Hey.

Thanks for being patient with me?

Trembling hands opened his front door, revealing the night sky. Just over the horizon brilliant flashes of blue and red overtook the rooftops. Those same sirens, shouts and orders that were once bleating over his answering machine were reaching his front steps.

As surreal as it all felt, Troy tried his hardest to grasp the concept of what was occuring. Sharpay? Somehow, something about her had wormed its way into his system, destroying his every nerve. He was on edge, so close to stumbling off. And that message, that haunting message that infected his answering machine? It tormented his mind.

He wasn't exactly sure how to feel at the moment. Part of him was so sick, his insides unsettled and caught in his throat, ready to spill across his carpet. Another was curious, confused as to what w as going on, but his knees still trembled beneath him as his phone rang again.

He closed his door, silence and darkness overtaking his home, their home. That shrill ringing that had a part in fate itself jackhammered at his mind. The nauseated part of him wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes, empty out his contents over the toilet, and pray that he would wake up from a nightmare, with her blonde hair irritatingly between his lips, feathering his chest. But his curious side let curious shaking hands reach for his telephone, their telephone.

Silence. An empty atmosphere that begged to be filled. He choked, he sputtered into that atmosphere, as if he was speaking for the first time: "H-hello?"

"Yes, is this the Bolton Residence? I'm calling on the behalf of a..."

"Sharpay."

"Yes, this is the police de..."

"Tell me she's alright. "

"I... is... is this Mr. Bolton?"

"Where is she?"

The voice on the other end sounded so strained. Concerned, almost, about his condition. The voice on the other end only listened to the words that spilled, simply flooded out of his mouth. The voice on the other end could barely get the job done due to the distraught man that so desperately needed to know what was going on. The voice on the other end wanted to say that everything was under control.

But couldn't.

"She's here, we have her."

"Is she okay?"

A sharp, pained exhale came from the voice on the other end. "We need you here as soon as possible, Mr. Bolton. Just come... please..." The voice on the other end no longer sounded professional. Only desperate.

Troy let trembling hands drop the telephone, slip on shoes, and flee.

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If these people could even fathom the emotions that coursed through him, they would have already given Troy the details as to what was wrong with his wife. If these people, hastening around in paper uniforms, emotionless expressions across their features, knew what it was like to be the victim, he would have been holding her hand by now, kissing it one million times.

What time was it? Troy ran a hand through his coarse hair, slumped in his chair, the lack of sleep trapped in his pupils. He wanted her right now, he needed her right now...

"Mr. Bolton...?" Doors opened another monotone face appearing under the faulty lighting. But it was the eyes that grabbed Troy's attention and made him leap out of his seat. He wanted so desperately to freeze time, knowing that these next words would determine his relief or his destruction. "Earlier this evening, Sharpay was in an accident..."

Troy stuffed his trembling hands into his pockets as the doctor's words seemed to enter one ear and leave the next. The experience was so out-of-body, he felt as if he was another person entirely, witnessing the pain from another point of view. "She was hit by a car a few blocks from her home. She wasn't DOA, but we're losing her so quickly. She's not responding to anything..."

Time stopped for Troy, just as he had pleased. He felt torched internally, like a destructive fire had ignited, and was now devouring everything. Leaving nothing but ash.

And this hollow feeling that overtook him.

With a muted mind and a frozen body, Troy was gently taken by the elbow. Looming doors led the way to misery. His breath caught as he was escorted through numerous corridors, closed doors, but the screams, the cries were what eroded Troy. This was too much to take in. It was too much to swallow, knowing that just hours before, his wife was alive. They may have been in a heated argument, but she was a living, breathing person nonetheless. But... now?

Her door was open.

The sickening bright institutional lighting displayed Sharpay across the chilled room. Kissed with bruises, gauze invested around her red-stained forehead, Troy's wife looked like her life had already been stolen. He took in a shaky breath, his feet willing him to go no further. A consecutive thought raced through his mind as he leaned against the doorframe for support: this was all his fault. But his conclusion was interrupted by the irritating beep of the monitor stationed next to her bed.

His feet shuffled against the tiling of the hospital floor to the beat of the fateful green line that lifted and plummeted, broadcasting whether she was alive or not. She was very much alive, he could tell, as he finally approached her bedside and took her hand.

It was still warm.

It was a deadly white color, and her knuckles were a sickening yellow, but it was still so warm, so comforting.

"Hey," he painfully croaked, memorizing the blank expression across her features. She didn't respond, couldn't respond. "I don't know what to say... other than... this is all my fault." his throat locked in a dangerous tremor. She was unmoving, unalive. "How could I have been so stupid?" he whispered softly as he placed a kiss on the back of her hand, savoring what he could, now that it was all over...

Suddenly, that same irritating beep transformed into a penetrating wail, driving nurses and doctors into the room, who whisked him out of the way. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bolton." a nurse's eyes were apologetic as she closed Sharpay's door in his face, leaving him there to tremble, to eat away at himself. It was all still so difficult for him to grasp, he wished that he would soon wake up to the sound of angelic singing in the shower...

Silence.

It was as if the entire hospital floor was dead. No monitor, no screams or cries, no tangled conversations of medications and patients.

Troy's hand cautiously reached for the doorknob, his face flushed of color, his wild heartbeat pounding into his ears. The door cracked open, giving way to the defeated looks of Sharpay's doctors, and one soft voice:

"Time of death, 11:33 PM."

Troy couldn't control the heart-borken cry that escaped his body. He couldn't control the way he broke down, how his muscles seemed to melt, how his heart seemed to stop, how his blood seemed to freeze. He was barely conscious of the way he clung to the doorframe in fears of collapsing, but he was very aware of every single one of his thoughts. How could this be happening? Why hadn't he stopped her from leaving in the first place?

The door opened again, welcoming him in to say his last goodbyes, but he felt that being in the same room as her ever again would make him die as well. But... at least they'd be together again...

Another thought came to mind.

Run.

And he did.

He did.

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The night that had once seemed like an open opportunity to mend everything was now dark. Desolate. Abandoned. His phone rang to no end and he guessed it was the local hospital or the police station demanding information on his wife. Or an explanation of why he had ambled out of the hospital the way he had.

Maybe because he couldn't stand to see her.

Maybe because seeing it would make it true and would kill him inside.

Maybe because he didn't want anyone to see him, the way he was now, helplessly slouched in a chair, bars of moonlight being the only source of light to the room, his first tears ever endlessly stumbling down his cheeks.

This was the first time regretting something.

And it was the first time he had felt alone.

Wow, must suck for you.

Oh, yeah, did anyone see Zac Efron kiss NIKKI (love it) Blonksy on Much On Demand?

Funniest.

Shit.

Ever.

The best part? When he actually said, "Oh, man, I'm in trouble." Hell yes, you're in trouble. Because you tried to open-mouth the damn girl. (whose name is Nikki, ...coincidentally?)