(^listen to the song whilst reading ^)
Chapter Twenty – Raven POV.
Why? Why did we have to meet?
Why did I have to save your life in that corridor?
Damn Jaxon Carlos. If it wasn't for him, fucking up his probation, I wouldn't have had to save you from being beat the shit out of.
I won't put it up to fate. Fate doesn't exist. Life is just a series of moments and coincidences, and the choices that come with it.
Matters like 'fate' and 'destiny' are delusions that people believe in to give their life more depth, more meaning.
You won't catch me trying to 'follow my destiny' any time soon.
We are just entities amongst millions of life-forms, and our lives have no real meaning.
Regardless of these facts, I believe it's important to live life to the fullest.
I mean, we only have one dastardly chance on this earth. Might as well make it a fucking great one.
~
I blame it on the rain. I so blame it on the rain.
It's 11:20pm when we finally arrive.
It would have taken us barely fifteen minutes to get to hospital, but five minutes into the drive it started pouring with rain and we had to take the long route around town (because the hospital is conveniently all the way on the other side) to avoid flooding. Therefore we ended up arriving over twice the amount of time we should have later, our smiles of victory against Felix Greene long gone.
We're sopping wet, frustrated, anxious and fucking angry. Well, I'm the angry one.
And boy do we make an entrance.
The nurses in the lobby of St. Louisa's Hospital wear astonished looks on their faces as we storm in through the automatic doors and plaster ourselves to the glass panel between the receptionist and us.
Neither of us can speak for several moments, seemingly shocked that we'd managed to get here. The receptionist with a nametag of Natalie stares, horrified, at us, until she composes herself.
"Um," she starts, undoubtedly put off by our appearance; annoyed, drenched and well – we're probably wearing our intimidating façade. I know for a fact that neither one of us is very good in social situations and usually resorts to intimidation when interacting with someone. It's a go-to thing.
"C-can I help you?" she inquires, looking off to the side towards what I assume is the button to call security. I don't try to drop any smiles, or to get on her good side.
I've had enough of that for one day.
"You called my phone number," Flynn states in a monotone. "About Angelo Greene."
The receptionist's face pales visibly. "Oh right, that's you..." she sighs sadly. "Firstly, may I ask you state your relation to the patient?"
I groan, rolling my eyes in annoyance. "Is this really necessary? Look, clearly we're the only people available to visit him. You called us! Can we just see him?"
She shakes her head. "I'm sorry miss, I'm afraid it's mandatory we ask the name and relation, and anyway-"
"Fine! The name's Blaze Montenegro and this is Flynn Avery and we're Greene's closest – and probably only – friends, now can we please go and see him?" I demand, my voice rising dangerously.
"Miss, I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment. Mr Greene has just gone into surgery. For the third time tonight, I may add."
There's a pause.
A very long pause.
A pause where, I deem it necessary to question; why in the world did we have to meet?
And why does everyone I know have to leave me?
"Can we speak to his nurse please?" Flynn asks calmly – an adverb I never thought I'd use when talking about Flynn in a hospital.
"I – of course, sir," the receptionist replies weakly, and proceeds to dial a number on the phone pad on the desk and press the device to her ear. "If you could wait in the waiting room, please," she gestures to a door on the right.
"Thank you," he says quietly, and leads the way into the room.
As we take our seats in the small waiting room, I assess the small amount of people in the room;
There's an elderly woman sitting in the corner, sniffling into a handkerchief.
A young brother and sister of around ten years-old, sleeping soundlessly, shoulder to shoulder.
And middle-aged woman crying into what seems to be her husband's shoulder, who seems to be nodding off.
All of these people show no immediate threat, however that doesn't make me any less on-guard.
My attention turns to my best friend, who sits straight in his seat, leg bouncing up and down nervously and his eyes scanning around from left to right.
"Hey," I bump my shoulder into his. "You alright?"
He gulps visibly. "Nope."
