This is taking way too long. I can�t believe the traffic is so bad in this city, but that might just be because I�m never in a car anymore. Feeling a little guilty about the fact that I am in a car, I�ve been fiddling with the ring on my finger ever since I got in the cab. I won�t tell The Author how I got there, he�d just worry. Thinking about him being worried makes me worried all over again, and I really don�t want to start crying in front of this random cabbie. Gods. I fake a big yawn � so it doesn�t look suspicious that my eyes are �watering�, you know the kind � and look out the window. I feel like such a girl, trying not to cry like this. But even so, I�m really worried about him. I know it�s horrible, but I sort of hope he was unconscious, because if he had to be in an ambulance or something� I can�t even imagine.
Chatres is so much bigger than Rond� Grunde. There aren�t many cars actually driving, but there are a bunch parked at the sides of the road, and they all fill up two lanes, even though they�re not supposed to be there. Aren�t there people who give tickets for that kind of thing? Author says it�s almost like the cities in Aide, with all the big buildings and narrow streets, although on a much more miniature scale. I wouldn�t know, I�ve never been there. The buildings are even bigger than home though, nearing 200 floors in the business district.
I wish I knew where the hospital was so I could just walk or something. It�d be faster than this, at least. I think about phoning Phoebe to ask� but Phoebe, she�s no fucking help at all. She called about 20 minutes ago, when I was sitting in the back of the classroom I tutor, marking some tests because the actual teacher was too damn lazy to do it on his own.
Ring. Oh, for the love of� Ring. Godsdamnit, Author� Ri-
�Look, I told you not to call me on Thurs-�
�Shut up, Sanford. This is important.�
�Phoebe? This better be good, I�m in class.�
�Why else would I call you? Get to the hospital. Now.�
�Wh-what? The hospital? What�s wrong?�
�Author. Just get here.�
�What happened to him?! Phoebe, what the hell-�
�He got shot. Now hurry up.�
Click.
�What?!�
I didn�t even ask if I could leave, now that I think about it. I just got up and ran out of the classroom. Who cares? I�m basically the teacher since the normal guy is never even there, but those kids can just have a break. Or something. I don�t really give a shit right now. The cab driver is saying something to me, and I tune in just in time to hear �23c, 10 fractions.� Damn, what a rip-off. I just give him whatever bills and change I have in my pocket - I know it�s enough because it�s all the money I have � and don�t wait around for change.
After about five minutes of wandering around the lobby, muttering anxiously to myself in a display that probably sends a few nurses running to get someone from the psych ward, I realize that I have no idea where The Author and Phoebe are. Shit. Phoebe is so useless. �Get here,� she says. Where the hell is here? I dig my cell out of my sweater pocket and am about to phone her when I notice that I have a text from about 5 minutes ago. I open it and it just says �G314�. Phoebe realized before I did. She�s probably just as worried as me, so I guess I can�t blame her for making a mistake. Well, I shouldn�t. I still will. A quick glance at a directory on the wall tells me that the G wing is just a normal area, not emergency or intensive care, or some kind of new horrible wing my imagination is making up.
I run down the hallways of the stark white hotel like I�m in school all over again, slowing to a walk every time I walk in front of a door so the doctors don�t send me to� the head doctor�s office. Or whatever. Do you get in trouble for running in hospitals? Why is the G wing in the exact opposite direction of where I was heading, anyway? Thinking about all this stupid stuff was keeping my mind off of things, but now that I�m actually in the right area the knot in my stomach gets bigger and bigger. He was shot. He was shot, how the fuck does he get himself into this shit? I know it�s no accident, because he�s come home all messed up before, but he never tells me why. It doesn�t matter what I ask him, or what I do, he just grins and shakes his head and won�t say anything. I always think I know him so well, but then shit like this happens and I just don�t know anymore. I�d be annoyed, but I can�t right now because I�m so worried I think I�m going to be sick.
By the time I reach the room, Phoebe is standing outside the room waiting for me. 14 isn�t with her, and I doubt she�s here at all. While that�s probably best, I�m disappointed, because I�m gonna need someone sane to talk to soon, and she�s the closest thing I have. Phoebe looks tired, more than usual, but she gives me the same familiar frown when I walk up to her.
�About time. What took you so long?� She can�t even be nice to me right now. I don�t know what I ever did to her.
�I dunno, a mix of traffic and hm, not knowing where you were?�
�I texted you the room.�
�Yeah, well, you should have told me in the first place.�
�You should have asked. And you call yourself his boyfriend.�
�Uh, no, I don�t. And you hung up on me!�
�Just get in there. I think he�s awake now.�
I glare at her, take a deep breath, and step into the room. Just like the rest of the hospital, the walls are almost a blinding white. I�ve always hated hospitals. I mean, I don�t know anyone who loves them, but they�re just so creepy and sterile and foreboding. It�s probably because there wasn�t one where I grew up, so whenever we actually went to a hospital, it meant something really serious happened. They�re all the same, too, with no warmth or familiarity, just clinical efficiency.
