Here Comes The Sun

one

"Nova!" My brain identified the voice as Dennis', a friend and colleague of my mother, "Room thirty-four, fast. We're almost out of nurses."

He was carrying a man on a hospital bed, which was surprising to me, because we didn't have enough beds for all the victims. The victim was bleeding a lot, right leg laying in a way that didn't appear to be natural, and for the rest was his whole face covered in dust, dirt and blood. I ran in front of Dennis, opening each and every door for him, and getting things out of his way to make his path to room thirty-four easier to follow. Many other paramedics passed us, yelling, the wounded screaming or laying completely still, and I didn't know where to look – everyone was in full stress, determined modes on, not giving up on the ones they had gotten out of the horrible incident.

Once we had gotten to the right room, I quickly gave our man an investigative scan.

"Broken leg, bone's sticking out. Large loss of blood, approximately up to twenty to thirty percent." I opened his eyes and saw beautiful brown irises, where after I looked at his wound. "Everything's still working. Fast breathing. I think we're going to reach exsanguination within a minute, he's got a very big cut down there. I don't think it's reached his organs, so I'm going to apply a transfusion."

"I'd say you're handling this better than Heather, but she'd kill me," Dennis said, busy handling the wound.

"I won't tell my mom anything," I chuckled as I started doing the work that needed to be done to save this person's life.

After hours of helping all incoming patients, all kinds of doctor's told me to go sit down in the cafeteria and have some rest. Considering me getting more tired and more stressed by the second, I didn't object. I yawned and drank from my coffee as I kept watching the news, needing to know how many had died. Sean Feingold and his fiancé had died – the terrorists had reached their goal and took hundreds of innocent people with them. Only seventy-four out of the two-thousand people had survived, the severely injured died as well not long after the incident, and that news left a big, gaping hole in my heart. What had this world come to?

"If you keep watching the news, you'll go crazy. Focus on those who we have saved instead, we can't do anything about what happened." My mother sat down beside me and took a sip from my coffee as well. "This isn't going to help you sleep, you know that, Nova. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, because most of the survivors will wake up."

"How could one do such a thing?" My face cramped up thinking about it. "What sick fuck kills two-thousand people, one of which the most loving and caring politician in Canada's history? I don't understand, I don't understand the things I've seen today. My mind just can't get to it."

She laid her hand on my shoulder and softly squeezed it.

"It's better to not understand. This is what happens in our world these days, there's nothing we can do. Please, Nova, I know you can't mentally handle this, no one can, so go home and try to rest. Maybe you can invite a friend over?"

"Mom," I said, "does Dennis have a night shift as well?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'm going to check up on the survivors, then I'll go home. See you tomorrow." I stood up from the table, shoved the coffee in front of my mom's nose who was looking very confused and mysteriously walked away towards the corridors of the hospital.

"Hey you," someone grabbed my arm from behind, and I turned around to see a female nurse whose name I had forgotten, "can you maybe check up on the patients in twenty, thirty-four and fifty-five? Your mother asked me to help her out with a surgery."

"On it, good luck."

"You're amazing, Nova."

I know right, doing your dirty work while you get to operate with my mother. But I kept smiling anyway. I made my way to the first room where a small child and probably her mother laid, all nicely cleaned up and breathing as they should've. After checking the basics and tidying up their room, I moved on to room thirty-four. To my surprise, his bag with clothing was open and his phone was on the little nightstand beside his bed, but his face wasn't even properly cleaned yet.

"Sir, are you awake?" I asked as I wetted a washcloth and grabbed a towel in his bathroom – this mister had one of the most luxe room in the hospital ever, therefore he must've been an important person. He didn't move, nor did his heartbeat rise up, so I just decided to ignore the phone and clean his face.

With one hand supporting the back of his head covered in thick, dark hair, I dabbed the washcloth onto the skin on his face to expose the flawlessness that was hiding underneath. The more I dabbed, the more beauty appeared – the young man was incredibly gorgeous. Yet I had to stay professional and wave the hormonal thoughts away. No, Nova, you don't wonder what his upper body looks like or how muscled his calves are. It was almost as if I was fifteen again, back in high school when I had the time to look at boys.

"Alright, here you go," I mumbled when I was finished. Then I suddenly realized something. "Hart Feingold . . ."

The young man in room thirty-four was Sean Feingold's son; Hart. He had survived the attack, Sean's only child. He wasn't as popular as his father, but the media wanted to give him more attention as Sean was growing as a politician – it seemed like Hart had always turned the media down.

"You didn't deserve any of this – no one does," I tidied his covers and sighed, "Canada's got your back. Don't be too hard on yourself."

I turned around to exit, until I heard quiet movement behind me and suddenly a mixture of sounds, in fact, instruments coming from the phone on his nightstand. It took me approximately four seconds to recognize the song; Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles. Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right. Once again, I turned around to finally meet Hart's eyes, but they were still closed, only the little smile decorating his lips exposed his fake-sleeping.

"You were awake all this time," I said, chuckling the shame of what I said to him during his 'sleep' away, "you got me."

"I didn't want to disturb the sweet endearments you whispered in my ear." His voice was rough and low, and sent shivers down my spine.

"You did anyway."

"In style, though."

I walked over to his bed and grabbed the notebook to write down important information. "Tell me who you are and how you're feeling."

"I-" he paused for a second and stared at me with big, brown eyes. The scruff on his chin made him look even rougher than he already was. "I . . . I don't- I don't remember. What is going on?"

"Please, stay calm," I wrote as fast as possible and reached out for the button to call in other nurses.