The Protective Wolf

I woke the next day to utter silence. Which ultimately should have been a dead giveaway that my best friend had not returned back from yesterday’s plans, but it didn’t. Maybe because I knew that little piece of information about Markus and Lukas, or maybe just because I knew how they acted—that he would probably encourage her to stay over. For “her safety.” Maybe because some part of me thought she was in fact safe. So I didn’t question it. I gathered my bathroom things and went about my day.

It wasn’t until one in the afternoon while I was eating my lunch that Shelby came barreling over, out of breath and frantic. A hand on her chest and her cell phone in her hand, she stopped in front of my table. First she collected her breath a little, then she said, “Molly was in an accident last night.”

My eyes flashed up to hers. She was being serious. “What?” The sound of my fork rattling against the surface of my plate felt like it was the only thing I could hear. All the loud commotion that was going on around me just stopped being important, stopped being nearly as noticeable and loud as before.

“She was going for a run with Markus. They were crossing the street and he didn’t think she would cross since a car was coming, but I guess she didn’t know that and then she got hit.” Shelby pursued her lips, eyes bursting with emotions as she watched for my reaction.

“He didn’t try to stop her?”

“It was too late. He said it all happened so fast.”

Fast my ass. He has werewolf blood in his veins, he should have been able to notice she was going to cross the street. He should have been able to stop it. I don’t know how I felt in that exact moment, watching Shelby watch me. My stomach dipped with disgust, but I knew all I wanted was to see her. “Is she in the hospital?”

“The one down the road.”

“Perfect,” I replied, standing up and slipping my backpack on over my shoulders, “let’s go. Right now.” I snatched up my tray, because even in times of destress it was still rude to leave my garbage to just lie around for someone else to clean up, and left the table. Shelby followed without a word, eyeing those around her like she was self-conscious of what they’d think. “Do you know her room?”

“Second floor. It’s right by the elevator. I tried to call you when I first heard, actually when I got over there, but you didn’t answer.” She frowned. I’d left my phone in the room to charge, because I’m a huge idiot. “I asked them if they told you, but no one would answer me. It was awkward.”

We passed out into the courtyard, heading down the quiet street to the building that now looked less disgustingly sterile and more intimidating. I glanced at her, not really taking in what she was saying until a couple minutes later. “Wait, what do you mean they? Who’s there? Her parents?”

“No,” Shelby answered, her eyes still holding guarded sadness, “they were notified when she first got to the hospital. They’re probably on their way now though. I meant Lukas and Markus and them.”

“They’re dictating who gets to know about Molly and you doesn’t?”

“Kind of, it’s all strange. Markus was the first one who called me and said I should head over there, but not tell anyone. Lukas was sitting there when I got there, head in his hands looking all upset. The other two were apparently in the cafeteria getting food.”

“How was she then/“

“Unconscious.” My heart ached. My best friend got hit by a car and there I was sleeping, like the shittiest friend in the world. I didn’t even notice she wasn’t there, well, not enough to actually worry about it. I should have worried more about it. I sighed, biting my lip and admittedly also keeping the tears back. “I think she’ll be okay though. She has broken bones f course, but I think she’ll be okay, Reagan.”

She was looking at me with so much pity and sadness I wanted to tell her to stop, but the words never came out. I wondered if my eyes mirrored the same degree of sadness and worry that hers did, but that question also never came out. I just bit my lip and nodded, keeping my eyes on the pavement a head of us as we walked.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

The hospital doors quickly came before us, gliding open as it sensed our bodies approaching. I instantly wished I would of have worn a sweater or something because the temperature inside the sterile white lobby was enough to make me shiver. Then I felt like shit because my first thought was about being cold and wanting a sweater for myself.

“Did they look guilty?” I asked as we entered the elevator. Shelby looked over at me, confusion crossing her face until she finally made the connection. I didn’t have to make eye contact for her to understand.

“No, just worried.”

That answer wasn’t good enough. I wanted them to feel guilty, to feel so terrible about themselves they can barely look at her injured body resting there in that bed. I wanted them to stand at her bedside pleading for her to fight for her life, but for them to deep down know they were doing it so they would no longer feel so guilty. I wanted to not feel so angry at them when I should be worried for my friend.