They rush forward and get Franklin onto the gurney.
Franklin doesn’t move or make a sound.
“It’s an allergic reaction,” I tell them. “Cinnamon. He was vaping, and?—”
One of the EMTs jabs something into Franklin. “Thanks. We got it.”
They wheel Franklin inside, and I stare as the hospital doors shut behind them.
“I’m going to park the car,” Asch says. “You can go inside in case they need more information.”
I realize I know next to nothing about Franklin, but I nod anyway and jog into the building. “My friend—” I begin to say to the woman behind the desk.
“We need his name and point of contact,” she interrupts me.
“It’s Franklin Delgado,” I tell her. “But I don’t know anything but his phone number, and I don’t think he had his phone on him when we brought him in.”
The woman — the badge clipped to her shirt saysAnnie— types something into the system. “Is he a student?”
I nod. “Yeah. Dyschord U,” I reply. “He’s in the Kappa Alpha fraternity. The, um, frat leader might have more contact info. I’ll call him.”
I realize I don’t have Zayden’s contact information, but Asch arrives, looking breathless.
“What’s going on? Where is he?” Asch asks.
“He’s in the back,” I tell him. “They need contact info. For his parents, I guess?”
Asch nods, and he quickly taps on his phone. “Blaze? We need?—”
I start to tune the words out, staring at the door they’d wheeled Franklin through. He’s okay. He has to be okay.
Why hadn’t I spoken up louder? Why hadn’t I protected him more? I should’ve taken his protests seriously. Hell, I should have stayed by his side and not gotten distracted by Blaze’s stupid fight.
“Have a seat,” the receptionist says to me, pointing to the waiting area. Then she peers at both of us and says, “Doyouneed emergency services?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about until Asch taps his jaw. I reach up to my face and remember the pummeling I’d received only an hour ago. I look down at my hands, to my bruised knuckles.
The missing finger.
“We’re okay,” Asch says. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
He takes my arm and leads me to the chairs. I sit down, numb, my attention still on the door.
My phone dings a few times, but I ignore it. People go in and out of the door, none of them Franklin. The girl with the bloodied arm and the guy in the Dyschord sweater who’s all pale and sweating get up when their names are called and follow a nurse through the door.
I take a deep breath, trying to fortify myself against the memories that threaten to overtake me.
Fuck.
It’s been a while since I’ve been to the hospital, but I’d been a frequent visitor growing up — right until the point where the nurse had sent my parents out of the room and asked frankly about where I’d gotten my latest injury.
I’d stayed home after that, my mom taking care of me as well as she could… except for the finger.
That had necessitated a hospital visit, and I take a shaky breath as the bland surroundings and distinct smell shake up thoughts I don’t want to have.
They make me hate Pandora all over again.
My left hand aches, and I look down at it. Phantom pains; it’s long gone and healed.
