30. Aurora: The Bad News Doesn’t End

Chapter thirty

Aurora – The Bad News Doesn’t End

It’s dark outside, and I’m huddled in a car pulling my coat around me as tightly as possible. I blink blankly at the dashboard time, absentmindedly registering the number 8:30 flashing back at me as if to hypnotize me from the pain and the anxiety threatening to pull me down. Hot tears roll down my eyes, and I see Alex glance at me through the blurry haze that’s my eyes.

He tries to hold my hand but I swat his away, not needing his support. Not now. Not ever. I can only be really appreciative of the fact that he’s driving me to the city at breakneck speed right now.

I hold my breath, praying with everything in me that I’m not too late, and that it’s nothing serious at all.

The sharp veering of the car and blaring of horns jolts me back into reality. Alex curses under his breath, and he glances at my hand. “You gonna get that? Your phone has been ringing non-stop for the past five minutes. It’s beginning to irritate me. ”

I say nothing, but I glance at my phone, tapping the screen to see the notifications. I have several texts from Brittney, Ryan, and Bella. Brittney and Ryan asking my whereabouts and if I’m okay.

Jake has the most texts, telling me he’s sorry, and what I saw wasn’t the truth. The rest of his texts consist of desperately wanting to know my whereabouts, with the last one asking if it’s true, what he heard, that I left the hotel with Alex. neitheranywhere

I feel a wave of pain wash over me, and I rub my chest, hoping it’ll soothe my aching heart. I feel another flood of tears fill my lids, and they come rolling down in warm rivulets. Bella’s message is the last I tap on. She keeps on apologizing that she really just didn’t want me to get hurt. That she didn’t betray me.

“Aurora! Aurora!” I hear someone yell my name, and I blink back into focus, my vision hazy and teary. “We’re here,” Alex says softly. He makes to hold my hand but retracts his hand, seeming to rethink it.

The bright lights of the hospital momentarily blind me, but I make no move to shield my eyes. I had fallen into a light sleep. More like a dark memory lane. The events of the day are trying to fill my mind with images I’d rather not remember.

Slowly, I unbuckle the seat belt, and Alex does the same, leaves the car, and comes jogging to my side of the door. He opens the door for me, and I step out, the cold hitting me square in the face. It feels like the bite of a thousand ants. I blink at him, willing to find my voice to at least convey my gratitude, but I can’t. I haven’t uttered a single word since he guided me to his car back at the hotel.

I take an unstable step forward, moving towards the hospital’s entrance. My phone rings again and I numbly look at the screen, the unknown number flashing at me.

Alex searches my face to ask for permission to answer the call and I nod at him. He sighs deeply and answers the call.

“We’re here. It’s Alex, Aurora’s friend. Yes . . . yes, she’s here. She’s . . . fine. No, she’s fine ma’am. Yeah . . . I drove her here. The room number again? Okay . . . yeah, see you in a minute.”

I follow Alex blankly, walking behind him like some sort of lost child. Walking through the hospital halls, the smell of disinfectant hits me sharply in the nostrils, a clear indication that I’m inside the hospital. I walk in a white haze, everywhere white to me: the floors, the walls, and even the people seem white to me.

Upstairs we make a sharp turn into a corridor where I see my mother and honestly don’t know how to feel. I have a lot of questions: how the heck did she know dad’s gotten into an accident? Has she been around all along? Is she back now? And most importantly, how’s my dad doing?

We walk towards her, my sneakers squeaking on the spotless floor. She sees me and breaks into a run to meet me, bursting into tears. Strangely, I feel her hugging me tightly, soaking my collarbone with tears. But I can’t find it in me to care at the moment.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she keeps repeating, sobs racking through her.

I don’t know if she’s saying sorry for dad’s accident, or maybe she’s apologizing for leaving dad. For leaving me.

I shrug out of her embrace without reciprocating her hug and see her face crumble with hurt. She steps back, wiping her nose with a tissue.

“How is he?” I ask, blandly saying my first words after several hours, my voice coming out hoarse from my prolonged silence.

“He’s fine and stable. The doctor says he should be able to go home after a few days. There are no major injuries, just some cuts and bruises, I think,” she recites, and I feel my body sag with relief.

I close my eyes tightly, holding in the dam behind my lids that is threatening to burst.

“How’re you, though?” mom asks me, and I feel a surge of anger at the question. Her eyes are wide with worry and red-rimmed from crying so much. Her nose is red too, and her lips are chapped and cracked. But she still looks breathtaking, nonetheless.

People used to tell me I looked like my mom, but I didn’t see it. More accurately, I didn’t want to see it. I see more of myself in my dad.

“And how are you, honey?” she repeats, trying to hold my hand as I evade it and see her again blink back tears. She doesn’t get to call me ‘honey,’ or hold my hands. She lost that right when she walked away so many years ago without so as much as a second thought.

“I’m going in to see dad,” I announce dully into the air, without meeting her gaze.

“Okay, sweetie. He’s sleeping at the moment. He fell asleep right after asking for you.” She smiles knowingly at that, and I feel my heart squeeze painfully.

