"No matter your problems, face them with a bright smile and a bucket of chocolate ice-cream," nana once wisely told me. At the time, I was barely twelve and thought that I could summon a unicorn if I just believed in myself.
A decade later, despi...
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Mark's point of view.
"Sir, I cannot let you in. Trust me, Miss Anderson is in good hands."
"You son of a bitch, I will smudge your face on that stupid desk of yours if you don't..."
"Mark, it's useless..." I feel a strong grip on my shoulder and try to shake it off, but it seems that I've underestimated French-boy's muscles.
I nod, still gritting my teeth at the receptionist, and walk outside the hospital. Once out, hot air hits me in the face, and I throw a punch at the tree we stand under in useless attempt to let my anger out. As I feel my knuckles burn from all the hits they've been throwing lately, several heart-shaped leaves float around us, one of which lands on Daniel's head. He brushes it off then murmurs to me as passersby eye us weirdly.
"For god's sake, will you stop hitting things?" He's strangely calm for someone who's just seen his friend collapse in front of him.
"Aren't you worried?"
"Of course, I am!" he confesses, looking up to the sky in pain. "It's just that I didn't think it'd happen that soon." What is that supposed to mean? What does this asshole know about Maeva and I don't?! I'm about to grab him by the collar when a hoarse voice calls us from behind.
"Boys, thank you for bringing her here." Mr. Anderson joins us, half-burned cigarette in hand. He supports his weight on the tree trunk, and from the quick look I take at him, it seems as though he's aged ten years in hours.
The minute I called him to tell him about his daughter collapsing, he left the dinner meeting he was having with one of his clients and rushed to the hospital. The way he answered me, though, is far from how I imagined a father would react to such news. He kept his calm and told me exactly what to do, which I didn't really need to know since Daniel seemed to handle the situation quite well.
His wife, on the other hand, was closer to the hospital, so she got here before him. Obviously clueless as to what is happening to her daughter, she almost fainted when we'd told her the news. And for the past hours, she's been pacing in the hallway, occasionally talking to herself and wiping tears off her cheeks.
"I'm going to check on Dalida," says Daniel as he walks away, brushing his blond hair with his fingers and sighing as if the world's weight was lying on his shoulders.
Andrew takes the last draw of his cigarette, inhaling every bit of smoke it could give him. He then sighs, almost wrapping his entire face with white smoke that fades gradually as he speaks.
"Mark, there is something I was meaning to tell you," he breaks the silence and throws the cigarette end in a nearby trashcan. A slight cough arises from his chest but he ignores it and proceeds, "Maeva's sick."
He pauses as if he was giving me the time to process the news. To be honest, I need a lot more time than I was given, but I decide not to interrupt.
