POV: *Emelia*
-
The nurse leans in close beside my bed.
"We are trying our hardest sweetheart. Now it's your turn to try too, you can make it through this."
POV: *Luke*
Michael and I are still "fighting."
I told him that we should stop for Emelia's sake, but he just ignores me. Doesn't even talk to me.
I can't help my feelings for Emelia. And I can't apologize for them. I do love her.
-
We get frequent updates on Emelia every hour or two. We sit in the waiting room with our hands covering our faces worryingly.
"Why does this happen every time?" Ashton finally speaks up.
I wish I knew.
"Why did all this happen anyway? I mean- how?" Calum asks.
"She was driving home from the hospital after her sister died. Obviously she was crying, I mean who wouldn't after hearing news like that. She was driving home to see us. All of us. Then, this all happened." I answer Calum.
"No one told us that. How do you know that's what actually happened?" Michael asks.
"The nurse told me." I answer again.
That just makes Michael even madder.
"And how come she didn't tell any of us?" He says implying to him, Calum, and Ashton.
"I don't know." I say.
"Alright then." Michael says looking away.
Another nurse walks in.
This has happened so many times in the last few days. Nurses just keep coming and going.
She opens her mouth but then closes it again. As if she is trying to say something but just can't.
Her face looks sad in sympathy.
We all stand up in concern.
POV: *Ashton*
"Please tell us she's okay." I tell the nurse.
She opens her mouth again but no words come out.
"I-I'm so sorry. But, I think you might have to say your goodbyes now. She's not doing so well and nothing is helping." she says trying to look at all of us in the eyes even though she can't.
Out of the corner of my eye I see tears shed from Michael's eyes.
Then I look the other way and see multiple tears streaming down Luke's face.
We all try to stand up straighter and take it like real men and face fact.
The nurse leads us to the hospital and I remember the first time a nurse lead us to Emelia's room. When she actually had a chance. A good one.
Emelia lies still on the uncomfortable hospital bed. Her pulse is slow. Slower than it should be. Tubes run through Emelia's scarred wrists and through the nostrils of her nose. Her eyes are lightly closed. Her eyelashes like long black blankets. I imagine Emelia sitting on her bed playing her guitar. Her bright eyes staring at the guitar strings as her hands run across them.
