Deja vu. The only word for it. Day-zha-voo. Red held on to the word to calm herself down, to get her through the agonizingly slow ride, even though she wasn't driving, but it didn't work.
Finally, she hurtled out of the car and flew through the corridors of the cold hospital, looking for the nurses' desk.
She couldn't believe her luck when she found the reception area quickly, and a helpful, kindly nurse womanning it at that, because they were a rare breed these days.
"Grayson O'Shea," she choked out, trying to find her breath. "I'm looking for him. He got beat up, and admitted here less than a few hours ago, and - " The lump in her throat rose, cutting off her breath with a gasp.
"Calm down, honey," said the helpful, kindly nurse at the desk, when her sentence ended in a choking sob. "Breathe."
Red breathed. A tear escaped, but she was way past caring whether strangers saw her cry. And there was no judgment in the nurse's eyes or voice - only sympathetic, non-condescending pity.
"Yes, here he is," she said, typing smartly. "He's still in the Operating Room, sweetie. I'm very sorry. Likely he'll be moved to ICU when they're done. I'm sorry, but they did quite a number on him, the people who cornered him."
Red leaned against the desk, rage lapping against her all-consuming guilt. "There was only one guy, Ma'am. Who beat Gray up."
This is all my fault. Her other hand found her arm and scratched savagely at her skin, drawing blood and calming her down. Her head was starting to numb, and she took a shuddering breath.
My mommy's in the car she's not moving...
The nurse saw what she was doing. "Oh no, you don't!" she said, coming out from behind the counter and taking a firm hold of Red's arm. "I don't want to have to admit you into our psych ward, honey, because that won't help your friend any. You did nothing to land him in there, you hear me? Now you just tell me your name, and go wait in that room."
Her voice was kind, if harsh, and it helped Red get a hold on herself. "I - " she took another shuddering breath. "My name's Erina. Erina Collins. But everyone calls me Red."
The nurse typed quickly and pointed to the door opposite. "Good girl. Now you just go and wait in there, and don't scratch."
Red took her advice. Pushing the door open and sitting on the first chair that was empty, she twisted her hands in her lap viciously to prevent herself doing anything. The scratches were shallow - they had stopped bleeding now. They would be healed in minutes.
Wish I could say the same for Gray. The nurse did come and tell her everything after several minutes - that Gray had a concussion, some broken ribs, bruises and cuts and scrapes, and a fractured arm.
Red listened numbly, waiting for the comparison. It's lucky he's still alive. It didn't come, though. The nurse fluttered a page on her clipboard. "The doctors say the worst time is past, hon," she said kindly. "He'll be awake within the week if nothing happens."
Within the week. Red finally let in a breath - she didn't realize that up until that moment, her lungs had been screaming.
"Thank you," she said, and then her heart began to beat again.
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