by Noelle Marie
A loud wave of murmuring spread throughout the gathered crowd of boys. Some eyed her in disbelief, but most were eying Gunther, frowns marred across their faces.
“That’s bullshit,” Gunther spat, taking a threatening step in her direction. “Tell them the truth, Emma.” He inched closer still and Emma took in his bloody nose and the ring of bruises decorating his neck. She noticed his bloodshot eyes, too, and wondered for the first time if he was on something – some sort of drug – that was making him so bold. “Tell them that you’re mine to do with whatever I want,” he added softly, clearly intending the words for her ears alone.
They didn’t escape Heath’s ears though and she felt him tense behind her. Thinking fast on her feet before another brawl could break out – she didn’t think she could stand to see even one more bruise join the others on Heath’s face – she remembered the screwdriver she’d shoved in her back pocket and hastily pulled the thing out, pointing it at Gunther. He was so close to her that mere inches separated his chest from the sharp side of the makeshift weapon.
“Stay away from me. From us,” she threatened.
It was at that precise moment that her friends came barreling onto the scene, Collette hurtling a string of insults at Gunther so vulgar that it would make a sailor blush and Luca waving his cell phone around, loudly informing everyone that he was going to call the cops if they didn’t clear out.
Unfortunately, Emma was distracted by the sudden ruckus, and Gunther took the opportunity to lunge forward, wrenching the screwdriver from her hands with one vicious yank. A second later, he had a hold of her by the roots of her hair and was throwing her to the ground. Emma’s abrupt collision with the ground knocked the breath from her lungs, but she managed to jerk her head around just in time to see Gunther plunge the screwdriver into Heath’s side.
Heath grunted, bending over into himself and falling to his knees when Gunther pulled it out.
No.
No, no, no, no, no!
There was a ringing noise in Emma’s ears. And someone was yelling. Maybe even her.
Gunther looked as shocked as Emma felt, dropping the screwdriver and allowing it to fall to the ground like the handle had burnt his hand. He shook his head before apparently regaining his bearings and making a sudden grab for Emma. His bloody fingers managed to brush over her elbow before Luca slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.
Chaos ensued all around her.
Emma’s main concern remained Heath, however, and she stumbled her way over to where he’d collapsed onto his knees. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” she assured him softly as she slowly lowered him to the ground so that he was lying on his back. She covered the gushing wound on his side with her shaking hands, trying to ignore the fact that ruby red blood continued to seep through her fingers. “You’re going to be o-okay,” she said again, choking on her words. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince more – Heath or herself.
Heath reached up and tucked a wild strand of hair behind Emma’s ear. “I love you,” he murmured so softly that Emma was almost convinced she’d imagined the words before his hand dropped to the ground and his eyes fluttered shut.
Emma buried her head into the hollow of Heath’s chest, her tears staining his shirt. The sound of ambulance sirens wailed in the background as she whispered back, “I love you too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Emma spent the rest of prom night at the hospital.
She was separated from Heath as soon as they arrived at the huge, sterile building. It was a small miracle she’d been allowed to ride with him in the ambulance in the first place. In the end, the paramedics had only agreed to take her because she was visibly injured and another ambulance was still ten minutes out.
So as they worked to stabilize his vitals, Emma clutched Heath’s hand in her own, like his very survival depended upon the strength with which she squeezed. When they arrived at the nearest hospital – Northridge Medical – Heath was wheeled to the emergency wing while Emma was set up in a private room.
A young female nurse with sympathetic eyes and what looked like half of her hair fighting its way out of a sloppy ponytail entered the room soon after. After asking a few standard questions, she gave Emma a pale green hospital gown to change into before setting about cleaning the cut on Emma’s lip and the scraps on her hands and knees. Emma didn’t even feel the sting of the antiseptics her mind was so focused on Heath.
“Do you have any other injuries, dear?” the nurse – her name tag identified her as Stacy – asked.
Emma blinked at the question, the sound of the nurse’s voice bringing her back to the here and now. She nodded, gesturing vaguely at her head. “There’s a good sized bump on the back of my head and I twisted my ankle earlier.” She pressed her lips together, ignoring the cut on the lower one completely. “How is Heath doing? You know, my… friend who was brought in with me?”
The fact that his breathing, no matter how labored, had remained steady the entire trip to the hospital was the only thing linking her to her sanity at the moment.
“Even if I knew, I’m afraid I couldn't tell you anything, honey,” the nurse explained kindly. “Patient confidentiality and all that.”
Stacy then gently rang her fingers through Emma’s hair, examining her scalp. She frowned when they brushed over the bump in question. “I think I’m going to have the doctor take a look at this as well as your ankle, okay Emma?” she said. “I’ll get Dr. Reeves and be right back.”
True to her word, the nurse was back with Dr. Reeves a few minutes later. The doctor, a short, plump man with more gray in his hair than any other color, inspected her head before shining a small flashlight into her eyes in order to examine her pupils. “How’d you hurt your head?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“It had an unexpected meeting with the wall.”
