fashion blogger, book one // phan (EDITING)

Fifty Two

"He's losing too much blood."

There were too many voices around me, but I couldn't make sense of their words. Yet I could tell they sounded stressed and nervous, which was a mood I felt myself quickly adapt to.

"Dan, please." I recognised the voice but it didn't sound real. It sounded like a distant memory. Who did it belong to? I was sure I'd heard it before but... "He's gonna be okay, right?"

No one answered the man's question.

Something stung in my arms, but compared to the pain in my chest and my nose it was almost a relief.

It was cold and dark, and I wondered if I was actually moving or if it just felt like it.

"Mr Lester, we have to take care of him now." This time, it was a woman speaking.

"No, I-I can't go-"

"Please, step away so we can-"

"I can't leave him, not again."

"You have to. We need to take care of him properly, and this might come as a surprise, but we can't do that in a hallway. You can stay in the waiting room."

"But-"

"Do you want us to help him or not?"

He didn't say anything anymore. Instead, I felt someone squeeze my hand. "Promise me to get better, okay?"

Yes, I wanted to say, yes, I promise. But my mouth didn't move. I wasn't even sure why I wanted to get better. What for? I couldn't remember.

There were so many voices around me, but none of them felt as comforting as the one I'd heard before. An image of striking blue eyes crossed my mind, but I wasn't sure who they belonged to.

And then the other hand suddenly left mine and I heard someone sob.

"Mr Howell, can you hear us? Can you open your eyes?"

It was a male voice this time, but I didn't recognise it. However, I tried my best to do what he asked for. I managed to open my eyes the slightest bit but everything around me was too bright, there was too much light, so I closed them again.

There was another twinge in my arm.

"He can still perceive noises, as it seems. But he seems close to blacking out. We have to..."

I couldn't tell words apart anymore. They suddenly just became one long, blurry noise that didn't make any sense to me.

And suddenly I couldn't fight the urge to fall asleep anymore.

*                    *                    *

I was nine years old when I heard my mother cry for the first time.

It was a cold day in September, and I sat in my room, drawing our dog. Usually, when I was bored like this, I would play with my little brother, but he was at a friend's house. Dad was at work, and even though Mum was home already, I wasn't sure what she was doing. But I didn't want to bother her.

But after a few hours in which Mum still hadn't talked to me, I became a little suspicious. Usually, she would ask me about my day, annoy me with homework or at least check on me while I was playing in my room. But she didn't that day, and something felt off.

Slowly I peeked out of my room, stepping down the hallway and walking down the stairs. I had no idea where she was.

I checked the office, but she wasn't there, and neither was she in the kitchen, nor in the living room. So I walked back upstairs, just to find her in the bedroom, and she was... crying.