B.R.O.N.X. (Justin Bieber Fanfiction)

"He was close to dying."

"Please, just tell me if he's okay or who I can ask about him. I need to see him."

The woman bit her lip and looked from me to Tyson and back to me.

"Please," both Tyson and I begged.

"What did you say was his name?"

As it turns out, the woman had seen Justin being wheeled into the emergency room to the right. She knew nothing of his current state, but gave us the name of the surgeon that had been sent to tend him. Dr. Holloway. Tyson and I ran for the double doors that enclosed the room, only to be stopped by someone as we approached them.

A good-looking male in a paramedic uniform told us we couldn't go in. His clothes were stained red with blood and he had piercing green eyes, contrasting with his bronze-colored skin. He kind of looked like that hot doctor in Grey's Anatomy. I think his name is Avery.

"I understand that you want to see your boyfriend, but I can't let you in. You have to let the doctors do their job," he said, not moving away from the doors. I didn't correct him when he called Justin my boyfriend.

"But you were in the ambulance with him, weren't you?" I glanced at his bloody clothes. He couldn't lie.

"His condition is critical," he finally said. I brought a hand to my mouth. I didn't like the sound of that. "There's internal bleeding and probably a few broken ribs."

I gasped. That 'probably' sounded more like a 'definitely'.

"But nothing that can't be fixed, right? He'll be alright?" Tyson asked, hugging me to his side. At this point I didn't know who was holding who up.

The paramedic sighed, taking off the plastic gloves he was wearing before throwing them in a nearby bin. Red drops fell on the floor and I had to hold my breath for a second. He seemed hesitant to keep talking to us. Maybe he wasn't allowed to. Checking the corridor was empty, he continued, "One of the ribs... one of the broken ribs has punctured his left lung, causing a pneumothorax."

Fresh tears stung my eyes again. Thanks to my AP Bio class, I was privy to the term and the man must've realized it because he looked almost regretful that he had given us that piece of information. I knew the more common term for pneumothorax was a collapsed lung, and it was as bad as it sounded.

"Listen," he put his clean hand on my shoulder, making me look up. I was trying to hold back the tears, but as usual, it wasn't working. They were rolling down my cheeks too fast for me to wipe them away. "Dr. Holloway has been assigned as his doctor. I can assure you that there's no better surgeon to treat his case. He will do the impossible to help your friend." His gaze shifted to Tyson. I admired how he could still get a grip in this situation, especially when what the paramedic had just said sounded so cliché. What if he was lying? What if this Holloway guy was negligent? Or had barely passed his Med exams? Or this was his first surgery ever?

"You won't be able to see him for another few hours," the paramedic added. "I suggest you get your friend here some tea. It'll be a long night." The green eyes returned to me and looked almost afraid that I would collapse too. I was afraid myself. I had never been so scared for someone in my life, and the thought that I might not see Justin ever again felt like a broken rib puncturing my own heart.

Tyson left me sitting in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs of the waiting room, going to fetch a cup of coffee for him and some type of relaxing tea for me. In his absence I pressed my arms against my stomach. My dad was nowhere in sight and I was feeling sick. The paramedic words kept replaying in my mind until I stumbled to the restrooms and purged my stomach clean in the toilet. I felt a little better now that there would be nothing left to make me throw up.