As Dakota Akihara crashes, Rhea Walton falters.
While one is drug away from a life in the 1%, the other finds it increasingly-unbearable to put up with the crushingly-expected and dependable monotony of slow business, bills to pay, and mou...
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"Mellisa Maxfield." Dakota slammed a hand down on the counter of the Morgantown Hospital's front desk, an action that lead to the brunette receptionist jerking her head up. Coffee sloshed out of the cup she was holding, staining the royal blue of her uniform clouds of indigo. She quickly recovered, the startled look turning to one of steadfast, professionally-contained annoyance.
"Sir, please take your hand off the desk." Dakota tensed, fidgeting as she drawled, looking up at the checkered white squares on the ceiling before coming back down to the receptionist.
"I'm looking for Melissa Maxfield." He bit out, sounding almost strangled, like he was trying to keep it together. "Which floor has category 1 or 2 trauma patients?" The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "You know about categorizing trauma patients?" He sighed loudly, his eyes glancing around before coming back to her, the irritation two times as potent.
"Look lady. I don't have all day. Please, just tell me which floor Melissa Maxfield is on." She eyed him, spending the longest on his face, before grabbing a Kleenex and wiping at the dark stain on her uniform. I watched the white pill against the dark cloth.
"Only family's allowed."
"I'm her son." The receptionist scoffed quietly, rubbing aggressively and grabbing her water bottle. It made me want to strangle her. Who the hell did she think she was?
"Fuckin' bullshit." Dakota muttured, noting someone in scrubs and going up to them. Though she was a bitch I still wanted to pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a wave of embarrassment. If he'd just been calmer...
"Dakota!" I was about to run after him but the receptionist's words pulled me back.
"Get your boyfriend under control." I paused and glared at her. Then, I don't even know what came over me. Shit poured out of my mouth. I was just as bad. Fuck. "Get your head out of your ass and do your job." I immediately cringed and was about to apologize, when Dakota moved towards a door, and my legs propelled after him. I tore it open and ran up the stairwell, trying to catch up.
"Where the hell are you going?"
"Floor three." He said, without pausing. I started taking the stairs two at a time and soon, even with all of the cross country training, I was feeling it. He stopped at a door marked with a three and opened it, no less aggressively than the one at the bottom. I made it just in time to watch the boy almost bull-doze down two nurses, hearing the obnoxious squeaking of rubber soles on linoleum as he stopped and disappeared into a room. Squinting I could just barely, make out the number.
324.
As fast as I could, without blowing my surroundings to fucking smitherines, I made my way to the room and stopped in the doorway, overwhelmed with palpable déja-vu. Front and center, a woman laid, hooked to various tubes, surrounded by sterilized surfaces, and a symphony of beeps. I'd never really gotten a good look at her before, when she was moving in the dark. But even in the harsh light, even with the bandage obscuring the left side of her forehead, it was evident that she was somewhat attractive for her age. My eyes started with the mahogany waves spilling out over the pale blue hospital gown, the white casting that went up the entirety of her right arm, back up to the top of the bare left one, before traveling back down to her hand; a thing of long, slender fingers clasped tightly by one almost identical to it, if not, slightly larger.
"My god, Mom." I heard him whisper quietly, before leaning forward in a chair he must've found and gently squeezing her hand. Suddenly, I felt out of place, like an intruder, or, or something. I slipped out of the room and walked a few feet to the right, my hands fishing for my phone and dialing the only number that felt right. The ringing cut off and there was a pause of silence, before a voice disseminated through the speaker.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's me." The voice laughed, a noise that sounded just as out of place as I had felt only moments ago.
"I know that. Caller-ID is a thing."
"Liam," I cut him off. "I think you need to come to the hospital." Then I remembered something. "Bring your mom, too."
"Wai-What's goi–"
"Floor three, room 324." I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket, hugging myself tightly to steel myself from old memories.
