She steps forward, frantic. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Erik appears at my side, voice low. “People are about to start showing up. We should probably get back inside.”
“I can’t,” I say, eyes stuck on Lydia. The sound of the stretcher clicking and being raised up makes my skin crawl. “Just…go in without me.”
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I just need a second.”
“We can cancel.” He searches my face. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No, no. It’s okay. Can you take over? Handle it?”
“Of course.” He pulls me into a quick hug, and I feel how stiff I am. I try to force myself to relax a little before he pulls away and walks back in.
I look around, pulling my attention off of her and taking in the hectic scene around us for the first time. Students have started to gather around right outside the door to the building. I see a guy standing off to the side, and I don’t know why he stands out. Maybe it’s because he’s standing alone away from everyone, maybe because he just stands out being covered in tattoos from his neck down to his hands, or maybe it’s the distraught look on his face that stands out to me…like he knew her, maybe? But the distance he’s kept feels odd if that was the case. Maybe it’s nothing, just me trying to focus on anything but the panic I’m still feeling.
Sandro’s sister rushes back over to him, and he pulls her into a hug as she sobs into his chest. “Come on, we can walk back over to my car and drive to the hospital,” he tells her.
She doesn’t pull herself from his chest. I’m not sure if she even heard him. I look back at the parking lot not far from us, where my car is parked.
“I can take y’all,” I say, and Sandro turns to look at me, still holding onto his sister.
I nod my head in the direction of the parking lot. “My car is right over there. It would be a lot faster.”
He nods his head and pulls his sister back from him, guiding her and following me.
53
Bash
“I’ll drop y’all off here, okay?”
Sandro nods absentmindedly at first, and then pauses, turning to look at me with his hand still on the car door. “You’re coming in, right?”
“Um, nah…I’ll just hang out here, maybe find somewhere to park, or just head back to campus. I can pick you back up if y’all need—”
“What? No. Come in with us.”
“I don’t want to intrude…I know it’s a pretty emotional situation.”
He shakes his head. “You saved her life, man. She might want to see you.”
“I was just in the right place at the right time.”
“Then be in the right place a little longer,” he tells me, already closing his door back. “Go park. We’ll all go in together.”
I don’t argue, just drive off without saying anything else, because let’s face it, everything in meneedsto see her, needs to know if she’s okay, needs to know I made it in time this time.
All I’ve heard from the backseat the whole ride has been soft, muffled crying. I hate that these girls are going through the feelings I know all too well—realizing that someone you love didn’t wanna be here anymore. It breaks something inside of you.
Sandro helps his sister out once we’re parked, holding onto her as we walk in. The fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic make my head hurt instantly. It’s a feeling I hate. Attached to memories I hate even more, ones of me not only forced to stay in a hospital all night when I already knew my sister was gone…but being back only a month later, watching my mom lying in the same hospital she just had to say goodbye to her daughter in, just to end up in it, too…from a heart attack. I remember her nurse looking at us and telling us it was a common thing, something they call ‘broken heart syndrome’. Something that can happen after the loss of a loved one. I shake off the memories, not wanting the onslaught of feelings causing me any more anxiety right now. I can’t lose it in front of these strangers.
We’re sitting in the family waiting room for what feels like forever. No one talks, no one even looks at each other. It’s like they’re all trying so hard to hold themselves together, and if they say any of it out loud, if they admit what’s going on right now…it’ll make it all real, and that’ll make them all break.
I keep trying to figure out why I’m feeling like this right now. Is it just the muscle memory? Is it just feelings brought up from my own past, my own grief, my own fear, like I’m reliving it all again? Or is it something else, too? Are these just resurfacing feelings from my own trauma…or are they new feelings and fears for someone I barely know…someone I feel connected to in a way I really don’t want to.
A doctor in green scrubs appears with a clipboard and a calm voice that sounds perfectly practiced. “Family of Lydia House?”
