Booth Three

20

I hurry down the hallway, dodging food trolleys and hospital beds as I go — just like I did days ago when my own daughter was in the ER. But this is different. This is life or death.

I've never driven as recklessly as I did today. I was panicking, trying to drive the car while on the phone receiving nothing but bad news.

I follow the signs on the wall directing me to the surgical ward and spot Diego right in front of the very last door. Instead of running over to him, I pause in my step. As much as I want to be there for him, I have no idea what to say. It's not him who's in critical condition, it's the one person he can't live without. But I didn't find that out until five minutes ago. I never should've left his parents place. I never should've encouraged him to stay. They never should've driven up to the property today.

Diego sets one foot in front of the other, marching back and forth through the waiting room. He's radiating anger. I can feel it from here. He's not doing okay. His steps are so violent, I'm surprised he hasn't stomped a hole into the floor. He's already leaked blood onto it.

The gash on his arm is pouring blood, his white shirt is now red, and there's a tear in his pants, revealing a bloody wound. There are cuts on his face, too, leaving a trail of blood down the side of his face.

He's dirty. There's mud on his face and in his hair. All parts of him that aren't covered in blood, are brown and green from dirt and trees.

"Just let me see my fucking dad!" Diego calls. Roman reaches out to him.

"You need to-."

"Don't fucking touch me!" he shoves Roman aside. "I said I was fine!"

"Diego, you need to-," he reaches for him again.

"Get the fuck off me!"

"Listen to me!"

"I said, get the fuck off me!" Diego grabs Roman by his collar. "I don't need your shit right now!"

"Yeah? What are you going to do? Beat me up while your dads in there dying?"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Then sit your fucking ass down before you end up like him!"

"I said I was fine!" he shoves Roman backwards.

"I'm worried about you, man!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? My dad is in that room with half his guts on the floor, trying to get his body put back together, and you're worried about me?!"

My heart drops. There's so much pain in his voice. He's scared. He's terrified. He might have made it out of the car in one piece, but what does that matter if his dad didn't?

"Diego!" I call out, my voice filled with emotion. I can only imagine how he feels right now. His heart must be completely broken.

"Amelia?" he lets go of his best friend, turning his attention to me. His expression softens, but it's not all positive. His brows are furrowed and he's scowling in a way I haven't seen before. He's not just angry. He's hurt and full of desperation. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here."

"Roman called me," I say. His softness disappears. He turns back towards his friends.

"I told you not to fucking call her!" he shoves him again. "She doesn't need to be here! She has her own shit to deal with!"

"I'm trying to help you!" Roman defends.

"She doesn't need to see me like this!"

"You need help!"