I walk towards the door with my heart in my mouth. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I see it shake, and I clench the doorknob hard, willing my fingers to stop shaking. The door gives, and I step in, sucking in a deep breath as I do so.

I stare at the figure lying motionless on the hospital bed. His head is wrapped in a white bandage discolored with blood around the forehead. His left leg is wrapped in a cast, and his right hand is also wrapped with bandaging that’s slightly stained with blood as well.

I stagger towards his bed like a drunk, the tears now flowing freely like a burst dam. I sit on the chair beside him and take hold of his hand. I cry silently, not holding back any tears, everything crashing into me all over again.

Warm tears roll down my eyes onto his wrist and I feel him twitch. I clear my eyes as fast as possible, not wanting him to see me cry if he happens to open his eyes.

I feel a vibration against my thigh, and I sigh in despair, fishing out my phone. I see it’s a call from Brittney, and I end it immediately. I have to text her because I currently can’t talk without wailing like a dolphin, and I don’t want to disturb my dad.

I tap on the text application, and I’m met with a series of desperate messages from her phone. The last one hits with another bout of sadness, and I bite my lower lip to keep myself from crying .

I’m fine. Dad is in the hospital. He got into an accident. Alex happened to see me in the parking lot with my hands shaking and offered to drive me to the hospital. I’ll call you tomorrow, A.

Then I switch off my phone. I really don’t want to be bombarded with questions right now, and questions about my dad’s condition will only make me tear up again. And honestly, I’m tired of crying. Resting my head on the plastic bed frame, and holding on to Dad’s hand gently, I drift off into a restless sleep, lulled by the steady beeping of the hospital’s machines.

I feel something squeeze my hand, and I shift in my sleep, refusing to fall for one of Brit’s pranks again today. The hold on my hand gets tighter, and I open my eyes, ready to tell Britt what I think of her in this world and the next.

A plaster-wrapped hand comes into view, and I snap my head up. I moan a bit at the pain in my neck from my sleeping position and wince at the burning in my eyes from the salty lake they leaked so much the day before. I keep my eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to see my dad in the state I met him in last night.

His grip tightens on my hand again. I open my eyes slowly, and I am met with one of the most beautiful visions in my life. Dad is sitting up, his hospital bed adjusted to fit his back, and he is grinning widely at me.

“Dad!” I squeal, tears gathering in my eyes again, and I stand up to hug him gently, careful not to hurt him.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, in a raspy voice. “Hey there . . . stop it, baby, stop crying. I’m perfectly fine.” He rubs my back, and I will myself to stop crying, knowing that dad hates to see me cry .

“I told your mom not to call you until I’m back home, but she never listened before and still doesn’t,” he sighs wistfully, patting my back.

I release him from the hug and wipe my eyes. I have questions, but not here, and not now.

“How’re you feeling, dad? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctors?”

“I’m fine, Rory. The doctor has been here while you were asleep. Your friends, too.”

“My friends? They’re here?” I ask incredulously, wondering how I slept through it all.

Much more surprised my friends let me sleep without some sort of souvenir for me, like a band-aid on my lips.

“Yeah, they were here. Brittney, Ryan, and some other girl. Then there was a guy who refused to enter, just stayed at the entrance staring at you before he stepped out again."

I feel my heart go thud in my chest and stop for a second before it starts to beat again at a totally abnormal rate.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” he asks me, looking concerned at the stricken expression on my face.

“Yes, Dad. Everything is alright,” I try to say in a calm voice, keeping the tremor racing through me from reflecting in my voice. I don’t want my overprotective father worrying about guy issues on his hospital bed. Why am I overreacting? It might have been Alex.

But my dad knows Alex, my brain reminds me, popping off the bubble of illusion I’m about to blow up for myself.

Maybe it’s Dylan? Ethan? I counter the tiny voice in my mind, wanting . . . no, needing to believe someone other than Alex is out there, right in the same city, the same hospital with me. The tiny voice in my mind sighs and rolls her eyes at me, retreating deeply back behind the screen.

“Well, where are they now?” I ask Dad, who is giving me a suspicious look. He may be on a hospital bed, but he won’t mind kicking Jake’s ass with his uninjured leg. I bet he doesn’t know Alex drove me here yet or is just not saying anything about it for now. But the former seems more likely.

“They went to get breakfast. They got here around six this morning. I wonder when they left Birchwood for them to arrive this early,” dad explains, ending it with a yawn, and I can tell he’s sleepy.

Probably from the meds and all he’s been through.

“You’re still feeling sleepy, dad?” I ask, and he shakes his head in the negative, only for him to yawn twice as hard.

I roll my eyes at him. “Get some rest, Dad. I’ll be out here when you wake up again.” I tuck him in and kiss his forehead, his eyes closing already.

I smile at him fondly, raise my eyes, and whisper silently into the air. “Thank You for keeping dad safe. Thank you so much.”

I step out of his room silently, my heart beginning to pound painfully in my chest at the thought of seeing Jake.

But it’s to no avail.