Missing You // Lando Norris

Ch.22

(italics signify the past, or a time stamp)

lando's pov.

06:53am

It's been over eight hours since we found Anastasia.

'Found' is a funny word, isn't it: it almost sounds like she's an object, or dead, by implication.

"She's incredibly lucky."

The elderly doctor had said, his glasses pinching the tip of his nose as though to hide his disgust at our predicament. I couldn't complain about the short wrinkled man, his grey hair sloppily slicked to one side; for he had resuscitated Anastasia, giving her a fighting chance at waking up, but his judgement seeped through his every word, poisoning any good spirits or hope we had.

02:41am

Her heart, fragile and racing at a thousand miles per second, had given up.

"I need all hands on deck people! Full resuscitation!" One of the female doctors barks orders at her colleagues, all of their eyes trained on her as they follow every instruction.

I can't breath. I can't think. Will just went to get us some coffee, and here I am, on my own, Anastasia potentially-

"Sir, you need to leave the room." A young brunette nurse turns to me sternly, but I've succumbed to the fear, the shock, and find it physically impossible to move. I can't leave her.

"But I'm her boyfriend!" I attempt to protest, the words rapidly spilling out of my mouth. I drag my sweaty hand through my hair, my lower lip trembling. Two firm hands press against the small of my back, and before I can even process what's going on, I'm pushed out of the room.

"CLEAR!" The male doctor shouts, just before the door closes. I push it, desperately, but it's locked. I hopelessly attempt to peer through any crack through the door, my heart wrenching in my chest as every second passes. I walk to the opposite side of the hallway, sliding down the wall as I reach the floor with a thud, my body exhausted and numb.

I know I can't help Anastasia now, and so, in my helplessness, I allow myself a moment of selfishness. I look up, craning my head to the left, to the right, and, noticing that the hallway is empty, tears spill from my eyes.

I haven't cried in years. Anytime I felt the need to, I'd distract myself; with women, racing, alcohol, money. It worked. I became numb to any emotion, to any feelings, and I liked it that way. It made me unconquerable: I succeeded in racing, I had anyone I desired, and I had more than enough money to fulfil my every need and desire. I may have been described as disillusioned, reckless, carefree, but that suited me. And, I'll confess, I liked it.

I liked being unreachable. Untouchable, unfazed, not caring about a single thing...

I cradle my head in my hands, a deep sob escaping my mouth. I must look pathetic right now, but in this moment, I'm absolutely helpless. My head is plagued with feelings of fear, anger, blame, worry... and I can't handle it.

"Lando, mate, what's going on?!" Will's worried footsteps break me out of my hypnotised state. I wipe my tears in a desperate attempt to pull myself together, my shirt thoroughly dampened, a stain developing on it. He throws his arm around me, sinking to my level, the coffee now discarded on the bench beside us.

Will's eyes search mine in desperation, but I can't bring myself to speak, stuttering and fumbling over my words.

"CLEAR!" A shout from inside the operating room speaks for me, Wills focus shifting to the door as he abruptly gets up and tries to pull on the handle to no avail.