The Hospital Incident

Amelia’s POV

The city’s heartbeat pulsed around me, the smell of cooking street food, the murmur of passing people, and Sophie and I joining paths as we passed through crowded sidewalks. She walked ahead, and her excitement was contagious, dragging me along. “Amelia, check this out!” she said, pulling my hand to a boutique window where handbags glittered under the lights.

I smiled, her fascination with shiny things rubbing off on me. “You have, like, five of those already,” I teased, poking her shoulder.

“This one, not so much,” she shot back, her grin wide, eyes dancing. “Come on, help me pick!” We entered, the rich aroma of leather and perfume enveloping us. Diving for the shelves, Sophie held up bag after bag, her chattering humming with cheer. “This one, or—?” Her voice snapped in a sharp, sudden, cut off.

I turned for her, my heart skipping with alarm. Sophie stood there rooted to the spot, her cheeks white, one hand pressed against her stomach. “Sophie?” I took a step closer, my voice tight, and fear curling in my chest.

She stumbled, her other arm fumbling over some nearby bag. “Don’t feel good,” she groaned, her speech slurred and barely comprehensible. I panicked as her knees gave way, my heart pounding. I dove and caught her before she hit the floor, her body shaking, sweat dripping off her pale face. “It hurts,” she whispered, her voice thin, and strained.

“We’re going to the hospital. Right now.” My voice was steady, but terror was tearing me apart. She nodded slightly, her breathing still short. I half dragged her outside, my free hand whirling for a taxi. “Hurry!” As we piled in, Sophie leaning heavily on me, her muffled whimpers cutting through the strained silence, I pleaded. It was torture, the minutes stretching out endlessly as I stroked her hair and whispered, “You’re gonna be fine.” I was trying to explain to myself as much as her, my own heart beating like crazy.

We got to the hospital, I hauled her to the ER, and nurses descended on us immediately. “She’s in pain — her gut, it came on all of a sudden,” I stuttered, words flying out in a chaotic jumble. A nurse nodded, steering in a cool professionalism that was in contrast to the chaos in my head. “We’ll take her from here,” she said, and they wheeled away Sophie on a stretcher, whose fragile form disappeared behind swinging doors. I froze there, rooted to the floor, shaking hands, stilted breaths in and out, in and out. Sophie, my bestie for like five years, was gone from my line of vision, and I was impotent, feeling the sheer weight of that fact bearing down on me.

Minutes dragged on like hours, my mind racing through worst case scenarios — appendicitis, something worse, something I couldn’t even name. I reached for my phone, my fingers shaking, and I called Sophie’s mom. The phone connected and her voice was on the other side, chipper at first. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Lawrence, It’s Amelia,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s Sophie. We’re at the hospital. She … she was sick and —”

“What happened?” She got tense, fear searing through her words.

“She collapsed,” I said, my voice breaking. “The doctors have her now.” The silence extended, oppressive and suffocating, before she muttered, “We’re coming.” There was silence at the other end, and I watched the screen blur as dread filled my stomach.

I got to my feet when Sophie’s parents entered, my legs feeling unsteady. Mrs. Lawrence’s face was red, her eyes flashing, and she looked directly at me. “What did you do to her?” she shouted, and her voice was intense and sharp enough to cut.

I opened my mouth to speak but had no voice shock had stolen it. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t dragged her shopping!” she yelled, moving even more towards me, her outrage a palpable emotion. My eyes burned, guilt cutting through my gut. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, my head falling. “I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know?” she snapped, incredulous. “You’re her best friend! How could you let her get this sick?” I sputtered out apologies, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Stop apologizing!” she spat, her voice venomous. “Your fault, and—". A warm hand pressed firmly into my shoulder cut her off, the warmth of it a surprise to me. I faced him, my breath caught when I found those dark eyes that belonged to Collins, a white coat that made him seem both savior and specter.

“Why blame her?” he inquired, voice cutting sharply against the tension. Mrs. Lawrence hesitated, her resentment withering beneath his levelled gaze. “She brought your daughter?” he pushed, stepping closer, his voice silky but firm. “And how does it help to be blaming Amelia? Your daughter needs help, not the finger pointing!”

Mrs. Lawrence faltered, her confidence melting away. There was no room for argument in Collins’s voice, his was tone firm, and commanding. “Amelia got her here fast. She did something and that’s what counts, and now Sophie’s getting treatment too. If you want to be mad, you direct that at the situation — not the girl that helped your daughter.” There was a silence in the room, Mrs. Lawrence’s lips making a thin line and going as she turned away, relaxed.

“Collins’s face softened as he looked at me. “Amelia,” something about the way he said my name chilled me. “You okay?” I nodded, but my shaking hands gave me away, and he frowned, sceptical. “You don’t look it,” he said, his fingers curling softly around my wrist, checking my pulse with the precision of a surgeon. The touch was electric, magnetic, and I couldn’t draw myself away, my heart lunging beneath his stare.

‘I’m okay,’ I whispered, my voice thin, unconvincing if not to my ownself. He didn’t buy it, his eyes narrowing as he shrugged out of his white coat and draped it over my shoulders. The shirt was warm, still carrying the very remnants of the sweet, heady smell of his cologne, and I held on with all of my senses reeling. “You’re pale,” he said bluntly, the tenderness of his concern disarming.

Before I could argue, he led me out from Sophie’s parents, his hand a delicate touch on my back, leading me through the sterile halls of the hospital. “Where are we going?” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper and I felt the clutter in my chest mixed with confusion.

“You have to take care of yourself,” he said, gently but also firm. We walked to a bathroom and he opened the door and pushed me in. “Clean yourself up,” he commanded, his tone laced with the tiniest bit of tenderness in spite of the order. Then, his next line stunged. “And don’t you know to be careful when you’re on your period?”

My jaw fell open, my face running hot as I stared at him, eyes wide. “Hahhh!” The cry escaped me before I could stop it, scrappy and humiliated, my cheeks blazing under the glare of his eyes, the sharpness of his bluntness leaving me reeling.