Ash is a fashion model, not by choice but the desire of his projecting mother. People think he's too cocky for his own good, judging him based on what he posts online. But Ash hates the brush he's been painted with, along with the stereotypes of the...
bruised: (adjective) 1. (of a person or body part) having a bruise or bruises.
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I run as fast as I can to the nearest hospital because I have no idea what else to do. Ash's parents are probably in despair and I cannot bother them, especially when they said that the police have found a body.
A body. Does that mean they're dead or alive?
I think I know the answer but I don't want to believe it.
It might not even be Ash. But it could be. He could have been hurt and I left him in the manor by himself when I knew how much he hates being there, how much it creeps him out. What if something happened that I could have helped stop?
Fuck. I tug at my hair and pound my feet down the street, heading for the local hospital. My head races with a thousand different thoughts, he can't be dead. He can't be. Without him I will be nothing. He is the only person who understands who I am, he makes me want to be better.
To push this shit life behind me and prove my worth. He does that and the thought of being without him. Of never seeing him again tears straight through my heart, ripping at my arteries and filling me with nothing but dread.
By the time I reach the hospital I can barely breathe. I didn't slow down once and now my chest is on fire. There are police hanging in the reception, paramedics pulling people along in stretchers and other people walking around aimlessly.
I swallow the thickness of blood in my throat and attempt to calm myself down.
We don't know anything yet. We don't know if the person who was found is Ash, or if they're even dead. I pray no one is dead. My heart won't be able to hack this.
Hands fly through my hair endlessly. My feet carry me towards the reception desk but there are already people waiting. I notice that my feet begin to tap, my patience getting the better of me.
I fumble with Ash's phone in my hands but there is no new message or call. Nothing.
Don't panic, Bodi. Don't panic.
Swallowing has turned impossible, sweat dripping down my back and my heart racing at the idea of news. Any news is enough to give me a cardiac arrest.
Not knowing anything is painful.
As the person in front of me turns away from the desk, I leap forward and rest my elbows onto the counter.
"Hi, I'm wondering if Ash Knight is here?"
The receptionist looks up at me and blinks, pushing her glasses up to her nose and inspecting her computer screen. "And you are in relation to the patient?"
"Boyfriend."
"Hmmm," she taps away at the keyboard.
I find my fingers begin to drum along the white countertop in anticipation. Does that mean he's here?
