✥ L A N D O N ✥

I burst into Novato with Aisha trying to catch up. The bright interior hurts my eyes but I ignore that and run up to the front desk.

A middle-aged redhead in scrubs has a phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, scribbling something down onto a scrap piece of paper. She listens carefully with a mildly bored expression on her face.

"Excuse me?" The lady jumps at my voice and holds up her index finger. I huff impatiently, my heart trying to regulate its beatings as I swear under my breath. Aisha reaches the front desk as well, panting, and tries to calm me down but the only thing on my mind is Evelyn.

When I heard the word car accident, my first thought was blood. Cracked skull. Fractured wrist. Snapped neck. Still heart. Bruises. Collapsed lungs. All those images crammed into my brain, and I was on the verge of having a panic attack.

I had a short vision where Evelyn was lying in bed, wrist connected to an IV drip, a bunch of tubes sticking out of her body as she struggled on life support. There was blood matted in her hair, smeared on her hands, coating her face. Her legs were mangled, arms bloody stubs as she screamed in agony.

I guess that triggered my hemophobia and amaxophobia; I have a fear of blood and also riding in cars, and the combination of both makes me stress vomit.

My heart thumps way too quickly and way too slowly in my chest, my fingers shaking as I shove them into my pockets. Beside me Aisha looks worried, her dark eyebrows pulled together as she gnaws at her lip.

"Okay. Yep, that's perfect Miss Thompson . . . You too, bye now. Take care," the woman coos before putting down the phone.

"We're here to see Evelyn Winters," I tell her hurriedly.

"Friends or family?" she asks in a sweet voice, but I have no patience. I just need to see her and see if she's alright.

"Friends," Aisha replies, gazing gently at the woman.

My foot twitches and taps against the marble floor as the redhead logs on to the computer and goes through the database.

She's exceedingly slow. "Winters spelled with a 'y' or Winters spelled with an 'i'? There are quite a few people with the same name and different variations—"

"W-i-n-t-e-r-s," I spell, cutting off her rambling. Sharlene, as I see from her name tag, nods slowly and squints at the screen, like my best friends life isn't at stake here.

Sharlene begins tapping on her keyboard but takes her time because of her nails. I take a deep breath, trying to reign my irritation. "And the first name?"

"Evelyn," I snap. I can feel Aisha concerned gaze, but I ignore her.

"How do you spell th—"

"For fuck's sake! E-v-e-l-y-n. I'm sure there isn't anyone else with the same surname and same first name that was admitted here, is there?"

Sharlene purses her lips at me, wrinkles pinching the corners of her eyes as they narrow at me. "Young man, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down and lower your voice—"

"Calm down? How can I possibly calm down when my best friend is fucking dying?" I yell, making Aisha and the woman flinch. My close friend places a hand on my forearm, and when I look at her, I feel my anger dissipating, until I'm left tense and tired.

Giving my arm a light squeeze, she gives Sharlene an apologetic look. "Please, ma'am, our friend Evelyn was in an accident and was recently admitted here. We would just like to know what room she's in, and we'll be on our way."

I'm struggling to calm myself while Aisha sweet-talks Sharlene with her lilting voice. Sharlene smiles empathetically and writes on a paper after glancing at her computer. "Room 27 in Ward B, Third Floor."

Aisha thanks her with a smile before discreetly nudging me. "Thanks," I mutter before grabbing onto Aisha's hand and dragging her to the elevator.

Once we're up and, having lost our way for a couple of minutes, we stop outside one of the rooms, and upon walking down the hall across the room we find a large waiting room. A lone teen sleeps in the corner on his own, a little girl plays with her doll beside her weary-looking mother, while a couple hunch together, the woman's quiet sobs echoing around the hall. Aisha and I stop, and when I catch a glimpse of the woman's face I realize that it's Evelyn's mother.

I've never seen or met Evelyn's mother, but they look the spitting image of each other except, obviously, Mrs. Winters looks older and there's an air of maturity around her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Winters?" Aisha asks softly as we approach the couple, her hands clasped. The couple looks up, both of their eyes red-rimmed, but Mrs. Winters' cheeks are stained with tears.

