Won't Let Go by Avery Olive

the top a little longer, just enough to fall into his blue eyes. This Embry’s blond hair is curling over his ears and shaggy. Three years in a coma has done nothing for his physique. Where there should be toned muscle and bulking biceps, his skin looks loose and veiny. Yet, he still manages to seem almost peaceful, like the male version of Sleeping Beauty. Only he might never wake up, ever.
    I’m not sure what I was expecting, maybe for his body to still be broken and battered, but it’s had numerous surgeries and years to heal. Perhaps I thought he’d look the same, having been trapped in the coma and unable to age, though that’s impossible. But it’s hard looking at him. His ghost form, believe it or not, looks more real, more alive.
    There isn’t any sign anyone’s been here. No flowers, no open magazines on the small table in the corner and the window blind is drawn tight. The only color the room holds are the dull green walls and the light green blanket that covers Embry’s body. There’s nothing here, besides him.
    I stand motionless for a long while, just staring at Embry’s lips, dry, cracked and pale, the short stubble that covers his cheeks and neck, and the long eyelashes—I never noticed—that frame his closed lids. Even now, he’s still beautiful.
    I’ve seen enough, and I turn to leave. But before I reach the door, it’s pushed open. I jump slightly, let out a squeal of surprise as a nurse bustles in. She stops when her eyes fall on me.
    “Excuse me?” she says. She’s short and round. Her scrubs aren’t green like the other hospital employees I’ve seen downstairs. Hers have Looney Tunes characters on them. Her hair is wound into tight, graying curls that glisten with hairspray.
    I stumble over myself. “I-I’m sorry. I was just—visiting?”
    Her tight, wrinkled face lightens up. “Oh, that’s so nice. I can come back,” she says, backing towards the door.
    I lift my hands up. “No, please don’t go—I was wondering...I mean what happened to him?” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. For some reason, I want to hear it out loud, hoping the answer I get might be something different.
    Her nose wrinkles. “Don’t you know Mr. Winston? Only his family is supposed to be in here.”
    “Oh um, I—am?” I say.
    The nurse nods, giving me a knowing smile. I sigh with relief. Thank you for not kicking me out .
    She moves towards Embry’s bed. Her hand touches his wrist—taking his pulse. “He was hit by a car some years ago.” After taking a pen out of her breast pocket she writes on a small slip of paper in her hand.
    Allison had said the two brothers had a fight. Elliot versus Embry. But something else happened that night, something no one knows. Something I’m determined to figure out because how does a dispute between two brother’s turn into attempted murder?
    “Does he not get any visitors?” I motion to the lack of personal touches in the room.
    She brushes the hairs on top of Embry’s head, forcing them to lie flat, only to have them spring up again once she moves her hand away. “Not for awhile now. I’ve been here since he came. He had lots in the beginning, but the longer someone’s here, the less people come. I think it’s hard for them.”
    “Will he—will he ever wake up?” My voice trembles. I take a step forward, reaching my hand out. I want to feel his warmth, but when my fingertips graze his arm, I pull back quickly. “He’s so cold,” I whisper. I’m shocked his living form isn’t warmed with life.
    “It happens. Sometimes the blood in comatose patients has trouble circulating properly, making them feel cool. And no, I suspect he might never wake up.” Her tone sounds sincere.
    The most important question nagging my mind isn’t just if he will ever wake up, but, “Why are they keeping him like this?” From what the papers reported, the accident did more than break bones, it left him brain-dead. Even if he did wake up, he’d be