As the weeks passed, everything began changing rapidly; occasionally for the better, but also for the worse in some cases. I began to work with Dr. Simmons, who was a great help in rebuilding my confidence - sight or no sight. I began to learn Braille, slowly but surely, though it was painfully clear it might take months to be considered even slightly fluent. I also learned to walk with a cane, which for me was a great liberation; I was now allowed out of bed as the concussion healed, and I ventured further and further from my room everyday. I was not yet allowed to leave the fourth floor, the floor my room was on, but I still felt much more reassured to be out and about.
Rich visited as often as their tight studio dates would allow. He was a constant source of comfort for me, helping me through the trials and frustrations that occurred more often than I might have liked. Rich was still coping with the severe guilt of my injury, no matter how much we cajoled him that the feeling was undeserved.
John, Paul, and George were also a fantastic help pending my recovery. While not as involved in my rehabilitation, they visited frequently and provided much-needed moral support. I feel I must mention one incredible change amongst the three; although I had never been incredibly close with George, that all seemed to change as the days passed. He provided an amount of caring I must admit I never realized he held. He and I are now much closer friends, and my only regret is that such a tragedy had to occur to make it this way.
When recovering from an injury or illness, it goes without saying that one might have better days than others. Unfortunately for me, it seemed that I was having a bad month. As the weeks wore on, my patience wore out. I became more and more frustrated with my mistakes, strong as I may have seemed in the very beginning. A bundle of nerves, my frustrations began to hinder my formerly rapid progress; I embittered myself to the extreme point where Doctor Simmons found it near to impossible to work with me. One step forward, five steps back.
The door to my room opened softly, tentative footsteps crossing the threshold and walked to my bedside. I burrowed deeper into the blankets, trying my best to play asleep. Clearly this person was not so easily fooled. The bedsprings creaked ever-so-softly softly as someone sat on the bedside, near the small of my turned back. A thin but strong hand was gently laid on my shoulder.
"Tessa…" George's thick accent gave him away almost instantly. When I showed no signs of responding, he sighed quietly. "Tess, what happened? You had this all figured out, luv. C'mon now, you've got Ringo climbing the walls outside…" I bit my lip, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. George didn't speak for a long moment, the only evidence of his presence being his soft breathing. Eventually, he spoke again.
"Tessa, you've got to come out of this; f not for your own sake, for Ringo's. He's killing himself with guilt. Don't you understand that? He's blaming himself for everything that's gone wrong here, ever since the crash. He needs you." George paused, and I let out the breath I'd been holding forever.
George was right, of course. No matter how much I wanted to be left alone to wallow in my sorrow, I needed to talk to Rich; reassure him, if nothing else.
I sat up slowly, but nonetheless I felt George start at my movement. "Come on then," I all but whispered. Rich entered slowly as George squeezed my hands softly. I smiled in his direction as I heard the door shut softly. I offered no explanation to the silent Rich, only laying back on my side, yet this time facing towards the door.
The room was draped in a thick silence for a moment until Rich took George's place by my side. He gently brushed a few waves of hair from my face, his fingertips tickling my cheeks. Rich leaned over me, propping himself up by putting his arm on the other side of the bed.
"Tess…" He all but whispered. "How are you?" I bit my lip viciously.
"Fine. Just…fantastic." I began softly but with a sharp sarcastic edge. "I've always wanted to feel completely helpless…you should try it some time, really. It's a real eye opener." I put particular emphasis on the last two words.
But I regretted those words as soon as they left my dry lips. I felt Rich stiffen, drawing in a sharp breath. "No…! I didn't mean…what I said…" I stuttered helplessly, sitting up quickly.
Rich stood up, abruptly, angrily. "Is that so? Good God…" He spat.
"Rich, I didn't mean it!" I cried insistently, reaching out in the darkness. My fingernails caught his shirt sleeve as he turned towards the door. "Stop…please…stay," I begged softly. Rich was silent for a moment.
"Tessa," He began shakily. "You know this is killing me already." Tears sprung to my eyes. His voice wavered, softening. "I don't need this."
Rich didn't speak any more, but at least he made no movement to leave. His arm trembled under my fingers, and I fought back my tears fiercely.
To no avail. Tears spilled over, streaming down my cheeks; I withdrew my hands to hastily wipe them away. Rich shifted with uncertainty, evident by the soft rustling by his coat, but gently returned to my side on the bed. He gathered me into his lap slowly, hugging me tight and soothing my sobs, stroking my hair gently.
"That hurt, Tess," He breathed into my hair. "That hurt a lot."
My only response was to sob harder, and Rich rocked me back and forth softly. He scooped me up, then sat down on the bed near the head, the two of us laying nested, side by side. He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his nose in my hair. Slowly my sobbing ebbed, and I wiped the last traces from my cheeks, feeling his comforting breath on the back of my neck.
"If it hurt so much," I whispered, "Then we're even, after the scandalous skip town with a brunette bimbo…"
Rich laughed softly. "I love you, too."
"Ai, there's no reading those two!" George cried in exasperation, collapsing in a waiting room chair. Paul lay on the plastic-covered sofa, leafing idly through a magazine from ten years past, his shoes cast to the side. John was nearby, pouring himself a fiftieth cup of coffee from the coffee machine around the corner. He returned with a styrofoam cup, stirring in five cubes of sugar.
"I don't know how Americans can stand the stuff…I'll take tea over this any time…" John muttered absently, taking a small sip and making a face. Paul laughed, not even looking up from his magazine. George just shrugged.
"If it keeps you awake…" He trailed off. John cocked an eyebrow at him, then settled into a well-worn armchair.
"When's Ringo coming home?" John changed the subject, choking down another mouthful of coffee.
"Who knows. He and Tessa need to have a good talk." George sighed, looking very worn out.
Paul looked up confusedly, a mock innocent look on his face. "They're only talking?" George threw a nearby cushion at him.
"Please do not throw the upholstery," A small yet fierce-looking nurse commented down her nose, entering from a side corridor. George smiled sheepishly, shrinking into his chair as the nurse retrieved the cushion.
"Visiting hours are over," She stated, tapping her watch and looking to the closed door. George abruptly jumped up and stood in front of it.
"They're…talking." The nurse cocked one eyebrow.
"They need to end their conversation. Visiting hours are over." She repeated, raising her voice slightly. George only painted a look of nonchalance on his face, still blocking the door. The nurse sighed sharply, flustered.
"If you do not move, I will have to call Dr. Simmons and have you removed by security!" She smiled smugly.
"What's this?" Doctor Simmons rounded the corner, draping a stethoscope around his neck. Almost a foot taller than the nurse, the two made an odd pair.
"Visiting hours are over," She repeated for the third time. "This girl's 'friend' needs to leave."
Doctor Simmons smiled thoughtfully. "Richard?" George nodded, catching his eyes pleadingly. Doctor Simmons shrugged. "I see no need to make him leave. He will not hinder Tessa's progress; in fact," He added with a wink to George, "I think he may help a great deal."
The nurse's jaw dropped, and George smiled smugly as she quickly shuffled off, muttering to herself. John and Paul laughed. Paul tossed his magazine back to the end table, slipping back into his shoes. "I'm ready to go home. You two…?" He asked, stretching. John nodded, gulping down the remainder of his cold coffee with a cough and a choke. George thanked Doctor Simmons profusely, and the trio headed for their cars.
