"13 min-inutes, 24 s-seconds...23...22...21..."
"Please, stop," I say through gritted teeth. Ella looks up from her lap in surprise.
"So-sorry, I didn't know I was th-think-inking out loud. I g-guess it's just out of hab-bit," she offers a smile which looks strained and confused before looking down again. I shake my head, then wipe the sweat collecting on my neck. The room was stiflingly hot and my thighs were sticking to the leather chair offered to me. I glance at Ella who was rubbing the scar on her collarbone, as she did when she was nervous. I couldn't blame her, though. In a few minutes, the black doors in front of us would be opening to take her into a facility where she would be expected to slip into a voluntary coma in order for doctors to see how her brain worked. Her ticks were getting worse by the second. I see her foot tapping on the black tiled floor, her hands fiddling with the buttons on her shirt, jaw clenching and unclenching in between equal intervals.
"Wh-what do you think they're go-n-na do?" She asks, breaking the silence.
I swallow and take my time adjusting the cuff of my sleeve. Ella sees my hesitancy and jumps back in, her stuttering getting worse.
"It's just, I-I-I'm ju-just so s-s-sc-scar-sca-," She wrings her hands until her knuckles fade to white as if attempting to squeeze the words out of her mouth.
"Scared?" I say. She nods, looking defeated.
"You don't need to be, Ell, they won't take you away from us. You'll be out of there in no time." I grin and rub her shoulder gently. She breathes out through her mouth and looks at me.
"H-how do you kn-kno-know? What if th-they do s-s-so-something wrong, and I stay in a c-c-coma forev-ever? What if-" I cut her off, even though I know she hates it when people do that to her.
"They won't. I'm sure of it. Why? Because I researched this place extensively before we came here. They have a 99.7% success rate when it comes to these types of procedures. And your doctor, Doctor Hazel Etta, is a specialist at your operation. She was brought to the White House to meet with president Obama in 2012 about her endeavors." Ella studies my face intently then nods slowly, as if digesting my words. "You have nothing to worry about."
"What about the c-car cr-cr-cra-crash? D-do they kn-know about-t th-that?" I take her hands in mine, separating them from her shirt. I notice they're shaking and slick with cold sweat.
"Yes, they do. Why do you ask?" Ella is about to answer when a female doctor opens the door. Ella turns around in her seat, pulling her hands out of mine.
"Savannah Ella Warren?"
I get up and so does the girl next to me.
"Th-that's m-m-me. An-and I g-go by Ella." The doctor smiles and nods.
"Sounds great. I'm Dr. Etta, but since you're my patient, you can call me Hazel. Now if you don't mind, we'll take you into your OR room to explain the procedure, and get you sedated. The operation should take three hours, and observation will take approximately two days and four hours, but it mostly depends on how fast the anesthesia wears off. Your guardians, close friends, and other relatives will not be permitted to see you during any of this time, but you should be home in five days tops."
"Will she be safe?" I ask taking a step towards her. "She's my foster sister, and I don't know what I would do if anything happened to her." Hazel swallows and glances at Ella, before landing her eyes back on me.
"Like any operation, no matter how big or small, there are risks, and in something as huge as this, the risks are higher. But I assure you, I am the very best in the world when it comes down to it, so I can say that your foster sister is in extremely good hands." I exhale and close my eyes, then turn to hug Ella. She grips me back just as fiercely, and I feel my heart begin to race. Why do I have such a bad feeling about this? Ella breaks away from me, and I see that she is on the verge of tears. Quickly I wipe my face of any doubt and smile at her.
"You'll do great. I love you."
"I love you too. No matter what happens."
Before I know it, the doors are being closed again, and I'm left alone in the waiting room, throat tight and mouth dry. It'll be okay. She'll be okay. The same thoughts crowd my mind as I sink back into my chair. She'll be okay. And at that moment I realize something. Something that seems to clear my head for a split second. Something that makes me smile, and gives me a shred more of hope. She didn't stutter that time.
oh hey I didn't see you there.
tfw u pull 823 from your ass.
also, this might turn into its own story?? I've written a prompt for it and it sounds pretty nice, but don't expect anything too soon. anyway, thanks for stickn' around you bros.
-a
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short(er) stories
Historia Cortasometimes you don't have to write a novel to tell a story. a collection of short stories just for you.
