Why her? Why now? _'s just a girl. More importantly, she's my daughter. She was supposed to be the best artist in the country, impress the world with her drawings and paintings. Now, how could she draw or paint anything? Doctors told me she can't see, and I'm hoping it's just a figure of speech and she'll just need glasses from now on.
Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert all three sat in the stiff chairs, their heads low and mouths silent in guilt. Ludwig and Arthur came to bring Gilbert and Francis home, but they stayed there in the large room of sick or depressed people when they found out why I was there. I paced back and forth in the white hall that wreaked of the stench of band aids, the events of earlier that day racing through my mind.
She wanted to spend the night at Tomato bastard's house with French bastard and Potato bastard's brother. She insisted on spending more time with Antonio, and when I found out his plans to have Francis and Gilbert over too, I wanted to say no, but _'s face made that impossible. Besides, she's a teenager now, and would've left whether I said "si" or "no".
From what I understand, that night, Gilbert was drinking beer until he was loopy, Francis was drinking whine, and Antonio had several drinks of tequila, so _ had to drive them back to Antonio's house. Because of her lack of driving experience, she got in a wreck. The BTT, all three being on the back seat, only got minor cuts, bruises, and burns while _ had pieces of the windshield in her face. The airbag didn't help much either, and only knocked her unconscious as the small fire started.
By the time police and ambulance got there, the other driver was arrested for a DUI, and _, along with the BTT had to be rushed to the hospital. They all were in the car that was burning, while the other driver had the chance to escape his car before it could catch fire.
It wasn't until morning when I got the call.
"Ciao. What do you want?" I answered the phone in the same grumpy way that I always do when I'm woken up.
"Is this the Vargas house?" the man on the other line asked.
"Si." I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly. "Why?"
"Are you the guardian of Ms. _ Vargas?"
At the sound of my daughter's name, I stiffened, removing any trace that I just woke up. "...Si." I answered. "Did something happen?"
The man took in a sigh and stated in the straightest, most bland tone I'd ever heard, "_ was in an accident last night. She is currently at the hospital."
I froze in shock. After standing there, trembling for a few moments, I put the phone back to my ear and tried to hide my shaky voice. "Why wasn't I informed last night when the accident happened?"
"We just identified her. Her face was beaten so much, we couldn't identify her until we removed the melted glass." That sentence alone turned my stomach into knots. "We also have the three men she was driving with, if that means anything to you." I simply hung up and rushed to my car keys.
I passed by the sight of the accident on my way to the hospital. Beyond the yellow tape, there was glass everywhere, and the airbags were deflated and hanging out the broken windows. The car didn't even look like a car at all, but more like a closed, charred accordion, light smoke still rising from the windows. The airbag on the driver's side of the car my daughter was in had a face print in burned blood that made me only see red. The other car wasn't as badly damaged, just a dent in the side doors and broken windows. That's what really pissed me off.
My little girl suffered the most of anyone else in that accident. Why? Because someone was drinking from the beer bottle that was now broken and out the driver's window of the dented car.
When I finally got to the hospital, I was flooded by the BTT trying to apologize and say that it should've been them. Though I didn't say so, they were right. It should've been those three in the hospital room so beaten up, they couldn't be identified. Ludwig and Arthur were already there, but since Gilbert and Francis refused to leave, they stayed too.
This brings us back to myself pacing the white hall that wreaked of the stench of band aids, the BTT sitting in the stiff chairs, their heads low and mouths silent in guilt. Arthur and Ludwig sitting with them.