Eyes widening, I realise why he's been so quiet ever since we got here.
I let him rest his head on my shoulder. "He died here, didn't he?" I say quietly, as if it's a statement and not a question.
He shivers. "Yep."
There's silence for a few moments; and then –
"I'm okay though."
I smile sadly. "I know."
Flynn's POV
I can hear her heartbeat.
Somehow, it lulls me to sleep.
Alisha's POV
I can't believe he just let me sleep on this bench in the middle of the night.
If that wasn't bad enough, he's gone and fallen asleep on my shoulder too.
Fucking idiot.
It's starting to rain. We're going to get hypothermia.
I would wake him, 'cause honestly, his weight on my shoulder is fucking killing me. I can't even see his face; his black tousled mess of hair is covering the little part of his head I should be able to see.
He smells of coconut. And ash. That's funny. Even when he hasn't just burnt his house down he smells of ashes.
I can't believe he doesn't want me to cut his hair for him. I've been doing it for the last five years, for Christ's sake! It's basically tradition now.
Right, this is too much now. He's practically putting his whole upper-body weight onto me, and although I smashed down his front door earlier, I don't have the strength to hold this (however, saying this, I am taller than the bastard, and he's not actually that much heavier than me. For an underground fighter, he isn't really at all that big).
Whenever I've seen him in the ring, which I don't like to do, he's always been a lot smaller than everyone else.
"Oliver," I hiss, taking his head with both hands and lifting it off my shoulder. I hold it in place in front of my face and watch as his eyelids flicker open heavily.
Damn, long eyelashes are wasted on boys.
"Mhm?" he murmurs, swaying from side to side a bit.
"Oliver, I swear to god, wake the fuck up!" I scold, letting his head drop down and shaking his shoulders violently.
"Uhhhh..." he groans, and finally fully opens his eyes. His sky-grey, wet-pavestone-coloured, iridescent eyes...
I mean, what? His trashcan coloured eyes. Yeah. They're looking at me. In confusion.
"Hey," he smiles lazily, blinking slowly through his ridiculously long fringe. "Did I fall asleep?"
I scoff in disbelief. "Nooo. Of course not. You were in a brief coma just now." I proclaim sarcastically.
Oliver narrows his eyes at me. "Hilarious," he yawns. "Why'd you wake me up?"
"Cause it's raining, you dork. C'mon, we need to find an actual place to stay, now that you've burnt your fucking house down." I state, pulling myself up from the bench and stretching my limbs. Oliver follows.
"Ugh," he groans. "I have pins and needles everywhere."
"Good for you. Know any places we can crash for the night?"
"Um..." he thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I think I do. Want a piggy-back there?"
I stare at him in disbelief. "Really?" I deadpan.
"Yeah! It's only about fifteen minutes away."
"Oliver."
"Yeah?"
"You're such a fucking dork."
Author's Note:
Hi.
So probably no one has noticed, but I haven't updated for nearly two months (until now obviously). I like to think its because I needed some time off when school started, but I'm pretty sure its cause I got an email from wattpad, saying my book wasn't going to be featured.
Yeah, I never had very high hopes, but it still sucks, you know? It's like, if i can't even get my book featured online, what hope do I have of ever publishing?
It's whatever. I doubt Wattpad is reading this, but if you are, do you know what? You may not deem my book worthy but I will continue writing and in 2 months, I will apply to get it featured again and again until I finally get it. Because I'm not giving up on this.
If you really are reading this, I want you to know that I hate the system where you wont even tell me why my book can't be featured. Like, I understand that you can't feature everyone, but can you at least tell me why everyone else, and not me? What can I do to improve?
I just wish someone would talk to me, and give me feedback. Otherwise, I'm never going to get better.
Anyway, make sure you forget to comment and vote, and I'll see you next Thursday!
Signing off,
Meliodas.
© 2016 Saving Angelo, (rebelsymphony). All rights reserved.