I realized at some point he had taken my hand in his.
He looked into my eyes with such pain and despair, I could hardly look back into them. I knew he saw the shame in my eyes, and it destroyed me. He looked down and turned my hand upwards, tracing the blue veins in my wrist with a shaking finger. He slowly brought my hand up to his chin and kissed my palm gently, though It felt as if he had presses a lit cigarette into my hand instead. The sting of guilt, and the knowledge of what I had done overpowered me in that moment, and my shoulders began to shake; my stomach convulsed and twisted in pain. So much was I overcome with emotions that I began to sob uncontrollably, and I tore my hand away from his grasp.
His eyes widened with terror and his heart rate monitor spiked, the beeping seeming to grow louder and more frantic, as he reached for my hand, arm, clothing, anything, but I backed away from his bed.
“Don’t leave,” He said quietly. “DON’T LEAVE!” He screamed, thrashing against the buckles that held his limbs loosely down.
Three nurses streamed into the room, speaking fast and reaching into drawers and cabinets, while trying to hold him down.
I couldn’t take it anymore, “I”m sorry,” I whispered but my apology was lost in all the chaos.
Two more nurses arrived and I slipped out. I ran down the hallway, my face wet with tears. I could still hear him screaming after me, as I escaped through the double doors of the hospital, and never looked back.