Dr. Reeves raised an eyebrow at the vague answer and jotted something down on a piece of paper before nodding and diagnosing her with a mild concussion. He concluded that because she didn’t seem confused or disoriented there was nothing much to do besides prescribe some pain killers.
Then he looked at her ankle. She grimaced and tensed in discomfort as he pressed his fingers into various parts of her limb before attempting to rotate it. “It’s sprained,” he announced before giving Stacy instructions to fit Emma for a brace.
Soon after, he left the room.
Stacy set to work securing a brace for Emma’s ankle. “We’ll see how comfortable you are without crutches before deciding if you need those as well,” she informed her. “First, though, I know you have a few visitors who are anxious to see you.”
A couple minutes later, Stacy was gone and her frantic father was barging into the room.
It made sense, of course. She was a minor, after all, and her father was listed as her emergency contact with the hospital.
“Emma!” he exclaimed, standing in the doorway in apparent indecision for a moment before taking two giant steps forward, falling to his knees, and wrapping his arms around her in a fierce hug. “God, Emma,” he mumbled, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of her head before allowing his nose to dive into her hair, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Emma cringed, patting her father, the man she’d looked up to ever since she could remember, on the back. A strong, but aging back that didn’t need to carry any more burdens than it already did. “Dad, no. None of this is your fault.”
She wasn’t even sure what he thought he knew.
Miles shook his head, pulling far enough away from Emma so that he could look her in the eyes, but keeping both of his hands on her shoulders, like he couldn't bear the thought of letting her go. “No, Emma. I talked to Luca and Collette in the waiting room. They told me what happened.” He paused, a snarl transforming his usually gentle features into something else entirely. “That that boy,” he spat the word, “locked you in some room at the school and left you there overnight. That he did this to you.” He stroked the length of her bruis
ed cheek with the back of his fingers. “I didn’t even know you were in trouble. You were missing for over twenty four hours and I didn’t even know.” Miles’ expression crumbled, tears springing into his eyes as he ducked his head in shame. “He could have done anything to you in that time, Emma,” he mumbled before forcing himself to look back up at her. “Did he do anything else?”
“No!”
She was not about to tell her father how he’d attempted to grope her or that it wasn’t even the first time he’d tried.
Instead, Emma took a deep breath. “No, Dad, I swear,” she reiterated more calmly. “And it wasn’t your fault,” she repeated. “There’s no way you could have known. I mean, Gunther took my phone, for God’s sake. Even if you’d thought something was wrong, he could have easily texted you saying I was fine.”
Miles nodded slowly in understanding, and Emma was relieved to see at least a smidgeon of guilt leave his eyes. However, it was quickly replaced with anger. He stood up off his knees, his movements jerky as he balled his hands into fists at his sides. “I would put that boy in the hospital myself if he wasn’t already in it.”
Emma tensed. “What?” The last she’d seen Gunther, he’d had a bloody nose, but nothing that required a hospital visit.
Her father froze, obviously realizing that he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to say, but instead of even bothering to try to backtrack, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he once again looked at his daughter with serious eyes. “When police arrived at the school, I guess Gunther decided to try to flee the scene. He ended up wrapping his fancy sports car around a tree a mile or so down the road. He’s alive as far as I know, but not in great shape.”
Emma blinked, her overwrought mind trying to take in the new information. She didn't know what to think.
Or say.
“Oh.”
Her father apparently took her speechlessness as a sign of sympathy. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for him, Emma. I know I sure don’t.”
“I…” Emma paused, frowning. “I don’t.”
It was the truth.
And she wasn’t about to feel bad about it either. Gunther had made her life miserable for the past year and while it wasn’t in her nature to wish ill on anyone, well, the accident couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.
Anyway, she had much more important, worthwhile people to think about.
Emma swallowed around a lump of emotion that was suddenly present in her throat. “How’s Heath, Dad?”
Miles shook his head. “That kid. Thank God someone knew that something was wrong. I tell you-”
“Dad!” Emma interrupted loudly. “How is he?”
Her father sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. “You need to worry about yourself, honey,” he said delicately.
What was that supposed to mean?
She tightly clenched her hands together, hoping to somehow hide the way they trembled. “Dad.”
Miles sighed, taking a seat beside Emma and wrapping an arm around her. “I spoke to Mrs. Potter and it appears that the knife-”
“Screwdriver,” Emma interrupted softly.
Miles tensed. “It appears that the… screwdriver nicked Heath’s spleen but missed all the other organs on the left side of his body. From what I understand, the doctors’ greatest concern at the moment is performing surgery to remove the spleen. There is also worry about blood loss, so immediately after he is to undergo a handful of blood transfusions.”
The words her father used – “surgery”, “blood loss”, “transfusions” – were all so alarming that Emma found she couldn't hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill over since she’d escaped that dark prop room mere hours before. She turned her head into her father’s shoulder and cried like she hadn’t since she was five and skinned her knees learning how to ride a bike. They were loud, ugly sobs and she buried her face into her father’s shirt as he held her tightly to him.
