Somewhere Between
749 Words
He woke up to white.
Not the warm kind. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that hums in fluorescent lights and smells faintly of bleach. The kind that wraps around you like an empty sheet.
Eli blinked. Once. Twice.
The ceiling above him came into focus slowly, like it had to decide whether it wanted to reveal itself. The buzz of machines beside him pulsed in rhythm with his heart, reminding him, gently but persistently, that he was still alive.
That was the part that surprised him most.
He had expected darkness.
Or maybe nothing at all.
But instead, here he was — awake. Still breathing.
Alive.
He didn’t move.
Not because of pain, though it was there — a dull ache in every bone, like his body had been rearranged under a blunt hammer.
But because he was afraid that if he moved too fast, it would all dissolve.
Or worse — solidify.
Because if this was real…
Then everything else was real too.
The empty chair across the dinner table.
The soft “I’m sorry” before she walked away.
The street.
The fists.
The voice.
The stranger.
He didn’t know which reality hurt more — the life he lost, or the one he woke up to.
The room was quiet.
There was something sacred about it — the kind of silence that feels like being underwater. His thoughts echoed back at him, louder than the monitors.
“So this is what surviving feels like.”
His fingers brushed against the hospital blanket — stiff, sterile, tucked too tight around his legs. It was grounding. It kept him in the moment. But part of him still floated somewhere above his body, like he wasn’t sure if this place — this bed, this breath — was a punishment or a second chance.
He looked toward the door. No one.
Not yet.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — soft, surreal.
He smiled because he didn’t know what else to do.
Because crying felt too heavy.
Because laughing would break him.
Because sometimes, you smile not out of joy… but out of surrender.
The machines beeped quietly beside him.
Eli closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of it wash over him.
“It’s strange,” he thought.
“How something so mechanical… can sound like a heartbeat.”
He drifted there — not asleep, not fully awake — just resting on the edge of something.
And in that strange middle-space, his mind wandered.
He saw Aria’s face again. Not the angry version. The one from the beginning. The one who laughed into her chai latte and kissed his shoulder when he wasn’t looking.
He saw the restaurant table — still lit, still waiting.
He saw the stranger’s eyes — dark, calm, certain — as he lifted Eli out of the alley like something worth saving.
He saw his younger self — the boy who kept secrets even from himself. The one who stared too long at boys on the soccer field. The one who cried at movies and always hated how easily he bruised. The one who whispered things into pillows at night just to hear how they sounded.
“I like boys.”
“I think I’m… different.”
The boy had buried those whispers.
But now, Eli could hear them again.
And this time, he didn’t try to shut them out.
A soft knock came at the door.
He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes closed, the smile still faint on his lips.
A nurse peeked in — gentle footsteps, soft-spoken voice.
“Mr. Jacobs? You’re awake.”
He didn’t open his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I guess I am.”
She moved around the room quietly — checking his vitals, adjusting things he didn’t understand. She asked if he was in pain. He said no. She asked if he wanted anything. He said water.
But mostly, he just lay there — still, floating.
When she left, the room fell silent again.
And for the first time since everything shattered, Eli breathed in deeply. Not because he wanted to — but because he could.
“So… this is what’s left,” he thought.
A hospital room. A healing body.
A new, strange sensation blooming behind his ribs.
Something close to emptiness.
Something close to peace.
He didn’t know who he was anymore.
Didn’t know what came next.
But he was alive.
And maybe — just maybe — that meant something.
- Writer
