Ella Sullivan is an 18-year-old high school senior with a sharp wit and a penchant for sarcasm. Her life revolves around her close-knit group of friends and the love for her dog. But her world is thrown into disarray when she encounters Ms. Catherin...
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———༺✵༻——— POV Ella ———༺✵༻———
There's another pause, this one filled with a weight that's almost suffocating. "Me," Amori says quietly, and my heart sinks. The simple word carries so much, and I feel like the ground is slipping out from under me.
"I'll be there soon," I whisper, my mind already racing with the need to get to him, to be there for him. The urgency in my voice leaves no room for argument as I hang up the phone, slipping it into my pocket with trembling hands.
When I turn around, I find Catherine's eyes on me, her expression a mix of concern and quiet understanding. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice gentle, probing but not pushy, giving me the space to share what I can.
"It's Amori," I manage to say, my thoughts swirling as I try to piece together what little information I have. I don't want to give too much away—it's not my story to tell—but I also can't just walk out without explaining. "I need to go. He's... hurt."
I start to head for the door, the need to be there for Amori pulling me forward, but Catherine moves with me, her hand reaching out to wrap around my arm. The touch is firm yet gentle, grounding me in a way I desperately need. "Ella, are you okay?" she asks again, her voice softer now, laced with concern that tugs at my heart.
"I'm fine," I lie, but the tremor in my voice betrays me. I glance down at my hands, only to realize they're shaking slightly, the adrenaline from earlier mixing with the anxiety of Amori's call.
Catherine doesn't push me further. Instead, she steps closer, her hand sliding down my arm until it reaches mine, her touch warm and comforting. "You don't have to explain," she says softly, her tone full of understanding. "Just tell me where I'm driving you."
I swallow hard, my throat tight as I nod. "The hospital," I say, the words feeling like they're lodged in my throat.
The drive is quiet, the tension in the car palpable yet unspoken. I stare out the window, my thoughts racing with worries about Amori, regrets about what I could have done differently, and the guilt that gnaws at me, making it hard to breathe. I keep replaying our last conversation, wishing I'd asked more questions, been more insistent, done something—anything—to prevent this. The weight of what I didn't do presses down on me, and I can't shake the feeling that I've failed him somehow.
Catherine's hand reaches over, breaking through the storm of my thoughts. She doesn't say anything, just gently squeezes my hand, her touch offering a silent reassurance that I didn't know I needed. It's a small gesture, but it's enough to pull me out of my spiraling thoughts, to remind me that I'm not alone in this. I glance at her briefly, offering a tight-lipped smile that of which I'm sure doesn't quite reach my eyes, but I'm grateful. She squeezes my hand again, her thumb brushing over the back of it in a soothing motion, and I feel a small measure of calm seep into my restless mind.
