The Arrangement: It Led Me To Love

Chapter 23 - Laurene's POV

Suddenly I am being shaken awake by a boisterous flight attendant alerting me that we have arrived in Greece. I feel cold and exhausted, even though I managed to have an hour's rest and it is like being on an equator in the plane. I run my fingers through my hair trying to get out some knots, but I am well aware that I look very horrible right now. If Ellison were here, then he would make fun of me and say I look like a scarecrow probably. Ellison. At the thought of him, my heart lurches with both nervousness and eagerness to see him. It also reminds me why I am here and why I must rush to be with him at his side. Guilt clouds my senses as I exit the plane, running down the steps to the car that awaits me. If anyone saw me, they would probably think that I stowed away on the impressive private jet – I look like a drifter.

However, I will not make a fuss or waste time changing outfits to make myself look more presentable. I need to see Ellison. I childishly left him and he got hurt, and I still do not know the extremities of his condition. At least I know he is not in a fatal condition. I do not know what I would do if he... died. No. I cannot even bare to think about the possible outcomes. I feel my breathing become heavy as the hospital comes into view. Memories of coming to a hospital similar to this to visit my mother filter into my mind, memories that I have tried to bury for years deep within to stop the tormenting pain. I start to hyperventilate as an ocean of emotions seep into my mind reminding me that this is the place where people die, every minute of every day. After what happened to my mother, I developed a deep phobia of hospitals, and avoid them like the plague. However, I have to be strong for Ellison. I owe him that at least.

Taking a shaky breath and swiping at the few tears that escaped the fort, I compose myself and try to be calm. When the car pulls up at the private entrance, I ask the man to take my luggage to Ellison's house, while I have the necessities with me. The doors to the hospital are wide open, encouraging the stream of people rushing in and out into the building. A labyrinth of corridors greets me, each with signs pointing in every direction to different areas of the hospital. The only problem is that all of the signs are in Greek, and I can literally only say hello, goodbye and chicken in Greek. Do not ask me why. Streams of people continuously rush towards and past me, locked in their own separate worlds.

A door to my right flies open at the end of a corridor, and a family come out wheeling a young girl in a wheelchair. A burst of noise suddenly enters my hearing, but it abruptly cuts off, muffled, when the door smacks close again. My heart melts seeing someone so young in such a predicament, but I remind myself that children, babies, find themselves in worse situations every day. Looking like the little girl was just patched up, and the busiest side of the hospital, I decided to venture down the corridor to see if I could find someone to direct me towards the private ward. The hospital corridor is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. The walls are magnolia and are scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that have bumped into them. The pictures on the walls are cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes, and above the double doors are large blue plastic signs with the areas of the hospital that lie ahead.

A moment too late I realise I have entered the door leading to the Accident and Emergency room, the room alive with the wails and groans from seriously ill patients, waiting to be cured. The wide entrance with immense, heavy glass doors groans as I push them open, causing a few to people to turn and look at me. I gulp and debate on turning around and looking for some one else to help me, but suddenly a man holding his left eye pushes me through the doors and runs up to the reception, skipping the queue yelling in horror and pain. A draft hits my face as the doors shut with a heavy grown behind me. I see two vast sliding doors about a metre ahead of me to my right, with patient ambulances lined up outside, and paramedics wheeling in patients on trollies. One is a child in a neck brace, and another child is screaming holding a bloodied hand. Someone starts an ear-shattering scream in the corridors, making some doctors run towards the murderous cries.