“Oh, baby girl. He’s okay, you’re okay. You’ll see, everything will be fine.”
How could he possible know?
Yet Emma couldn't find it in herself to fault her father for making the empty promises. After all, the words he’d chosen were a close variation of what she’d sworn to Heath only an hour ago.
* * *
Time passed in a blur after that.
A police officer was led into Emma’s room at some point. The policeman, who’d had such a baby face that she found it hard to believe he’d been a graduate of the academy for more than a week, questioned her about the events of the night as well as what had led up to what he called the “confrontation” between Heath and Gunther. She’d bristled at the chosen word, but answered everything he asked honestly. Her brain was too bogged down to even consider anything else.
Soon after he’d left, Nurse Stacy and Dr. Reeves made a reappearance. After observing her walk – limp, really – around with the ankle brace, they decided that she didn’t need crutches if she didn’t want them. Upon learning from her father (he’d remained with her the entire time) that she’d gone without food or water for over twenty-four hours, however, they decided to combat any dehydration she may have suffered by setting her up on an IV.
Thankfully, the medical duo basically left her alone after that, and once her father had deemed her comfortable enough, her friends were let into the room. They were still dressed to the nines for the prom, and Emma imagined they’d made quite a sight in the waiting room.
While the IV hooked up to her arm made hugs nearly impossible, Collette and Luca did their best to wrap their arms around her anyway in what was probably the most physically awkward three-way embrace ever.
“Nice eye,” Emma managed to tease half-heartedly, staring at the blue ring of bruises that surrounded the entirety of Luca’s left eye. Thank you is what she really meant. After all, she knew he must have acquired the black eye when he’d wrestled Gunther away from her in the field by the school parking lot.
“Nice lip,” he teased back good-naturedly. Any time.
Collette huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “How do I put up with you guys? Honestly, you two look like you’ve been run over by a damn freight train. Especially you, Emma. And now you’re joking around about it? For the love of God, next time just leave the heroics up to the authorities, okay?” I love you guys.
Luca smirked and planted a wet one on the agitated redhead’s cheek. “Ah, we love you, too, Collette,” he assured her happily, the first of them to actually say out loud what he was really thinking.
“Whatever,” Collette muttered before unexpectedly lunging forward and hauling both Emma and Luca in for another hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she muttered quietly before finally letting them go.
Unfortunately, Emma’s friends weren’t allowed to stay for more than an hour. The room she’d been given was small, and when Dr. Reeves returned to take out the IV, he kicked everyone but Emma and her father out. Collette and Luca made her promise to call them first thing in the morning before reluctantly taking their leave.
After the IV was successfully removed and Dr. Reeves gave her father strict instructions to return if Emma was feeling faint or disoriented, she was officially discharged.
That didn’t mean, however, that she left the hospital. How could she when Heath was still there? She merely relocated to the waiting room, plopping down in one of the many uncomfortable chairs that lined the walls there.
Miles, of course, refused to leave his daughter and planted himself in the seat beside her. Her father had already sternly informed Emma that he was taking the entire next week off of work. As guilty as she felt over him wasting his sick days on her, Emma couldn't help but be secretly pleased. Her dad’s constant presence was a sort of soothing balm over the heartache that Heath’s unknown condition caused.
She was up at the receptionist’s desk an hour or so later, trying to weasel any bit of information about Heath out of the middle-aged woman that she could w
hen she spotted Mr. and Mrs. Potter down the hall in her peripheral vision.
“Emma!”
And Charlie was there too.
The little boy took off at break-neck speed towards her. Paying the stern faced receptionist no mind, Emma hurried down the hallway to meet him.
Charlie launched himself at her, throwing his arms around her middle and squeezing tightly. His tiny shoulders shook as he hid his face in her t-shirt (the hospital had loaned her one, considering all she otherwise had was a camisole), and Emma did her best not to cry as she attempted to calm him by rubbing small circles on his back.
Mr. and Mrs. Potter were there seconds later. Mr. Potter’s face was drawn and Emma imagined Mrs. Potter’s eyes matched her own rather spectacularly as red and puffy as they were. “Oh Emma,” the usually robust woman sighed before pulling her in for a hug.
Nothing else needed to be said.
Mr. Potter laid a consoling hand on her shoulder and Charlie refused to unravel his arms from around her waist. Emma found that she didn’t particularly mind all the touching, however. She figured that the people who cared for Heath more than anyone else in the world deserved to take a moment to comfort each other.
When they did finally pull apart, Mr. and Mrs. Potter quietly explained to Emma that Heath’s surgery had gone well and that he had been downgraded from critical to stable condition. He’d been wheeled out of surgery about a half an hour ago and set up in a private recovery room. Doctors had said that the anesthesia they’d used to put Heath under would soon wear off and that he might come to at any time.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Potter had to leave to put an overtaxed Charlie to bed and Mr. Potter had to go make sure that the diner had been closed properly as he’d all but abandoned his post at the grill when he’d gotten the call from his wife that Heath had been injured and was in the hospital.