Dan POV
When I opened my eyes, I saw the familiar ceiling I woke up to every day. I could feel my black and gray blanket underneath me, and the little hole that had been worn in the seam. But I was confused. I remembered a taxi, not a bed. I remembered light, not the dark shadows my curtains cast across the room. I remembered a hand in mine, not empty air.
I shot up in bed, but white pain flashed across my eyelids and I groaned. There were sharp pains coming from my stomach, something I didn't remember. There was something on the back of my right leg, a bandage. I swung my legs to the side of the bed and tried to stand up, before sinking back onto the bed to dispel the nausea. As soon as I could see straight, I tried again. This time, I found my footing and hobbled out of my room.
As I passed through my doorway, I glanced over at Phil's room. He couldn't have been hurt too bad if I was fine. Well. Mostly fine. I slowly pushed the door open a few inches and peeked inside. Nothing had changed. It was comforting but a stone formed in my stomach. I wasn't sure why.
Now heading to the living room, I heard voices. Some I recognized, some I didn't. None of them was Phil's. Now I was really worried. If I was fine, where was Phil?
In my living room, there was a gathering of people littered around. I saw my mum and Phil's, a few close friends, and some official-looking people in white coats. Doctors. Why were there doctors here? Louise caught sight of me before I could turn away.
"Dan!" she said, smiling slightly, but the happiness didn't travel to her eyes. There was something very wrong. Louise was always happy, laughing. She had the light in her eyes still, but it had dimmed. She was the only one attempting to smile in the room, but I was still grateful. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
I didn't know. I mean the pain in my stomach was like a deep aching pain, and I felt the bandage on my leg, but I was okay. But I didn't think Phil was. "Okay," I frowned. "Just a bit sore. Where's Phil?" It seemed like everyone in the room traded a glance with each other. "Phil," I pressed.
My mum was the first to speak. "You didn't take much damage. Your taxi was going straight when a pickup ran a red light and crashed into the front of yours. Because you weren't fully on the left side, when the cabbie hit the brakes you were thrown forward, half in the front with your legs in the back." That explained the ache in my stomach. She took a deep breath. "You still had Phil's hand in yours," her voice cracked, and Mrs. Lester picked up.
"Phil was behind the front seat, so he was somewhat shielded from the initial crash. It didn't help him, however, when the cab kept spinning until the right side slammed into a streetlamp." I stopped breathing. Phil was on the right side. I could guess what happened next. Because I wasn't there to stop him, he was thrown into the left cardoor and the right side crunched around him, trapping him. Nobody spoke until one of the doctors sensed my next question.
"Phil's not dead, but he's not awake either," he said.
I nearly crumpled to the floor in relief. I didn't care if he wouldn't wake up just yet. He was alive and that was good enough for me.
"You want to go see him," the doctor added, seeing my expression. Nobody waited for me to speak, only got up and walked out the door in clusters, heading for the vehicles I could see parked outside. I gratefully followed.