I didn't go to school the next day, because I was at the hospital. Not for myself, but for Elsa.
She was in a bad way. Everyone had told me that. But I didn't believe them, because there was no way "Elsa" and "bad" could be used in the sentence.
But when the fact was shoved in my face as soon as I walked through the door to her hospital room, I cried. I ran over to her bed, smothered my face into her covers, and cried for a really long time.
She looked horrible, though still beautiful. Beneath all the bruises and stitches and lacerations and cuts and IVs and sterile hospital blankets, she was still the beautiful girl I knew.
However, deep down, somewhere within myself, I knew that when she woke up, she wouldn't be the same.