It's Empty And Cold Without You Here.
Chapter Fifteen.
Emily sat in the waiting room. Her cheeks had tear stains on them. The brown locks were tied up in a messy bun. Her hands were in the pockets of the gray hoodie she was wearing. She looked exhausted, tired, and clearly sad.
People pitied her. All around her, the people that were walking around on the white floor, sitting three chairs away from her, or on the other side of the room. It was obvious she was waiting for news about someone she loved, but had received none. An old woman, in her seventies, came up to her. She asked her if there was anything wrong and, if there was, if she could do anything to help. Emily, however, shook her head and said,
"The only one to help me now, is the man lying in bed in room 342,"
The old woman seemed to understand, and nodded.
"At least I'll sit with you, dear, until you get news about him. Just to keep you company," she said, and sat down to the right of her. Emily whispered a small thank you, and smiled weakly.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, before the old woman told Emily her name, Joanna Hart.
She told her why she was there. Her granddaughter had a nasty cough, and the doctors wanted to keep her there for a while, just to make sure. When Emily asked her whether she was worried, or not, she replied,
"Not at all. I keep telling them that a cup of tea with honey, and a couple of days in bed will cure it. But no, not at all. They have the need of drugging her up. To be honest, I'm more worried about what the pills they are making her eat are,"
After that, Joanna started talking about her granddaughter. She was seven years old, blond hair, green eyes and, "the cutest little laugh you'd ever hear,".
Joanna told her about her life, her late husband, her job as a dancer in the sixties. She told her about her children, her parents, and everything she could think of to keep Emily smiling. Even though the smiles were weak, it was still something. Joanna didn't mind that Emily wasn't speaking very much. She could tell that the man in room 342 was the man she loved. Her life had told her that it was never easy to be happy, when the one you loved was lying in a bed, fighting for his life.
"Miss. DiBenedetto?" came from a doctor, after two hours of talking with Joanna. Emily looked up and nodded her head weakly.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid that the wounds in his stomach were too severe. There's no chance of recovery,"
And Joanna grabbed Emily's hand, to make sure she knew she was there for her, as the words were spoken. But Emily did not flinch. She just stared at the doctor's face, studying his features and the gray hairs on his chin.
"...is he?" the words were forced, and she choked them out. To her surprise, the doctor shook his head.
"He is still alive, and awake. But I'm afraid that he won't be by the end of the hour. I'm guessing you would like to see him?"
Emily nodded, whispered a small "thank you," to Joanna and the doctor, and moved towards room 342. Towards Felix.
People pitied her. All around her, the people that were walking around on the white floor, sitting three chairs away from her, or on the other side of the room. It was obvious she was waiting for news about someone she loved, but had received none. An old woman, in her seventies, came up to her. She asked her if there was anything wrong and, if there was, if she could do anything to help. Emily, however, shook her head and said,
"The only one to help me now, is the man lying in bed in room 342,"
The old woman seemed to understand, and nodded.
"At least I'll sit with you, dear, until you get news about him. Just to keep you company," she said, and sat down to the right of her. Emily whispered a small thank you, and smiled weakly.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, before the old woman told Emily her name, Joanna Hart.
She told her why she was there. Her granddaughter had a nasty cough, and the doctors wanted to keep her there for a while, just to make sure. When Emily asked her whether she was worried, or not, she replied,
"Not at all. I keep telling them that a cup of tea with honey, and a couple of days in bed will cure it. But no, not at all. They have the need of drugging her up. To be honest, I'm more worried about what the pills they are making her eat are,"
After that, Joanna started talking about her granddaughter. She was seven years old, blond hair, green eyes and, "the cutest little laugh you'd ever hear,".
Joanna told her about her life, her late husband, her job as a dancer in the sixties. She told her about her children, her parents, and everything she could think of to keep Emily smiling. Even though the smiles were weak, it was still something. Joanna didn't mind that Emily wasn't speaking very much. She could tell that the man in room 342 was the man she loved. Her life had told her that it was never easy to be happy, when the one you loved was lying in a bed, fighting for his life.
"Miss. DiBenedetto?" came from a doctor, after two hours of talking with Joanna. Emily looked up and nodded her head weakly.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid that the wounds in his stomach were too severe. There's no chance of recovery,"
And Joanna grabbed Emily's hand, to make sure she knew she was there for her, as the words were spoken. But Emily did not flinch. She just stared at the doctor's face, studying his features and the gray hairs on his chin.
"...is he?" the words were forced, and she choked them out. To her surprise, the doctor shook his head.
"He is still alive, and awake. But I'm afraid that he won't be by the end of the hour. I'm guessing you would like to see him?"
Emily nodded, whispered a small "thank you," to Joanna and the doctor, and moved towards room 342. Towards Felix.