Kismet

Chapter Eighteen

Ethan's POV:

I watch in despair as the medics pick up her body, and as they take her hair out of her ponytail so they can get a look at the wound. Her hair falls down like a still waterfall, and they set her on the mobile gurney. I want badly to escort her to Ludlow's small hospital, but they wouldn't let me ride in the car. I asked.

   They put her gently onto the gurney, where four people pick up the edges and carry her around the ravine and onto the path they'd come. I quickly follow, making sure Chris follows. He stumbles after me.

   I hurry up to a nurse in a white and red uniform. "How bad is she? Is she hurt?"

   She doesn't slow down, but answers my question. "She's almost completely fine. It was a smart thing for you to do. She fell down, you say?"

   I nod, unsure how to answer. "I think so."

  She looks at me questingly. 

   "We weren't near each other when she fell," I say. "I heard her scream and found her unconscious."

   "Between two trees," she repeats. I nod. "Well . . . she has some bruises and scrapes. Perhaps a broken rib, but that's the most of it."

   I try to ask again. "Can I come in the hospital car with you? I want to be by her."

   The lady looks at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry, but that's not allowed. You may come in your own car, if you wish." She doesn't say anything else as we hurry through the hot forest. She rushes up to the front of the people carrying Kiara, and starts to talk to the main medic. I stay behind with Chris, watching as she gently bounces up and down as they rush along the path.

   I reach out and hold her limp wrist, wanting comfort. I liked holding her wrist for an odd reason- it was so small, and she never seemed bothered by me holding it. I grasp on firmly, not wanting to let go.

   We make it back in less than fifteen minutes, where they put her into the back of the Emergency truck, slamming the doors. I am forced to let go, where I clench my fists worriedly.

   The lady is back, talking to me and asking questions. "What are your parents number, young man? Is this your girlfriend?"

   I almost blush, shaking my head. "No. And my Mom is at work."

   "I think she should know about this," the lady reasons. So I reluctantly tell her my Mom's number. Chris tells her their parents number, and the lady thanks us. She hops into the car, and they drive away.

   I punch Chris lightly in the arm, getting his attention. "Hey. Let's go."

   I grab my keys out of my pocket, and I rush towards my Dad's old car. I hop into the drivers seat, and Chris silently slides into the passenger. I turn the engine and I U-turn the car, slamming my foot against the gas. We lurch forward, trailing the truck. I slow down, because it's a narrow road and I can't get past. The sirens flash, even though we're not in town yet.

   But we get there, even though it seems like a lifetime. I feel myself getting more worried as Kiara drives farther away, despite what the lady said to me about Kiara being fine.

   We pull into the hospital. I guess the town isn't used to this happening, because many people stop to stare as Kiara is rolled into the entrance of the building. I park quickly in the near-empty lot and tell Chris to follow. He obeys, and we rush across the lot to follow them in. I guess Kiara's dad got the call, because I saw him pulling in next to the truck. I walk inside without waiting for him, not wanting to explain. Chris runs up to him and does it for me.

   I walk inside, and they tell me to wait in the lobby until they can get things sorted out, whatever that means. Reluctantly, I retreat back into the waiting room where only another person waits. It was a man reading the newspaper, not even bothering to glance up at me.

   I sit down, scanning around me. All of this reminds me of that horrible day. The day my father was wheeled in here.

   I remember with a pang of regret the lie I told Kiara. It wasn't a full lie, really. He did die from war. Partially. 

   He came home for a day before things started to get bad. He'd got sick from a disease he'd brought back from Afghanistan. He coughed up blood. . . got awfully swollen. It was horrible to see him like that. The recovering bullet hole in his leg didn't help, either. It got infected, and let's say that's a lot to take on for one person just coming back from the military.

   Two nights in the hospital, we came to visit him, me and my mom. We talked for a while, him being awfully weak. He could barely talk, drifting in and out of consciousness. Mom walks out to give me time to talk to him alone. He finally says the last thing to come out of his mouth, something I will never forget.

   "Take care of your mother . . .I love. . ." He breaths out. The steady beep on the monitor lets out a long beep, and I started to freak out. I slammed my fist against the button for help, but they were too late. Mom rushes into the room and starts crying as they shove us out of the room. After a try to revive him, they told us it wouldn't work. The disease spread to his heart.

   He was gone.

   I rub my eyes, wanting desperately for that memory to at least let me take a break. It was in my head twenty-four-seven. I can't help but wanting to rush up there and check on Kiara. I can't loose her, even if they said she was going to be fine. I didn't trust them. That's what they said about my father.

   Kiara's POV:

   I faintly remember seeing the top of a white room,  small and enclosed. I couldn't lift my head, though. The thought of it was too painful. Instead, I listen, trying to get my hearing to come back fully. There's a siren loud above my head, blocking everything else out. Then I go back into the darkness once more.

 I wake up to the sound of a beeping noise. I slowly and painfully turn my head to the side. Sparks of pain shoot through my ribs, and I almost cry out. I look down to see my chest covered in wrap, and over that a hospital gown. Bandages cover my arm too, and simple band-aids all over me. My eyes are sore, like a headache, and I feel like I'm on a cloud, only connected to earth through my vision.

   I suddenly realize that there's a person hovering over me. Expecting it to be a nurse, I look up. Instead it's my father, eyes glazed in sadness. But there's a smile on his face. It didn't match.

   "Dad?" I ask softly.

   "I'm right here, sweetie," he says, gripping my hand with both of his.

   My head flops to the side, and I close my eyes. "Where's Mom?" I ask softly, feeling drowsiness overwhelming me.

   "She's coming right now," he assures me. "Are you feeling okay?"

  I shake my head. "No. I feel sore."

   "You're fine," he says, like I was a child and fell off the swing. It felt a lot worse than that. The most painful thing was my back, where I vaguely remember the rock scratching me. Ribs came in second.

   "Ethan?" I murmur, right before the drugs I bet they shot me with kicked in. I didn't hear my father's response as I fell back into the hungry shadows.