…
"—but we just found him right now—"
"—it was really fast! I mean, we had no idea—"
"—we can't get any responses from him—"
"—but we were sent right away. We tried everything—"
"—yet he seems stable; although we can't really make any sudden—"
"OKAY, enough! Talk one at a time."
"Yes, sir."
Two metal doors burst open, creating a loud clank on the walls it hit. It revealed a blinding light to those in the dimly-lit room, exposing three unrecognizable figures. They strode warily to where a small group had gathered around what appeared to be a make-shift stretcher, each person doing some sort of task. One of the figures, the tallest and most worn-out looking among the three, quickly moved to the center of the group, addressing no one in particular. "Alright. What happened? And I only need one person to explain." His voice was tired yet sharp and clear.
"He was hit by an on-coming motorcycle," another voice responded, nodding to the person lying on the stretcher. "It was really foggy and the rain was horrible…impossible to…safely…drive…"
The tall figure nodded, moving closer to the stretcher beside him. He saw a blood-stained, bruised young man with painfully shut eyes. He silently felt for a pulse on the beat-up body and was amazed to find one. But barely.
"What's his name?"
"We don't know…He had nothing on him; no I.D., no driver's license…"
The doctor-figure nodded once more, quickly assigning everyone within his shouting range a task. He himself removed a small flashlight from his pocket and began to examine the almost-lifeless body before him. He carefully poked and prodded, making an effort not to apply too much force that could possibly injure the body further. When he delicately turned the head of his 'patient' to check for more damage, the broken man groaned in pain. Immediately, the doctor began to speak to him.
"Are you alright?" He was hoping too much for an answer. He knew very well the chances were low on getting responses from a victim of a motorcycle accident. Yet…he always had to hope. Always.
As expected, he did not receive a response; save the moan of pain emitted from the bloody mouth of the victim.
"Okay, I'll do the talking…try to stay with me, please." The doctor took a breath, "I need you awake, young man…" Turning, he ordered the emergency room and his equipment for surgery to be prepared for immediate use. Everyone who heard his growl scattered around, doing as they were told. "Okay, could you tell me your name?" he asked, pushing the stretcher towards the double metallic doors. The young man lying helplessly on blood-stained shirts tried to raise his hand. However, he failed, letting it fall limply at his side. As the make-shift stretcher reached the doors, more figures pushed it open to let them through, all looking terribly shaken. The doctor glanced quickly at the victim's hand expecting to find it injured in some way. He did see some red, which he automatically assumed was blood, but found that it was just a piece of damp fabric.
"Do you want me to get that? Does it bother your hand?" the doctor wondered, reaching the elevator. He pressed hurriedly on the arrow facing down. It lit up, but the doors did not open.
"Uhm...urh…R…R-R-uh-od…"
The doctor was at his limit with the elevator as it refused to open. He was at the verge on wrenching the door in two, running a hand furiously through his now-untidy hair. However, he turned and, thinking that he needed to stall for the elevator's lack of cooperation, began to distract his patient to keep him awake. From sleeping. Sleeping…no, can't think like that, he thought.
"Rod. Is that your name? Rod?"
"..Rod…" The voice was weak and strained, and the poor man panted exhaustedly, gasping for breath. It was as if saying that one-syllable word took all of his strength. Inside and out. "I…I h-have…to…ow…to give…g-give….Rod…necktie…" he managed to choke out. He struggled for oxygen, clutching his stomach which seemed to be hidden by bandages. With dark, red stains on it. His pale face was filled with pain. Blood. Tears. The man had never felt this horrible before. Honestly, all he wanted was for the pain, the pain dominating his body, attacking everything inside him, his soul, to end. He had lost his heart a few moments before, anyway. So what's the use?
Just end now.
Stop.
"Okay, do you want me to—to take that to him? Uh, Rod?" the doctor offered distractedly, noting how strong the man's grip on that red cloth was. As if he was holding on to his life. What's left of his heart. He saw the green man's face pale considerably, making him look more like a ghost with sea-sickness than anything else…
He stopped pressing the elevator button, stopped thinking. His hand seemed to move in slow-motion as he pulled it from the marble surface and onto the green man's forehead. His eyes began to sting, but his voiced remained firm and steady. "Stay with me now. H-hey!"
The man, Nicky, was staring into nothing, his eyes focused straight ahead, as if talking to someone directly in front of him. "Rod…I…I'm so…sorry…"
"Hey! Listen, keep on talking to me! Look-look, it's, uh, Rod! Please!"
But the man, the man on the stretcher, the man who Rodney Periwinkle's heart belonged to, his best friend ever… That was the sweet, child-like innocent man that he, Rod, had fallen so madly, insanely, hopelessly in love with…his never-ending love…no…
Nicky closed his distant eyes, leaving it all. Everything. Rod included.
His grip on his former-roommate's necktie that he seemed to attached to broke. His hold on life. On Rod.
"Time of death…10:47…"
Rod…I'm sorry…
Goodbye.
I love you, too.
…
Author's Note: No comment. I mean, nothing light-hearted. Trust me, this had to be revised. The first version made me cry.... I'm so sorry. To Rod and Nicky.
By the way, this is what I meant by getting even with Nicky for making Rod suffer too much.
Possible chapter 4? I have no idea right now. Maybe...