"Yes, who are you?" Her voice is wobbly but she tries to hold it steady, just like how her husband holds her hands in his to try control their shaking.

"I'm Landon, this is Aisha. We're Evelyn's coworkers at Ronnie's Rainbow Rendezvous," I explain in a somber tone, fidgeting with the edge of my t-shirt.

"Oh, honey, these were the emergency contacts," Mr. Winters tells his wife gently. Mrs. Winters nods, gaining her composure, and smiles wanly at the both of us.

"Yes, we were right there - working - when the accident happened but we weren't allowed to go with her to the hospital as we're not family," Aisha says. Mrs. Winters' face crumples, but for the most part, she seems to keep it together.

There's a short silence, the only sound coming from the guy in the corner as he lies over three seats, snoring lightly, and I speak up, "So, how's Evelyn doing? Is she okay? Was she hurt badly?"

Mr. Winters inhales deeply through his nose, running a hand through his blond hair. Although it can't have been more than four hours since the accident happened, his eyes have visible bags underneath them that ages him ten more years. He's about to speak before Mrs. Winters sniffles, "The doctor was saying all sorts of stuff that I didn't understand. He said she has a hairline fracture, which I understand. He also said that . . . I can't remember, but something happened to her trachea and also her ribs . . . "

Her husband rubs his nose, lifting his tired eyes to meet ours. "Basically, she can't speak. When she got hit, the car made impact with her body, from her neck down to her hip. Her trachea collapsed, and so did one of her lungs. There's a problem with her windpipe; they say they think it's caved in but they can't be sure yet until she undergoes an x-ray and a few tests. She broke a few ribs, but that's the least of our problems. Apart from her collapsed trachea, lung, broken ribs, skull fracture and a few bruises, she's doing alright. She'll make it. They put her in an induced coma, and visiting ours are just over."

I swallow hard, losing most of the feeling in my legs at the sound of Evelyn's injuries. Aisha fails to hold back a sob, her hands clapping over her mouth. I'm trying to breathe, trying to stop a weight from crushing my chest.

Evelyn's mother buries her head in her husbands chest, her cries muffled. I try putting on a brave face, but inside I'm breaking. "All that matters right now, Mr. and Mrs. Winters, is that she's going to make it," I say, attempting to console them and myself.

Mr. Winters nods gravely, eyes downcast. Mrs. Winters manages to reign her tears, gripping her plastic chair. Aisha sinks into a chair beside the married couple, and I can see her struggling to keep her positive façade in place. Aisha is one of the strongest people I know, if not the strongest, and I can tell the news about Evelyn is tearing her apart.

From afar it looks like Evelyn isn't the friendliest of people; she seems unapproachable from the outside. But once you get to know her you realize she's only human, just a person who's lost and looking for her place in life.

Aisha is naturally friendly. She has a magnetic pull that draws you in, and when you look at her you get blinded by the light that radiates from her. Sure, she isn't the luckiest girl. Her parents have practically disowned her because of her engagement to Oscar, and she's been through the struggle of paying off debts. But none of that manages to throw the smile off her face.

I don't know how I am in everyone else's eyes. I guess I'm broody and mysterious . . . ? That's how Evelyn described me anyway, when we first met each other. She said I have this ominous cloud over my head most of the time, but when I smile or laugh, there's a whole fucking bunch of sunshine and happy squirrels, as she so eloquently put it.

God, I already miss her.

I'm pulled from my thoughts at the sound of her father's voice. "Yes, I suppose you're right. And please, none of the formalities. Charlie and Eva," he introduces, and I nod distractedly.

"Wait . . . you said she won't be able to speak. For a short time or forever?"

All eyes are on him, everyone holding their breath. My blood runs cold as I wait for the answer. All Charlie does is shrug helplessly, and I see a fresh wave of tears gather in his eyes. I can't bear to look at him, knowing I'll be the one crying next.

"I don't know. All I know is that it's a waiting game that has to be played at the right moment, or we'll all lose. And all we can do is hope the odds are in our favor."