A terrorist attack takes place in Canada during the widely loved politician's wedding. The horrible incident leaves hundreds of people dead, but the politician's son survives. Luckily, he meets a gorgeous med student in the hospital of who he just...
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june 29th toronto
HART BURST OUT IN LAUGHTER, dramatically grabbing his chest, while I just stood there being awkward, and uncomfortably shifting my weight from one to another foot. Once he was finished and of course felt the need to exhale deeply, followed by a soft chuckle, he struggled to sit up straight in his bed, and charmingly slid a hand through his dark hair. It possessed the slightest curls of which one fell in front of his face, and the shininess explained his caring routine – yet there was still a lot of dirt and untidiness in there.
"Pulled a joke on you." he stretched out his arms, the infusion taming his big movements. He frowned his brows and looked at the thing buried into his arm, then his brown eyes rolled up to the pump. "Did I just break something?"
"No," I shook my head, and he looked at me the same way he looked at the pump – a little confused and scared with enlarged pupils, "not yet. Could you please tell me your name, age and residence?"
You're doing amazing, sweetheart, very professional. This man needed to take me seriously otherwise we weren't going to come far. He either underestimated his injuries and current situation, or just absolutely didn't care. I wondered if he knew about the death of his father, had he seen it?
"I am," he paused talking to reach for his phone and turned on another song I knew as well; Sunflower by Post Malone, "see, this is a bit less old. Anyway, I'm Hart Feingold. I'm twenty years old, and I live in Toronto. Could you please tell me your name, age and residence?"
The little smile that kept randomly decorating his face forced me to smile as well – some smiles have the ability to make you smile as well, and it's almost as if they are co-operating to make two people feel better.
"Nova Anderson, nineteen, born and raised in Toronto."
"You're pretty young to work in a hospital. Now I don't trust you anymore."
I laughed.
"Born and mostly raised in this hospital. The only thingS you can trust me with are medical related things." I winked and fetched the information board of mister Feingold from the end of his bed. Reading through his medical history, there was nothing noticeable to see. Broken leg, fixed cut in his stomach, for the rest he seemed to be fine. He got off lucky. "Listen up, you'll have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, because we have to do some test and we can't get it all done in one day considering the amount of victims of the bombing in this hospital who need the same help as well. You got a deep cut, nicely stitched up, but it did cause a great loss of blood, so if you keep feeling a little dizzy, please let us know. Your right leg broke, that means you need to give it a six week rest. If you want to take a shower, you have a bathroom on your right and I'll explain how to take care of the cast later."
I looked up to him and figured that he wasn't listening. The sight of him staring at the wall made me feel sympathetic – he was also just a boy who had lost father in a tragic incident.
"Can I arrange anything for you, Hart?" I asked. His eyes didn't move.
"Do you know how many people died?"
"Too many."
"My dad died with so many guilt on him," Hart sighed deeply, but soon after the little smile formed again, "at least he died after marrying the man he loved endlessly. Man, this is tough – no one got to say goodbye to anyone."
I shook my head.
"You know that it's not your dad's fault. He's been good for Canada, he's done good things. Everyone still admires him. Hart, it's best if you go get some more rest." I put back the board into the little bag at the end of his bed, and walked to the door, offering him a comforting rub over his uninjured leg as I passed him. "Tomorrow nurses who you do trust will come by."
He snorted and laid back, closing his eyes. "Thank you, fake nurse Nova."
Without turning off the music, I watched him fall asleep peacefully. The surgery had been pretty hard on him, therefore I was surprised to see him so alive when he had awoken. As his consciousness faded away into the world of unlimited dreams, his aura seemed to fade as well – in the minutes I had gotten to know him, it had already become clear that he always carried positive energy around him. He must've been the person who walked around smiling and acting as if no one could ever ruin his days. Not even a terrorist attack on his father's wedding. All my life I had seen the greatest variety of responses to losing family members or other loved ones in an accident – some tried playing it cool, but the second you left the room you'd hear them crying, while others acted as if they couldn't care less, only to appear to be a 'strong' person, and some wanted to share their most beautiful memories with them. I had heard hundreds of stories that brought tears to my eyes, seen hundreds of photo's, got to know hundreds of people. My guts knew it for sure; Hart was hiding what he was actually going through. He was hiding a lot.
It was a bad habit of mine; always trying to read people. Always wanting to push people to unleash their true nature. I was interested in any individual, just because everyone was so different, so unique – knowing a lot of people enlarged my social smartness, my human knowledge. The most difficult people were those who seemed so easy.
Once I had gotten home, I figured that I was missing something. My mom jeans were still on, my bra wasn't missing either. What I was missing was someone's presence – as my mother had mentioned, I needed someone to talk all the horrible things I had seen off my shoulders. With my phone in my hands, still standing in the hallway of my house, I hesitated to call someone. The clock reached the two, two after midnight. There were people in my life who had told me they would've be there for me whenever I needed it – they were one call away, but they only said that after I had helped them. In reality, none of those people wanted to listen to my bullshit, not now, not ever. They were the kind of girls who did like spending their nights in bars as they grinded some guy who kept gesturing to his friend that he was going to get laid that night, and the friend, a homosexual, just held a thumb up, disappointed and neglected.
A vibration went through my hand, and made its way through the entirety of my body. Someone texted me at two after midnight. As I walked to the living room, I looked down to read the message.
crystal I just came home from going out and I found your bikini next to the swimming pool - I don't remember us swimming honestly aha
The wickedest smile ever created by my lips was to be seen on my face as I rethought why my bikini was at Crystal's house. Oh, right, because I had hooked up with her brother. Three days ago, Leo had invited me to swim at their house, but to not get bombed with questions by my mother when I got home, I changed there. After our hook-up. In the pool. Where Crystal practiced swimming.
I went up to my room, jumping into my bed and then inhaled deeply to prepare for my response.
nova how was your night out? also, I hooked up with your brother, so that's why my bikini is there . . . :) ?
Subtle. I was very bad at lying.
crystal what the fuck? are you kidding?
nova I'm sorry Crystal
crystal honestly this doesn't surprise me because you're pretty and I'm not like mad or anything just a little fucking disgusted but isn't thing going to be awkward?
