Since You've Been Gone

chapter 41- hospital

yellow - coldplay

One year when Connor and I were about 11, I fell out of the treehouse in his backyard and ended up breaking my arm in three places.

Connor had been a trooper. He never left my side and rode with me to the hospital, gripping my hand the entire time. And that entire summer, he waited on me hand and foot because he felt bad that I had broken my arm in his treehouse.

Connor and I hung out every day, and it ended up being one of my favorite summers, for that very reason.

On that day though, I had cried and cried until I was a snotting mess on my mom's lap. My arm was broken in three places, for fuck's sake.

But I remember feeling like I couldn't breathe. And truthfully, I couldn't because I was crying so damn hard.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me at that time. Looking back now, I wish the most complicated thing in my life was a broken arm and ruined summer vacations.

But broken bones aside, nothing could have prepared me for the moment Layla told me that Connor was in the hospital.

My whole world felt like it had just... stopped. Like Earth had stopped turning and everyone and everything turned into a standstill.

Connor was in the hospital. There was an accident. It was bad. Really bad.

Those were the only words repeating in my head as my mom and dad drove me to the hospital. God, if this trip was under different circumstances, I would be freaking out that my parents were about to be face to face with Mr. Harding for the first time since their argument, all those years ago.

"Hope, baby, you have to breathe." My mom turned around in her seat and placed her hand on my knee. "He's going to be okay. It's going to be okay."

I couldn't breathe though.

Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured Connor all bloodied and cut open, laying on a gurney.

What if he wasn't going to be okay? How bad was it, actually?

"Oh God..." a strangled noise came out of my mouth as I threw my head back.

My heart was racing, and each time I took a breath in, I felt like I was getting stabbed.

It hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

"Hope, you have to pull it together." My mom's voice sounded so far away, even though she was sitting so close to me. "You have to be strong for him. Connor wouldn't want you to cry."

Hearing his name only made me cry harder.

Connor fucking Harding.

He would be having a conniption if he saw how hard I was crying right now. I could imagine him pulling me into his chest and rubbing his hands up and down my back, trying to calm me down. Or the way his steady heartbeat always made me relax.

By the time my dad parked his truck at the hospital, I was almost positive that they were going to take one look at me and admit me to the psych ward.

I was a blubbering, pregnant teenager who undoubtedly had snot running out of her nose and tear tracks cascading down her cheeks.

What a fucking sight.

The harshness of the fluorescent lights and the smell of antibacterial soap did snap me out of some of the emotional haze I was in.

It reminded me why I was here and the seriousness of whatever was happening.