The hospital's fluorescent lights hummed above, casting a sickly green glow that emphasized the worry etched on Emily's face.
She glanced at her watch, the cheap plastic seeming to mock her with its cheerful glow-in-the-dark hands. The digits blurred together as she realized she'd been pacing for over twenty minutes, her worn sneakers whispering against the sterile linoleum floor.
There wasn't anything she could do to help Max at the moment, and her frantic movements felt like a futile attempt to control a situation spiraling out of control. Surely pacing around the hospital halls wasn't putting anyone's mind at ease.
She ran a hand through her hair, the once vibrant strands now dull and lifeless, mirroring her mood. Every strand seemed to hold the weight of the previous night, a tangled mess that rivaled the knot of worry tightening in her stomach.
Her normally bright green eyes, usually sparkling with life, were now bloodshot and rimmed with fatigue. The mascara she'd applied the night before had migrated south, smudging into dark streaks beneath her eyes, like the war paint of a warrior facing an uncertain battle.
With a defeated sigh, she decided to head back home, hoping Max would be okay.
She had to walk back home because she didn't bring any extra cash along -she never even planned to come along in the first place.
Moreover, the ride to the hospital took a total of about ten minutes. How far could her apartment be? Surely she should be able to walk the distance in a couple of minutes.
She stepped out of the sterile confines of the hospital and into the cool morning air, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she'd just left. Each step felt heavy, her body mirroring the weight of her emotions.
She started walking, her feet carrying her through the quiet streets like a zombie.
As she strolled through the streets, Emily's mind was in disarray. Images of the previous night, the frantic rush to the hospital, and the nurse's grim expressions, all flickered behind her eyelids like a disturbing slideshow.
She desperately tried to push the thoughts away, to convince herself she wasn't to blame. 'There was nothing I could have done,' she repeated like a mantra, a desperate plea to a universe that seemed determined to throw her life into chaos.
Grudgingly, no matter how dissatisfying the thought was, …. 'Max living or dying depended on the competency of his doctors.'
Pushing her thoughts aside, she tried focusing on the cool morning air that caressed her skin like a gentle lover. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the deserted streets, a rhythmic beat that matched the pulse in her veins.
It wasn't long after that she reached her apartment building. Emily fumbled with her keys, the cold metal brushing against her fingers. She inserted the key into the lock and turned it, the mechanism clicking open with a soft creak. She finally pushed the door open, expecting the familiar comfort of her tiny haven.
But to her surprise, the door was already open, a gap of darkness yawning like an open mouth.
A shiver ran down her spine as she pushed the door open slowly, her heart racing like a wild animal. Who could be inside? She hadn't left the door open when she and Max left for the hospital – she was sure of it.
A thousand scenarios flashed through her mind, each one more terrifying than the last.
Stepping cautiously inside, Emily called out, "Hello?" Her voice echoed through the silent apartment, bouncing off the walls like a lost soul searching for an answer. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the living room, and Emily's tension dissipated like a popped balloon.
It was Christine, her closest friend. She looked a bit different than she did last night. In the dim light of the apartment, her normally vibrant pink hair, usually styled in a wild array of spikes and curls, seemed subdued. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun that revealed the intricate tattoos that snaked across her scalp like constellations. Her face, usually alight with mischief and a hint of rebellion, was etched with concern.
"Hey, girl! I was worried sick about you," Christine exclaimed, rushing forward and pulling Emily into a fierce hug. The familiar scent of vanilla and leather that clung to Christine offered a strange sense of comfort amidst the chaos. "You left the club without a word yesterday, and I haven't heard from you since. I just wanted to check up on you."
Emily's mind raced as she tried to process Christine's unexpected visit. She hugged Christine back, the physical contact grounding her after the whirlwind of emotions. "Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I just...had a long night," she said vaguely, not wanting to reveal too much. The words hung in the air like a challenge, daring Christine to probe deeper.
Christine's eyes narrowed. They were a startling blue, an unexpected contrast to her vibrant pink hair, and they seemed to bore into Emily with laser focus.
"Girl, you look wrecked," Christine said, her voice laced with a concern and curiosity that transcended simple friendship. "Come on, spill. What happened last night? You know you can't keep things bottled up from me."
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken understanding. Christine wasn't just any friend; she was Emily's confidante, the keeper of her secrets. But Emily hesitated, unsure if she was ready to reveal the truth about the night, the fear, the confusion, and the simmering anger that threatened to boil over.