We weren't supposed to be there when my brother died. Visiting hours were long over, but we refused to leave. There wasn't enough time.
We sang to him all night long, wrapping him in melodies we thought could save his life. If he makes it through this night, they told us, it would be a miracle.
We were so close to a miracle. We were almost smiling when through the blinds we saw light.
"Look." Said Isaac, and suddenly our unconscious brother seized.
The nurse in the room jumped up, and doctors flooded within seconds. We were on our feet, the guitar clanged to the floor, and I held my brother's hand until my knuckles were white. Praying, praying, praying. I couldn't hear a word anyone in the room was saying, my eyes set on his face, conscious for just a moment of pain, until a wish to make it all go away came true. My grip loosened, and Isaac's fingers slid between mine, my pinky catching his forefinger before the silence broke, and there was an eruption of a noise more deafening than anything I had ever heard.
I didn't know I was having a panic attack until later. What I felt were knives lining my spine and cutting through my every part. I didn't believe what I saw, horrified and numb as the machine drew a line, my connection with Isaac broken as our hands fell numbly at our sides. I collapsed, and immediately a doctor pulled us away. I grabbed Isaac's hand again, shaking, every part of me shaking and he held on tight. I couldn't see a thing, I just remember standing still, supported by another, with Isaac's hand in mine.
"Taylor!" Came my mother's voice, and Isaac's hand was gone.
"No!" I screamed, fear seizing me, full throttle, and I lost sight of everything.