Exotic

~ e.r ~

The drive was about forty minutes since we had to go over the river to a hospital where we weren't at risk of bumping into Peter. The ER wasn't packed, but Zsa Zsa was still fast-tracked through for x-rays. The medical receptionist took one look at him and grabbed the phone, and a doctor was out in minutes to usher him into the back rooms for examination. Aaron rested his head against my shoulder as I flipped my phone in my hands, too on-edge to think about how tired I was.

The hospital setting didn't help. The harsh fluorescent lights and the concentrated smell of cleaning chemicals bought back difficult memories, the kinds that made my chest feel tight. Hospitals had such an anonymous smell. Nothing recognisable to hold onto; the people were displaced, the lights were severe and the smell was stripped of any familiarities, any depth. I remembered sitting in the corridors outside my mum's room, bending my legs for doctors to dash past, plagued by a perpetual beeping.

The ER was a far cry from the wards; classic music played over the speakers, there was a kids' play area populated by a sole young girl ramming truck together incessantly, and a sad stack of ten-year-old magazines to keep older brains occupied. The receptionist had a jar of boiled sweets on his desk. The faces that passed did not wear the forlorn expressions I'd seen on families of semi-permanent in-patients; exhaustion and boredom hung lightly in the air. The layout and atmosphere reminded me more of an airport terminal.

Aaron placed a hand on my jigging knee, bringing it to stillness. "Breathe. Everything's going to be okay."

I sighed, resting my head against the back wall. Aaron sat upright and yawned, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rubbed his eyes, drawing my attention to how exhausted he looked.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I really wanted you to have a good time tonight."

"I did have a good time," he argued. "I didn't expect the night to pan out the way it did, sure, but I'm glad we were there to help. Besides, it's not even my birthday anymore. This is just a normal, shitty Sunday dealing with the shitty world."

I dropped my chin to my shoulder. "I don't deserve you, Aaron Sanchez, and I never will."

"Well, that's a given," he gave me a dry glare to match his sardonic statement. "Seriously. Stop beating yourself with a stick. We were lucky to have been there, and I'm glad you let me help."

"Let you help?" I echoed. "I had no idea what I was doing. You were amazing."

He shrugged. "I just asked him what he wanted to do."

If Aaron was any indication of the cool-headedness that came with adulthood, I could add another perk to turning eighteen. But who was I kidding, Aaron being the more emotionally intelligent out of us wasn't new.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" I asked softly. "I don't want to force Zsa Zsa to make decisions right now but... just the idea of him being at work, in a hospital of all places, after what he did... it makes me sick."

Aaron chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged. "We could find out where he lives. Maya keeps paint thinner under the sink. We could set his front door on fire."

"Jesus," I choked. "Here I was thinking you were the rational type."

"Wherever did you get that idea?" his mouth was a hard line. His glare would have frightened me, if his leg wasn't shaking, indicating he was more upset than homicidal. "I've never met the guy, and I'm ready to hunt him down and cut off him..."

"Woah, Double-A, we have an audience," I pointed out the young girl, who was staring at us with her mouth hanging open, unabashed as toddlers generally were. "Did you talk to him at all, about what he wanted to do?"