You know those scenes in movies where distraught people come racing into the emergency room, completely unaware of anything else going on around them? Well, that's me; I'm that person.

The only thing I can hear is my heart pounding rapidly, deafening all the other sounds around me. I've been like this ever since I got the phone call about my sister's accident. She was hit by a car, hard while crossing the street, and now she's been taken into surgery. That's all the nurse told me before I hung up the phone and began sprinting to my car. My body hasn't stopped racing since.

 I enter through the automatic doors, panting, and make my way towards the trauma station. The place is complete chaos: children crying, staff yelling, patients yelping in pain. It is then when I see the television behind the information desk. It's turned onto the news channel, showing a live broadcast of a massive car pileup downtown.

Oh, God.

 "Excuse me," I say, dragging my attention away from the screen. 

    "Yes, sorry, how can I help you?"

I can tell by the way the nurse's hair is falling out of her ponytail that she has been working non-stop for what's probably been hours; the poor woman.

"I got a phone call saying my sister is here. She was in a car accident."

"Along with everyone else here," she scoffs, "what's her name?"

"Briana. Briana Samuels."

"Samuels, Samuels, Samuels," she mumbles, while scrolling through patient files on her tablet. "Aha! Briana Samuels! She's currently in surgery. She's suffered a serious head injury and has some broken limbs."

"Oh, God. Uh..."

Head injury? Broken limbs? What the hell happened?

"Miss?" the nurse asks, looking concerned.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, I will send a page to the operating staff on her case, indicating that a family member has arrived. Are you her next of kin?"

"Yes.

"Alright, thank you. Now, if you'd follow me, I can take you to the waiting room."

"Oh, thank you, but that's alright. I can see you're busy. You could give me directions."

"Okay, well, if you head down this hallway here, it will spit you out into the main core of the hospital. From there, the emergency waiting room is fairly simple to find. There's a bunch of signage."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"It's not a problem; good luck," she says, before shuffling away.

The nurse was right, the waiting room was relatively easy to find, but finding a place to sit, however, that's a different story. The room is packed with people, some alone, some in groups, clutching their belongings in their laps.

Unable to find a free chair, I opt to sit on the floor. I'll be fine for a while; at this point, all I want to do is sit down. 

Minutes feel like hours as I sit here. Who knows how long Briana was in surgery before they called me? For all I know, I could be waiting here all night. At least a woman was kind enough to give me her chair as she was leaving. I hope the person she was waiting for is alright.

I've been watching the news channel on the television anchored on the wall for too long. They've been replaying the crash-site footage over and over. Is this the only significant event currently taking place in Toronto? What about the evening news? I would happily watch anything in place of this. I would even watch The Office, which I can't stand. 

Part of me feels guilty. Briana was leaving work early to come and meet me. We had plans to watch the Leafs game tonight; they are playing their rivals, the Boston Bruins. Bri never cuts out on work, and one hundred percent of me knows that. But other than her job, her one passion is hockey, so whenever I bring it up, she'll take the time to discuss it. She works so hard; she barely takes any time for herself. She deserves to take a night off once and awhile.

I pick up my purse from the floor and begin rifling through it, looking for my gum. After popping a piece into my mouth, my face begins to relax. I have a habit of clenching my jaw when I'm nervous. Both Briana and I have that same problem, although, according to our dentist, her case is much more severe.

Every time I hear a door whoosh open, my heartbeat picks up. But so far, there's been no news. I've been here for two hours and haven't had a single update. If the doctors are taking this long, then her injuries must be severe.

I shake my head, not wanting to think about the severity of her condition. Instead, I dive into my purse again, this time in pursuit of my phone.

I'm so concentrated on finding the damn thing that I don't even hear the door open. Alarm only sets in when I hear someone say my name.

"Katerina Samuels?" a woman's voice calls.

I immediately stand up, dripping my purse on the floor, realizing too late that it's fallen upside down, spilling its contents everywhere. In a huff, I bend down to gather my belongings but stop when I hear my name again.

"Miss Samuels?" she calls.

I look up and notice the pair of doctors approaching me. Quickly, I stand, brushing my hair out of my face as my gaze falls on the male surgeon in navy turnout scrubs. 

He's handsome.

And then it hits me; I know this man.

"Kate?"