Cuts and Bruises

Guess Who

Victoria's P.O.V

I drove to the hospital, my heart pounding. Rose sat next to me. My daughter. She hadn't contacted me about a thing. Not the crash. Not the facility. Nothing.

"I thought she would get angry at me." Rose pleaded. "Please. I'm sorry."

"It's just that." I sighed. " You don't really talk to me." I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as we stopped in front of a red light. "I just hope she's okay. You didn't get hurt. Did you?"

"No." She looked out the window. I focused my eyes back on the road as the light turned yellow. It was silent a moment. "Why are we going to the hospital?"

"They told me to come here." I spoke, keeping my eyes on the road. My husband had a cold. I thought that was the main problem. Turns out it was absurd compared to everything else that's going on. "Bae. She's always getting you guys in trouble."

"No she's not! She is fun. Mom, she's my closest cousin. This wasn't her fault." Rose protested. I wouldn't accept it. Bae, it wasn't the first time she got my daughters into mischief.

"Don't you see what's happening?" I snapped at my own daughter. I breathed out.

"It's a bully from school." Rose's eyes widened and she turned red.

"I'm sorry." I spoke quietly. I saw the hospital just in front of us. I stepped on the gas petal harder. Just enough to make each passing moment less dreadful. "What bully?"

"Sasha. Sasha Evans. From school. She doesn't stop until she gets what she wants." Once Rose told me this, my stomach dropped.

"My daughter. Yes, she dealt with depression. Though, this girl drove her into the nut house.!" I grit my teeth. If this girl didn't stop, and I was headed to a hospital-

I parked the car, not caring whether the car lined up right or not. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and bolted out of my vehicle and for the hospital. Rose rushed behind me at a similar pace.

Once I slammed through the doors, I stopped. I saw so many people, I felt dread. What kind of mother am I?

I found the desk and stuttered. "I-I'm here to see my daught-ter." I felt tears welling up. I blinked a couple of times and swallowed. I couldn't cry. Not now.

"Name?" The woman looked up from the computer screen.

"Brooklyn De Anda is my daughters name." My eyes darted around the room. Why was this talking so long?

The woman nodded. "Room sixteen. Down this hallway and to the left. You will see it then."

I sighed. I began down the hallway as Rose trailed behind. I noticed the door was closer by each step. Maybe I couldn't see it. Though, it was still there. My pained daughter lay in some bed. She hadn't received a word from me in two months. Who was I too be called a good mother?

I turned left and scanned each number. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
I stopped in my tracks. Unable to step any further. Rose stopped next to me, tapping her pink shirt anxiously.

"You first." Rose motioned in front of her. I took a step further. Reaching out my hand, I knocked. I heard a gasp. I didn't hear anything further. I slowly pushed open the door.

To my surprise, a boy with brown hair and tears in his eyes sat in a chair close to the hospital bed. A girl with brown matted hair, pale skin, and blood covering her side lay in that bed. My daughter. Hurt. She looked sick. Cold.

My eyes widened and I held my breath. I wasn't sure why. Maybe I was astonished, or I was waiting for this nightmare to end. For me to wake up. I reached for the wall to balance myself. I glanced at the machines hooked up to my daughter.

"You." The boy spoke. He looked frail as well. He looked to weigh less. Blood covered his fingers. "You must be Brooklyn's mother." His eyes widened and he looked about to faint.

"Who may you be?" I hesitated. The words were more of forced out. I noticed blood stains on the upper part of his shirt. "Why are you covered in blood?"

"I had a nose bleed." He paused. "I'm Peter." He reached out a shaky bloody hand. I didn't protest. I shook his hand.

"I am her m-mother." I stuttered. Tears threatened and I choked back a sob.

"She resembles you." He spoke quietly. "You both choke similarly.

"E-Excuse me?" I looked up, doing my best not to cry.

"She's asleep now." He turned towards her. The tears still stained his porcelain skin. He reached his hand out and moved a lock of her hair. He gently caressed her cheek.

I stood, baffled. "Are you two-"

"Friends." He interrupted. "Yes, we are."

Rose sat down in a chair that sat across the room. She seemed hesitant. "Mom. He's the crazy one." She said it as though I should know.

"He's the bully?" I jumped to conclusions. My heart pounded.

"No. Sasha is the bully. This boy is the one who-" Rose was cut off.

"Attempted to save Brooklyn in a car crash. Went to the facility with her. Broke. Well, kind of fell for her." He mumbled the last part. This boy, Peter stood in front of me looking broken as said. He seemed to use the word as though he didn't know what else to say.

"Mom. I think she still has amnesia." Rose nervously interjected.

"She's doing better. I heard her murmur bits of what ever she dreamt of earlier." Peter seemed to stroke her hair cautiously.

I wanted to tell him to back away. I wanted her to remain untouched. I just felt, it was unneeded. She looked comfortable. After all, he stayed by her side. He may have only known her these past two months after all. Yet, he adapted to her.

"What got her sent in here?" I glanced back at her side.

Peter rested his hand on the side of her face before turning. "I heard." He paused. "That Sasha stabbed her with a knife." My heart jumped to my throat and my expression dropped.

"Someone tried to kill my daughter?"