letters to dan // dan smith

Chapter 14

Beth

"Dan's in the hospital," her sobs get louder.

My phone clatters to the ground, and soon after I follow it, leaning against the wall. I pick up the phone again.

"I, he, and..." She's crying too hard to speak properly.

"Elsa, stop crying, please, tell me what's wrong."

"I'm not sure! I just got a call from the hospital. Dan told them I was family so they called me."

The only part of that sentence that actually registers is "Dan told them". He's conscious.

"Can you come get me? I need to see him."

"Yes, where are you?"

"The motel just off the highway, you know the place?"

Elsa confirms she does, and hangs up.

I sit blankly for a minute, staring at the grey wall in front of me.

It's all my fault.

I should have told him.

Trusted him.

I shouldn't have taken the letters.

I should have stayed.

Possible scenarios flash through my mind; murder, car accident, cancer, attempted-

No. I shake my head to get that image out of my imagination.

"God dammit!" I cry, "it's all my fault!"

I start sobbing and banging my knuckles against the wall.

Crying, snot smeared on my face and punching the wall.

It could have been comical, had it not been so utterly heartbreaking.

Someone knocks on my door. Assuming it's Elsa, I open it, still crying. To my horror, it's the guy from reception.

"I-I'm sorry, did I wake you?" I stumble over my words, trying to gain control of my breathing.

"No, it's fine, my shift is still on. Are you alright?" He looks genuinely concerned.

"I-" my knees buckle, and I start to fall. The guy darts forwards and catches me, setting my down on the ground, my back against the wall.

He takes my hand, trying to calm me down, because again my breathing is irregular and gasping, like a fish out of water.

"Shhh, you'll be okay. Breathe, just breathe. Focus on breathing in..." He speaks soothingly, holding my hand and rubbing my back.

Soon enough, my breathing slows down to a regular pace, and I manage to get a word out.

"Thank you," my voice is raspy like I've been yelling all day.

He makes to stand, but in panic I grip his hand.

"Please don't go," my eyes widen in panic, "my friend will be here soon, please, stay until she comes."

"I just want to get something for your hands. There's a first-aid kit in your bathroom, okay?" I nod and look down at my hands.

My knuckles are swollen and bleeding in several places.

He returns moments later, holding a damp towel, band aids and some cream.

While he tends to my hands, I try to get a grip on myself. I don't want to break down again when Elsa gets here, she'll just freak out.

The guy dabs some ointment on the cuts, which makes me hiss in pain.