Sara Laine walked briskly through the front doors of the hospital, her messy dark hair pulled up in a bun, her tight fitted jeans and t-shirts with stains on them, dark sunglasses on her head to cover the dark patches round her eyes, and bright red lipstick on her lips to make it look like she made an effort. She walked up to the receptionist and smiled slightly.
"I'm looking for my daughter." She said breathlessly. The woman behind the desk slowly nodded and raised an eyebrow.
"What's her name?" She asked.
"Emily." Sara sighed, "Emily Laine." The woman typed in something into the computer, pursed her lips together, eventually nodding.
"She was admitted a few hours ago," She muttered, glancing up at the woman in front of her, "she's on the second floor. You can go on up."
"Thank you." Sara cried, adjusting the tacky hand bag on her shoulder and walking over to the elevator, her heels clicking along the floor. She pressed the button, impatiently waiting until the doors were open. She stepped in without looking around, not noticing someone else in the lift and turned to press the button for the second floor; before she had the chance to the other occupant of the lift leant forward and pressed it for her, with the end of a cane. She glanced up at the man standing beside her, looking only a little less scruffy than her.
"In a rush?" He asked. She nodded slowly.
"My daughter..." She started, but the man interrupted her.
"She's been coughing up blood." He muttered, he noticed the shocked look on her face and smirked, "I have a sixth sense, I know things."
"who are you-" She murmured, looking away from him.
"I also know she's been here for five hours." He grumbled.
"I was at work, I came as soon as I heard, but it's a long way away." Sara started, attempting quickly to make excuses.
"There wasn't really any point though was there?" He asked, she furrowed her brow and looked him, completely shocked, "Don't get me wrong, it's important for a daughter to have her mother there in her time of need. Otherwise she might do something stupid, like stick toothbrushes down her throat."
"Exactly." She spat, watching as the elevator shuddered to a stop, "Wait, toothbrushes?!".
"What I mean is, you don't need to sign her consent forms." The man said as the doors slid open. The woman's mouth was hanging open, not sure how to reply. The man sighed, "But she's still a minor."
"I'm quite aware of that." Sara snapped, stepping out of the lift, confused and alarmed at the stranger who seemed to know a bit too much about her daughter. He stuck his cane out, preventing the lift doors from closing. He frowned.
"How long ago was she emancipated?!" He called after her. Sara ducked her head down, mortified, and practically ran down the hall away from him, looking for her daughter.
--
"Emily!" I tore my eyes away from the TV in the corner of the room as I noticed my mother opening the door, a large relieved smile on her face. I returned it momentarily as she ran over to my bed, discarding her handbag, bending over me, cupping my face in her hands and kissing me gently on my forehead.
"Hello mom." I giggled. My mom smoothed my hair back off my face, smiling as she looked down at me.
"I was so scared." She whispered, her eyes shining, "I didn't know what to think, I thought you were dying."
"Mom, I'm going to be fine." I reassured her. She nodded, biting down on her bottom lip, and letting go of me, sitting back down on a seat near my bed, bending over, holding her head in her hands. I noticed her back rising and falling, shuddering. I frowned, and pulled the blanket off myself, perching on the edge of my bed.
"Mom?" I whispered.
"It's okay." She choked out. She sat up straight again, her eyes red and damp, a watery smile on her lips, "I'm fine."
"Mother, I swear, I'm going to be okay." I promised her. She nodded, pursing her lips together. I pushed myself off the bed.
"I don't know what I'd do if I lose you." She murmured, "I can't take this."
"Everything is going to be alright." I told her. I crouched down, so that my head was level with her knees, so that she'd look at me. She managed another fake smile, "I'm not going anywhere." She nodded, trying to believe me. I slipped my hand into one of hers, giving it a supportive squeeze.
"This isn't fair on you." She sighed, she let out a slight giggle, "I mean, you're the sick one, and look at me! I'm getting all upset." I laughed slightly.
"I don't mind!" I reassured her.
"I shouldn't put this all on you." She told me. She wrapped her other hand round mine, stroking the skin on it, "You're all I have." I flashed her a toothy grin, trying to cheer her up.
"Like I said, you're not getting rid of me any time soon." My mum nodded slowly, laughing again, trying to keep it all together. I looked up, through the blinds, and noticed Dr. House standing outside, staring in through the glass, watching me comfort my mother. I bit down on my lip and looked away again, ignoring him.
That's when I felt it again, the tickling sensation in the back of my throat. I slowly pried my hands out of my mothers grip, she looked up at me, confused and worried. I stood up straight, gingerly touching my neck.
"Emily, what is it?" My mum asked, fear in her voice. I turned round, looking around the room. There wasn't a toilet near by. I walked over to the bedside table, dragging the drip along beside me, and opened the cupboard, finding a stack of cardboard bowls, shaped like kidneys, the ones which they used when patients threw up, I shrugged, and I suppose they were just as good. I picked one up, feeling my throat begin to constrict. I glanced at my mother. She looked slightly panicked.
"Mum, it's okay." I told her, my voice hoarse, my mouth dry. Her face was gaunt.
"Emily, are you feeling sick?" She asked timidly, stepping towards me. I shook my head, gripping onto the cardboard in my hand, my throat was closing over.
"No, it's not that-" I choked out, I couldn't breathe anymore, and tried to turn round, so my mum wouldn't see me, but she ran over to me, grabbing me by my shoulders.
"Emily?!" She cried. I tried to duck away from her, so I could clear my throat, but she was holding tightly onto my arms.
"Mom, let go-" I hissed, trying to push her off me and bend over, struggling for air. She was crying again, convinced I was dying.
"I need a doctor!" She screamed, "Emily, just breathe." I fell back onto the bed slightly; sitting perched on the edge of the mattress, the cardboard bowl falling to the floor. I tried to crouch down to pick it up, but my mother was intent on making me stay upright.
"Help, someone help!" She shouted, hysterical. I heard the door open as my face turned red and I clutched desperately at my mother, trying to make her let go of me.
"Let go of her!" Came a familiar rough voice.
"What are you doing here?" I heard my mother ask, outraged, as I keeled over, trying to get air, "I need a doctor!"
"I am a doctor!" I heard the mans voice saying, suddenly she let go of me and I fell to the ground, leaning forward and picking up the cardboard bowl. I then felt a pair of hands haul me upright again, an arm snaking up my back so that I was hunched over, the bowl in my hand, and patted me gently on the back. I coughed loudly, spilling some blood into the bowl.
"Oh my god!" I heard my mother scream. Whoever was holding me up groaned loudly.
"Get her out of here!" The man cried. Quickly after I heard the door slam shut, and I continued to splutter into the bowl, the blood dripping onto the salmon coloured cardboard.
"All better?" The man asked after a few seconds, once I'd finished coughing. I stood up straight and glanced up at him. It was House. I smiled.
"Thanks." I muttered hoarsely. He smirked, quickly retracting his arm back down to his side.
"I couldn't just stand there and watch your own mother kill you." He said. I let out a choked laugh.
"She didn't know I was sick." I whispered, "I never told her." He nodded, looking as if he was deep in thought; he then took the bowl out of my hands, looking down his nose at it.
"Looks like you were telling the truth." He muttered, "You're not bulimic." I stood up completely straight, and discretely wiped a speck of blood away from the corner of my mouth with my little finger.
"I don't lie to doctors." I whispered. House limped over to a bin near the door, opened it and threw the bowl of it in. He sighed, and then opened the door.
"You're lying to your mother." He muttered, stepping outside and leaving.