As Alexandre's sleek, black sedan gradually comes to a stop, I can't help but marvel at the towering, multi-windowed hospital building that looms before us. The pristine white facade of the structure lays dull against the night sky.
"Thanks for the ride." I shove my phone back into my pocket.
"No worries, I already needed to grab a few things from here." Alexandre makes an abstract arm motion at me to connect what he was saying. "You know, we were all planning to come to the hospital in a few hours after everyone got some sleep."
"Yeah, I know. I just rather see him now rather then after when I've just woken up." I wouldn't tell my brother the actual reason was because I wouldn't be able to get any sleep not knowing that Aiden was safe.
"Do you want me to wait for you?" He asks while I am sliding off the leather seat.
I turn back to him and ponder at the question for about a minute. "No it's fine, I'll call a taxi or something." Before I close the door I add, "Just finding his room is going to take me more time then you will grabbing what you need." I then throw him one of my award winning smiles and walk into the hospital lobby.
As I walked through the hospital lobby, I came across an elderly lady sitting behind a cluttered countertop with papers and files spread across it. Her face was kind and welcoming, and her eyes held a certain warmth as she talked to each person. I noticed that she was working on a computer screen displaying patient data, and I could hear the soft tapping of the keyboard as she helped assist the line of people. Despite the busy environment, she remained calm and composed, allowing me to understand that this was the regular atmosphere.
"Hello," the women smiled brighter then one would expect for 2 am.
"Hello, I'm looking for Aiden Vincent's room number. He should have just got in an half-hour ago."
"Ah yes, found it. It says that the room number will be 342, but at the time he is still in surgery. You are welcome to wait by the room though." She says, her smile never breaking.
"Ok, thank you." I say mindlessly as a walk to the elevator.
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"Sir, you can see him now," says one of the nurses a few minutes after I took a seat on one of the rows of benches in the hallway.
As I push open the door to Aiden's room, my heart sinks at the sight of various machines that surround his bed. The beeping of the monitors and the tangle of wires that cover almost every inch of his exposed body only add to the overwhelming feeling in my stomach. However, I force myself to take one step at a time and make my way towards his bedside.
I pull close a chair from a nearby desk and sit myself right in front of Aiden's right hand. I sandwich his cold, immobile hand in between mine and rest my forehead on top. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts and emotions. It's surreal to see him like this, but I remind myself that he's a fighter and he'll pull through.
Minutes pass, and I find myself lost in thought. I think about all the memories we've shared, the laughs we've had, and the love we've built.
After a few more minutes, I decided to stand up and leave. As I take one last look at Aiden, I'm filled with hope and determination. I know that he'll soon recover. I just have to think positively.
As I walk over to the door thinking that everything would be fine I hear something that makes my heart twist. It was two nurses, one of which was the one who allowed me to see Aiden. They were talking about his condition.
"Yeah, it seems that the bullet hit one of his organs and it doesn't look like he has a good chance of recovery."
"That's so sad," the other nurse replies.
"Yeah, that's what I have to tell that man after he leaves the room."
My hands freeze on the door handle. A rush of insecurities form in my mind as I make my way back to Aiden's side. My feet seem to take longer strides than usual, as if they are trying to outrun the fear and anxiety that's consuming me. As I approach him, I can't help but scrutinize his face, examining every detail in an attempt to find some solace, but each time I do, it feels like he's grown even paler. Or perhaps it's just my vision that's slowly turning blurrier as it becomes clouded with unshed tears.
When I decide to go back home, I take a deep breath and clear the tears from my eyes with my trembling hands, trying to steady myself as I avoid making eye contact with anyone around me. The hospital's sterile walls and the sound of incessant beeping from the machines seem to be closing in on me, suffocating me with their sterile emptiness.
Finally, I make my way out of the hospital and into my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed with a heavy sigh. The weight of the day's events seems to be crushing me, and I can't help but feel a profound sense of sadness and despair. I close my eyes and try to push away the memories, but they keep flashing before me like a slideshow, each image more painful than the last.
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I stare at the plane ticket in my hand. I woke up after about 5 hours of sleep and was now sitting on my bed. I know people would call me a coward for deciding to run away from my problems all over again. Hell, even I would call myself a coward, but I believed that feeling the guilt of knowing that I couldn't save Aiden would be stronger.
I couldn't go through it all over again. The feeling of losing Aiden. At that point I hear a knock on the door, but I can't bring myself to answer it.
"Cameron, I'm coming in," Matheo says through the door. The door clicks shut behind him and I hear him mumble, "What's wrong?"
As I sat on the bed, tears streaming down my face, I suddenly felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Matheo kneeling down in front of me, his eyes filled with concern.
He gently took the plane ticket from my trembling hands and studied it for a moment, before placing it down on the bed beside me. Then, without a word, he pulled me into a warm embrace, allowing me to rest my head in the comforting crook of his neck.
As I clung to him, I felt a sense of safety and security that I had not felt in a long time. Matheo's presence and touch were like a balm to my wounded soul, easing my fears and anxieties.
Matheo pulls back and stares me in the eyes. "I know you may hate me for saying this, but it has to be said. "You are running from your problems again and you can't keep doing that whenever it gets too hard to deal with, that's why you have your trusty brothers." Matheo adds the ending hoping to get a laugh out of me, but it falls flat.
As I fix my eyes upon him, I realize that I am unable to produce an insincere grin on this occasion. My expression remains devoid of any emotion as I contemplate the matter at hand.
I maintained eye contact with Matheo and finally revealed the words that I had been trying to conceal for as long as possible. "It's all my fault, I should've been faster. If I was able to move the gun away from Patrick faster, Aiden wouldn't have been hit. He would still be safe and here with me."
"Do you seriously believe that?!" Aiden's face scrunches up to one of disbelief. "We were kidnapped. If you didn't have the great idea of calling the American mafia-which Lucien is going to rip your head off for that by the way-we would probably all be dead by now."
"But I-."
"This is getting us nowhere," Matheo remarks bitterly, cutting off my sentence. "Look Cam, Aiden showed up at our house blindly just to try and find you. He even killed for you. Don't you think that proves that he was trying to fight for you both. Shouldn't you be doing the same?"
Matheo stands up then. "I'll be taking this from you," he says, while picking up the plane ticket. "You'll have to come to me if you want it back." Matheo walks out leaving me to stare at his back.
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AN: Only a few chapters left before I start the rewriting process.