Skips A Beat ::Wattys2016::

Chapter 9

I sit in the waiting room, tears rolling down my face. They won't tell me what happened. They won't tell me why he fell, if he's okay. They won't say anything. I hear the entrance doors slide open.

"Where is he?" I hear a man's voice. I look up, it's Daryl.

"Sir, if you could take a seat, we'll be right with you."

"No. That is my baby boy in there and I want to know where he is!" Daryl shouts. I whine, burying my face into my knees and sobbing. "Actually, hold on. Luke?" I hear his footsteps coming closer, and stopping in front of me. "Luke...Lucas, look at me."

I shake my head. I don't want to look at him. I just want to know why Michael fell. He's hurt. Did I hurt him? Was it the dancing? I knew that I should have told him to settle down, but he was so happy I just couldn't. My chest tightens. My kitten might be dying, and I can't save him.

"Luke, it's okay." Daryl says softly.

"No, it's not!" I shout, snapping my head up. I'm so sick of everyone telling me that it's okay. It's not okay. It's the exact opposite of okay.

"Luke, we're going to find out what's wrong." Daryl grabs my hands, holding them tightly to stop the shaking. "You can come back with me, but you have to be super brave, and prepare for the worst." I nod. He's saying exactly what my mother said. Prepare for the worst. He stands up, walking over to the counter. I follow after him, needing to hear everything.

"Patient's name?" The nurse lady asks.

"Michael Clifford." Daryl and I say at the same time. I apologize, sealing my lips together.

"I just need you to correct any of these if they're wrong." She smiles at us politely, clicking on some things. "Full name; Michael Gordon Clifford. 17 years old, will be 18 in a week. Birthdate November 20, 1995. Blonde hair, green eyes. Parents Daryl and Karen Clifford. Diagnosed with Restrictive Cardiomyopathy and Unknown Body Failure." She looks up at Daryl, who nods. "Okay, he was checked in 20 minutes ago. He was unconscious, but he's most likely awake by now."

"Can we see him?" Daryl asks.

"Who are you?" She asks, politely.

"Daryl Clifford. I'm his father." The girl smiles, but nods to me. "This is Luke Hemmings. He's fine to go with me." The nurse nods, typing in something. We stand there awkwardly for a while, waiting for our clearance.

"Clifford?" A deep voice says. We look over to see a doctor in a lab coat. We walk over quickly. He smiles at us both, fixing his coat. "If you could follow me." He leads us down many different hallways, opening the door to room 217. He opens it up, walking in. I hurry through the door before Daryl. Mikey is sitting on the bed, staring down at his feet. "How are you feeling, Michael?"

"I have a headache." He says, looking up. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees me.

"Any other pain?" The doctor asks. He shakes his head. "Nausea? Lightheadedness? Sensitivity to light?"

"I don't think so."

"Any other notes?"

"No." Michael says. I almost say that he has been having other problems. He's been forgetting things. Sure, it was only a few times, but now I'm convinced it wasn't just a coincidence. I stay quiet instead.

"Okay, Michael, we're going to do an MRI on you, to see how your heart and your brain are doing all at once, okay?" The doctor says, Mikey nods. "Have you ever had one before?"

"I don't think." Michael shakes his head, glancing at Daryl.

"You're just going to go into the room, and let the machine do the work." The doctor stands up, grabbing a hospital gown from the closet. "Do you have any piercings, metal rods, or anything metal in you?"