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Proceed with caution!
It's a cringe story I wrote years ago but it's also my first completed story so it has an iron grip on me despite being all over the place and cringey. Nothing is accurate since I made everything up and it's totally fiction...
“He said 'Look at you, worrying too much about things you can't change',"
— Taylor Swift, Starlight
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☣☣☣
Célia Deschamps–Denovo strode confidently into the currently vacant waiting room of St. Barnes Medical Center, demanding to be escorted to her son at that very moment only to be greeted with a nervous looking nurse that advised against her. The woman glared daggers at the poor nurse.
"—but ma'am, you're not allowed to enter,"
"The hell did I care, I've seen worse, take me there this instant!" Célia scowled, feigning ignorance at the pleading nurse. It was hectic, and amusing, another voice of mine added. Though we were burdened with worry and despair ever since we stepped inside the building, the doctor foretold Nate's condition to us — that includes Layla, Bronte and myself. Still spectating the scene in front of us, Bronte Denovo, Nate's younger sister haven't moved an inch to greet her beloved mother.
She sat still, her head hung low, pretending to inspect her manicured nails. Not even acknowledging the chaos.
The haute couture critique charged forward despite the nurse's protests, mumbling incoherent words under her breath before getting out of our sight. I casted a look at Bronte, who was smiling with a hint of guilt. "Nate and I rarely talked to her in public," she disclosed, tucking a strand behind her ear. A pair of Tiffany earrings dangled gracefully, making me wince.
I nodded, "You didn't have to tell me that, I won't even pry." I said dryly, scared she might think of me as an intruder. We were barely acquainted, eventhough she was Nate's sister, I couldn't recall a moment we were brading each other's hair. If we crossed path at school, I would either occupied with bickerings with Layla or laughing with Gwen and she with her friends.
Another glance at her earrings almost made me teared up. Gwen was always a fan of Tiffany jewelries, a Tiffany's girl.
"I figured you were curious," she shrugged nonchalantly, worry clouded her half French features.
"Where is Layla?"
"With her Pa, outside."
It was blatantly awkward, my brain couldn't generate a single topic to talk with her, except the one's related to Nate; which I already spent an hour asking before.
Apparently, Nate had been drinking a lot the whole week. Bronte lamented that she saw the maid throwing out dozens of empty bottles, and when asked, the maid stammered his name and was told to zip her mouth.
