Beautiful Boy

hope

amara haven

As I was staring at my phone screen, it rang.

David.

I answered, my hands shaking, heat creeping up my neck.

"Hey, Amara, honey. I have bad news," David's voice was weak.

"He overdosed, didn't he?"

There was a pause.

I didn't want to believe it.

"Yeah," David spoke, "Yes, he did."

"You're at Saint Francis now?" I asked.

"On my way there," he replied.

I climbed off of my bed and changed my shorts for the first pair of pants I could grab, wide-leg jeans.

"I'll come too," I said.

David knew there was no changing my mind, he didn't even try.

I needed to see Nic. I needed him to stay alive.

My dad died holding my hand.

I couldn't let that happen with Nic too.

My mind had a stupid idea that as long as I was there, by his side, he'd be okay.

"I'll see you there," David said.

"See you there," I muttered.

I took my hair out of it's ponytail, it was half dry and I expected it to be fully dry by the time I was at the hospital.

I slid on my Cons and grabbed my phone, then headed downstairs.

I leaned behind the couch to whisper to Axel.

"Hey, I've gotta go to Saint Francis Hospital for an emergency," I said, "Can you please take care of these guys."

"Of course, call me if you need me," he nodded, "I hope he's okay."

Another little piece of my shattered heart fell into the abyss.

I composed myself and began the torturous drive to the hospital.

I was running on adrenaline. I could feel it coursing through my veins, pulsing in my heart.

I could feel the way my poor heart was aching, tightening, almost burning.

The pain, the fear. It was too familiar.

The drive felt a million miles longer than it was.

I rushed into the main entrance and pushed my way to the front desk.

"Hi, um- I'm here for Nicolas Sheff, he's been brought in and-"

"Sorry, I was helping this man," the receptionist said.

"I don't fucking care, just tell me where he is!" I raised my voice, then remembered myself, "I'm sorry- I just-"

"No, it's okay," the older man said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "Help her first."

I felt slightly weirded out by it, but I wasn't in the right mind to care.

"Okay," the receptionist muttered, "What did you say his name was?"

"Nicolas Sheff," I replied.

"He's in the emergency room," she said, "Just that way, follow the signs."

"Thank you," I said. "And you," I slipped away from the man, then made my way to the left.

I felt like I needed to run, but I knew I shouldn't, so I simply picked up my walking pace.