SOPHIE BROOKS:
Party, hook-up, hangover, repeat.
I don't do rules, responsibility, or monogamy.
So when the chance to sleep with the hottest Olympian swimmer in the country presents itself, you can be damn sure I take it.
And sneak out before he wa...
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Jen, Davis, and I are led to the waiting room, where we, like the name suggests, are to wait.
The nurse showing us the way doesn't know that I could probably find this room with my eyes closed. That the directions are seared onto the inside of my brain whether I want them to or not.
I freeze in the door. The memories aren't as overwhelming today, since I was here last week, but the fear, the panic, it's just as real, if not more.
I can feel Davis hovering behind me. He doesn't say anything, just patiently waiting while I try to get my breathing under control.
You do not get to freak out right now, Jayden, I tell myself. Sophie needs you to be strong.
Thinking about her does the trick. I square my shoulders, entering the room, and despite wanting to vomit before I inevitably pass out, I walk on surprisingly steady legs towards a chair beside Jen.
"She'll be fine," she says, looking up at me with big, hopeful eyes. I used to mistake Jen for being naive or even wistfully ignorant, but I think that was wrong. Because Jen has been in this situation before. She knows the gravity of what's happening, but she's choosing to believe. And I think, in the face of all this despair, that's pretty fucking strong.
I rest my hands on hers for a second, squeezing. "Yeah."
She has to be fine.
Davis disappears to get us coffee, and when he returns, I can see the uncertainty in his gaze. Is he here to support me or Jen? Who should he sit next to and comfort?
Jen makes the decision easy by excusing herself, saying she'll be back soon.
The surgery will take around three hours, so I understand the desire to not to sit here the entire time.
Honestly, no part of me wants to be here right now. But I need to. I need to sit here and wait and once those doctors come back, I have to be here to hear whatever they have to say.
Whatever the verdict, I need to know.
She promised me to live. I repeat those words over and over, willing her to keep her promise. The fear is winding around my windpipes like vines, and it is becoming hard to breathe.
"Tell me something," I say to Davis.
He's looking at the door, jerking a bit when I address him like for a second he forgot I was here. He takes me in, sipping his coffee. "The pedestal under the Statue of Liberty is one meter taller than the actual statue."
I blink, opening my mouth to speak, blinking again, and then I chuckle, a bit of humor bubbling inside my body, allowing my lungs to expand properly. "What? No, that wasn't... One meter?" I can't help asking.
His lips twitch. "Yeah. Isn't that weird?"
"It's weird that you use the metric system. You know you're in America, right?" I ask in a stage whisper, glancing around us as if to check for immigration, coming to drag him back to Europe or something. Though Davis was born in the U.S just like I was.
