“There – she –” His words cut off on a sob.
No.
There’s a rustling on the other end of the line before Willow’s voice is there, “There was an accident,” Her voice is soft but raspy, “We’re at the hospital. She’s…”
“She’s what?” I growl, “She’s what, Willow?”
Silence.
“If she’s dead, Willow, tell me!” I demand, “Tell me, please!” The plea is edged in desperation.
“She isn’t dead.” Willow answers softly. “But it isn’t good. You should come here. Now.”
“I’m on my way.”
I don’t bother changing, there is no time. Thankfully, it’s still early and the streets are somewhat quiet, though drenched from the night of rain.
The rain in which Savannah drove in. The rain that made it hard to drive while she was in the state she was in. I didn’t let her drive in it once, but I did last night. I let her go.
I leave my Audi somewhat abandoned in the lot outside the hospital and then I’m running. Through sterile, white corridors, passing tired and flustered nurses, patients wandering the halls until I skid to a stop in an empty waiting room. Everyone is here. There’s Malakai pacing by the window, his hair in disarray from his hands and Olivia watching him, her hand cradling her small, growing baby bump, there’s Dean staring aimlessly at a closed door and Savannah’s best friendin the corner, chewing on the end of her thumb nail. Then there’s Willow, her hand on the back of Bast’s neck while he sits with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
There’s one thing that links them all.
Grief.
My heart stops beating. Am I too late? Has she gone in the time it took me to get here? Is this it?
The embers of us are dying, fizzling out and I’m the one who threw the water on them.
“Bast,” My voice cracks but it’s as loud as gunfire. Every head whips to me but I only watch Bast. His eyes are rimmed red and fresh tears track down his face.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
No.
No, she isn’t gone.She can’t be gone.
“Is she…” I can’t bring myself to say the words.
Not Savannah. Not my Tiny Dancer. Not the light that shone through the darkness and lit up life.
I could have lived knowing she was happy. Alive. Thriving. I could live with seeing her get everything she wanted.
I can’t live in a world where she doesn’t exist.
Bast shakes his head. “She’s in surgery. It’s bad, Kill,they don’t know if she’ll make it.”
“What happened!?” I demand.
“T-boned at a junction.”
“When!?”
“Around two or three this morning,” Someone answers but I’m not keeping up with who is speaking.
After she left my place.
“They’ve had to resuscitate her once already,” The utter grief in Bast’s tone tells me he has lost hope.
