It was one o'clock. I hastily made myself a sandwich and a glass of lemonade. Both of which were shoved quickly into my mouth, chewed and then swallowed. After quickly eating my lunch I asked my mom to drive me up to the hospital. She was reluctant but I convinced her to.
The car ride there seemed to take eternity. I combed through my hair with my fingers insistently. I looked out the window. But most importantly I thought. And while I thought I worried. What if he relapses? What if he dies? A swarm of what ifs attack me.
The relief from the worry comes when we make it to the hospital. I forgot what room I was going to. I laughed to myself on my way up to the help desk. I remember things like the song that played behind but my first kiss, but I can't recall the hospital room my love is in.
The woman at the desk directs me to the room and I force myself into the elevator. Again the unnerving sense of inevitable doom comes to me from the elevator. The damn thing stops at every floor on the way up to the floor I'm going to. When the metal death box makes it to the 3rd floor I free myself of it as soon as I can.
I walk down the hall. It's painted an antagonizing off white color. I reach into my purse and check for my iPod and portable speakers. I brush against both as well as my phone and a tube of lip gloss. I close my purse and walk up to the door. I take a deep breath, and knock on the door.
YOU ARE READING
The Final Call
RomanceWARNING! This story could trigger some readers! Please use caution! Ally had never lived an ordinary life. She was a successful, published author before high school. She'd always had her troubles, but nothing like this. When her boyfriend tries to...
