It’s strange to be sat here, watching him breathe. I’ve been here every day for the last three weeks since they brought him in. The bruises have faded now. But the damage is still there. He’s lain there asleep for three weeks. They don’t know if he’ll wake up ever.
Everyone’s been to visit him.
Nathan just left. He’s heading back to Preston because he has work tomorrow. He didn’t want to go. He hated having to leave. But what can he do? What can any of us do when James is lying there, unconscious? Not knowing how many people have come to sit by his bed. Harris and Amelia are on their way to see him before the day’s visiting hours are up.
Harris has struggled the past weeks. He was the one who found him beaten in the alley when he set off home that night. He’d called the ambulance and waited. He’d called everyone else including me. I remember how I felt when I heard Harris tell me what had happened. A dark coldness fell over me; it seeped through me and into my heart.
Nathan was raging when he arrived. He wanted to hunt down those who had done this to James but he didn’t know how. He felt helpless.
I didn’t feel angry. I felt something far worse. I had planned on surprising James when he came back from Majorca. I considered doing it before he left mine that night, but instead, I decided to wait. I don’t know why but I was wrong. And now this journal of his will know before he does himself. I don’t know if he will ever wake up and I feel that if I write it in here then in some small way he will know. It’s a poor comparison but he has to know how much he means to me.
How his smiles fills me with happiness. His dopey lack of common sense causes me to grin and giggle at him. How his cute sarcasm has me rolling around in laughter. His passion for all things creative and writing burns so brightly in his eyes and in his heart. I should have told him that he made his own home on my heart. Never wait to tell someone how you feel because it could be like this. It could be too late.
I love you, James.