There�s only one bed in the room, and all these thoughts are out of my mind instantly because I see The Author, all covered in bruises and giving me that half-smile of his, and the next second I�m practically on top of him, not caring if there�s anyone else in here. I kiss him harder than I ever have before because I�m just so fucking glad he�s okay, and I only pull away when I hear a quiet whimper and taste blood. His lip was broken � is again now, I guess. My fault this time.
�Ow.� He winces and sticks out his tongue to wipe away the blood. A smile is back on his face in an instant, but I know that hurt. I turn red and hastily apologize. �S�fine. Hey, Bug.� I don�t know why he calls me that. He�s so weird. My mind is blank right now, and all I can think of to ask is the stupidest question ever.
��are you okay?�
�Mm, I�ve been better,� he chuckles, probably just to humour me. �This bed is comfortable though. I think we need one of these at home, Sanny, because it�s got a remote. The back bit goes up and down, so it�s just like a giant chair, and� what?� The whole time he was rambling on, I�ve just been looking at him incredulously, because he is a complete idiot. He�s not going to tell me what happened until I ask, is he?
�Author, what happened?�
�Some people� they were probably hired by Norsat. Don�t worry about it.�
�Don�t worry about it? You�re in the hospital.� I sit up a little � my face was practically pressed against his � and look him over. In addition to his newly bloodied lip, he has a black eye and other bruises all over what I can see of him. His left arm is bandaged up, and by the way it�s just hanging limply at his side, I�m guessing that�s where he was hurt. I also notice there isn�t anyone else in the room, which is good, because I think I might have died of embarrassment because I�m practically sitting on him, and neither of us really need that right now. Looking back at his face, he looks tired, but is still smiling at me in what I assume is an attempt to be reassuring. It�s not working.
�I�m fine. Really.�
�I�m not gonna argue with you right now. What the hell happened? Tell me. Please.� ��they were asking about you. And I didn�t want to answer.�
�What? Why not? I don�t care if they know stuff about me, I live there.� I don�t understand what the hell is wrong with him sometimes. Why is he so stubborn about the stupidest things? I frown at him, a little annoyed, but still more worried than anything, especially since he�s not looking me in the eye anymore. He stares off at a spot on the wall, thinking hard about something.
�No, look, it�s bad. They think you know about� something you don�t. It has nothing to do with you, but they don�t believe that.� He looks upset, almost embarrassed. I have absolutely no idea what he�s talking about, that much is true. But I also don�t know what it has to do with him being shot in the godsdamned arm.
�What? What are you talking about? Something I don�t know� what is it? Why is that even bad?� He�s not making any sense, and neither am I, really. But what could I possibly know that would get him into trouble? I wrack my brain for something, anything, but he cuts off my thoughts.
�Drop it.�
�Author, I�m not going to dr-�
�Sanford, just shut up.�
I stop talking, not because he told me to, but because of the look on his face. He actually looks angry, which honestly, is an expression I have never seen on him before. Eyes narrowed, mouth a straight line, he looks like a dog about to start snarling. I pull back from him, not exactly frightened, but I don�t want to be too close to that either. I still want to know what he�s talking about, but it�s obviously not a good idea to keep asking right now. Whatever it is, I suddenly take in that this is basically my fault. It all happened because he didn�t want anything to happen to me, as if I�m something worth protecting, and the pang of guilt hits me so hard my eyes start welling up with tears. Of course, he notices this instantly, and he looks mortified, thinking that it�s because he told me to shut up. He�s so dumb sometimes. He reaches up and ruffles my hair, albeit weakly.
�Kiddo, come on. Don�t cry. I�m sorry, I didn�t -�
�I-I�m not crying. I just can�t believe you�re so stupid.�
�I love you too, Sanny,� he replies softly, pulling me closer to him with the hand he was using to play with my hair. I don�t even bother to get embarrassed that he�s seen the not-so-hidden meaning of my insult, because the way he says it is just so sweet and sincere that it breaks my heart. Sniffling, I lean down to hug him, more gently this time, and bury my face in the space between his neck and my arm. Even if I always say he�s such a pain in my ass, if I ever lost The Author I don�t know what I�d do. I hate that I�m always so awkward and that I can�t bring myself to tell him that, even though I have no good reason why. I just sit there for a minute holding onto him before I decide that I�m just being a tool and I need to say something. It�s not like anyone else is ever going to hear, so I move up on the bed until my lips are right beside his strange pointed ear and whisper to him.
�I love you, _________."