble out of