Should Have Not Asked - New Adult Romance (Wattys 2014)

Chapter 4 - Hanging By A Thread

I feel my heart banging at the corners of my chest, counting from one to a hundred in every long stride I make. With the loud beating of my heart and the swirling of my vision, I feel like I am flying. The walls seem to squash me, its daintiness giving me unwanted worry. There's just something about hospitals that I hate. I can't explain what it is, but I never want to be here. Running through its wide and long corridors with several doors gives me this unnerving fear.

Though Mom didn't really sound that panicky, she might just be suppressing anxiety to avoid alarming me.

"Dad?"

I slam the door open, gasping for air. My eyes go straight to a man reclining his back on the bed.

"Angel," he calls me, flipping his hand and smiling at me as though he feels no pain. Mom was standing at the bedside still wearing that unfaltering look, her worry hidden by a reserved smile.

"Hi," a man, tall, lean, and blond calls my attention. "You must be Angel." He smiles at me.

He's the doctor. It's pretty much obvious as he's wearing a tie and a long white doctor's gown. In his hands is a computer tablet which probably contains Dad's medical records.

"I'm Eric Martin." He offers his hand for a handshake and gives me a gaze I find rather strange for a first meeting. He smiles and looks at me as though he is inside a bar hitting on girls. I suddenly remember Etheridge.

"Dr. Martin's son?" I casually take his hand. "Where's Dr. Martin?" I turn to Dad.

"He's on leave, so I took over. Do you mind?" He flashes a smile again, showing off a complete set of teeth.

"No. Absolutely no," I respond quickly after I find his gaze a little embarrassing.

"Thought you mind," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with delight.

"So what happened to you, Dad?" I shake my head to shrug off the discomfort.

Dad doesn't look like he's in a critical condition. He's all smiling and beaming.

"His systolic blood pressure shot up to two hundred," Dr. Eric Martin answers while checking his tablet. "Hydralazine was given. Constant monitoring needed for now."

"I'm so relieved you're not in the ICU, darling," says Mom as she runs her fingers through Dad's short hair.

The thorns inside me slowly ebb away. I can breathe freely now. I feel my pulse slowing down.

Dad is safe.

"So does this mean Dad can go home if no complications arise?" I ask.

"Yes, of course. There's no reason for me to keep him here if he's well," Eric Martin say with a grin.

"Oh, God, thank you!" I hurry to Dad's side and embrace him.

"You shouldn't worry about me, sweetheart," he says. "I'm perfectly well! I'm fifty-four, but I can still do a marathon." I know he is kidding.

"I told you to curb on your coffee intake," Mom reprimands with a castigating look.

"From now on, no more coffee, Dad!"

"But—"

"Right, Mom?"

If only I can joke around like this all the time.

It isn't really a joke. Dad has to lower his coffee intake, but I have to make it sound witty and less grim so that Dad won't feel like I am blaming him for what happened. He's at risk of depression, and I don't want him to suffer mentally and emotionally while his physical body is slowly deteriorating. We have to pretend that everything is fine and that we, Mom and I, are taking things lightly. If Dad sees us sulking in one of the hospital's corners or shed a single drop of tear, he'll definitely be sad, and he's going to start blaming himself. It will not only tear him apart but our family as well. I don't want any of that to happen, so I better put my jolly front up.