If I lose myself

Chapter 12. "I'm not ready." ✔️

A/N: Trigger Warning ⚠️

Lauren hadn't said much to Camila on their way to the hospital. In fact, she'd barely even acknowledged her fiancées' presence in the cab at all. Instead, she'd just sat staring out the window, watching numbly as they passed one street lamp after another, the fluorescent lights blurring together against a backdrop of the murky morning sky.

The journey seemed to take infinitely longer than it should have done considering the early hour, and Lauren had grown more and more uneasy with every second of delay that they'd had to endure, her knee bouncing up and down on the spot whenever they were caught at a red light, restless with impatience.

When they'd finally arrived at the menacing, and sadly all too familiar structure, Camila paid the cab fare, and they made their way inside together.

"Babe," Camila said softly, squeezing Lauren's hand firmly in her own as they entered through the sliding glass doors at the front of the hospital and came to a stop in the foyer. "Which ward did your dad say that your mom was on? Can you remember?"

The truth was that Lauren couldn't remember. Almost everything that her dad had said to her on the phone had been lost in a haze of white noise; the harsh ringing in her ears grew louder and louder until eventually, it had drowned him out completely, and all she could hear was the panic-stricken beat of her heart against her rib cage.

"No," Lauren said emotionlessly, still evidently in shock. "I mean, he did say where she was but, I don't know. I can't remember..."

"That's ok," Camila responded gently, placing her free hand against Lauren's upper arm and rubbing it lightly. "We'll just go and ask at reception."

Camila led Lauren over to where a tired-looking woman sat behind an oak fronted desk, her fiancée's hand still held securely in her own.

"Hi," Camila said quietly, placing her other hand on top on the white granite counter. "We're sorry to bother you but we were hoping you could help us. We're looking for someone who was admitted here earlier this morning."

The middle-aged woman tending the desk lifted her head from the task she'd been doing and looked between Lauren and Camila, making note of the way the green- eyed girl was silently chewing on the cuticles of her fingernails, evidently anxious. "What's their name?" she asked, offering them both a warm, empathetic smile.

"It's Clara Jauregui," Camila told the receptionist, rubbing the base of Lauren's thumb with her own while they waited for the receptionist to check the hospital computer system.

"She's still in the ER at the moment," the woman informed them when she'd found Clara's record.

She raised her eyes to meet Camila's again.

"She's in room six." She shared. "Would you like me to show you how to get there?"

"No, that's alright," Camila replied gratefully, intimately familiar with South Miami Hospital's emergency room after the amount of time she'd spent there over the years. "I know how to get there. Thank you."

"You're welcome," the receptionist said glancing at Lauren, who was watching her silently.

"Merry Christmas," Camila said, smiling at the woman with as much cheerfulness as she could manage considering the circumstances.

"Merry Christmas," the receptionist reciprocated, a solemn inflection in her tone. "Take care."

"Thanks," Camila acknowledged, tapping the granite surface once with the fingertips of her left hand. "You too." She said, before guiding Lauren away from the desk and towards the ER.