Chapter 26: The Long Wait

I don’t know how long we’d been sitting there. Time didn’t feel like time anymore—it stretched, warped, and dragged like every minute was an hour. The hospital’s fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above us, too bright and too cold, but it was the silence that was killing me.

The ER doors kept swinging open and shut, nurses and doctors spilling out in rushed bursts of motion, their scrubs streaked with red, their eyes focused straight ahead. And every single time those doors cracked open, my heart leapt into my throat.

I would shoot to my feet, Julia and Rosetta right behind me, because maybe this time—just maybe—they were coming to tell us she was okay.

But every time, the nurse would brush past us without a word, too busy to answer, too focused on whatever emergency had just lit up in another room. And every time, it left me feeling like the floor had dropped out from under me.

I couldn’t sit still. My legs bounced, my hands twisted together until my knuckles burned, and my chest felt too small to hold my lungs. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the coppery scent of blood that still clung to my dress, and every breath I took felt heavier than the last.

Julia was pacing now, her arms crossed so tightly her nails were digging into her own skin. Her face was pale, eyes fixed on the ER doors like she could will them to open with good news.

Rosetta sat hunched forward in one of the stiff plastic chairs, her elbows on her knees, her hands clenched into fists against her forehead. She hadn’t spoken in… I didn’t even know how long.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Camilla’s voice in the car—raspy, joking about her lipstick even as her chest bled out under my hands. It didn’t feel real. She couldn’t just… stop existing. Not Camilla. Not my best friend since before either of us could even talk properly.

“Aria,” Julia said suddenly, her voice cutting through the thick silence.

I looked at her. Her lips were trembling, but her eyes… her eyes were full of something I didn’t want to name.

“She’s strong,” I said before she could say whatever was on her mind. My voice came out too fast, too sharp. “She’s stubborn as hell. You know she’s not going to let this—” My voice cracked. “She’s going to be fine.”

Julia didn’t answer. She just nodded once, too quickly, like she was afraid if she said the wrong thing I’d shatter.

Another nurse burst out of the ER, pushing a cart. We all rushed toward her—me, Julia, Rosetta, our voices tripping over each other.

“How is she?”

“Is she still alive?”

“Please, just tell us—”

The nurse didn’t even glance at us, just kept moving, her cart rattling across the tile. The sound echoed down the hallway long after she was gone, leaving only the pounding of my heart in my ears.

I sat down again, hard. My hands were shaking so badly I gripped my own knees to make them stop.

I kept thinking about the way Camilla’s hand had felt in mine—warm at first, then cooling, her grip weaker with every passing second. My chest clenched so tight it hurt. I didn’t even realize tears were spilling down my cheeks until Julia’s hand landed on my shoulder.

“She’s going to make it,” Julia said quietly, like she was trying to convince both of us.

Rosetta lifted her head finally, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “If she doesn’t—” Her voice broke, and she pressed her lips together so hard I could see the muscles in her jaw twitching.

“Don’t,” I said sharply. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

She nodded once, looking down again.

The doors swung open again.

We shot to our feet so fast it felt rehearsed at this point.

A doctor came out—tall, dark hair tucked under his surgical cap, gloves slick with blood. My chest seized.

We moved toward him before he even spotted us. “Camilla Carlo?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper but carrying every ounce of hope and terror I had left.

His eyes found mine. Something in them made my knees weaken.

He exhaled slowly, tugging his gloves off one at a time. The sound of the latex snapping free felt deafening.

“She lost too much blood,” he said. His voice was low, steady, clinical. Like he’d said this too many times before. “The bullet severed a major artery. We tried to repair it, but…” He shook his head once. “I’m sorry.”

The world tilted. I blinked, but my vision blurred instantly.

“She’s—” I couldn’t even finish the word.

“She’s gone,” he said quietly.

Something broke inside me. Not a crack. Not a splinter. Something shattered—violent and final.

I don’t remember my knees giving out, but suddenly I was on the floor, my hands gripping at nothing, the sterile white tiles swimming in my vision. My breath came fast, too fast, like I couldn’t get enough air no matter how hard I tried.

Julia’s sob ripped through the hallway, raw and jagged, and Rosetta’s hand slammed against the wall hard enough to make the plastic chair beside her rattle.

I heard the doctor murmur something else—apologies, maybe—but his voice was already fading under the pounding in my ears.

Camilla. Gone.

It didn’t fit in my head. I kept seeing her face, her smirk even while she was bleeding out, her stupid joke about lipstick, the way she’d rolled her eyes at me a hundred times over the years.

She’d been my person. My anchor. My best friend since we were in diapers, before either of us even knew what friendship really meant. And now…

Now there was just this gaping hole in my chest where she used to be.

The ER doors swung closed again behind the doctor, and the silence that followed was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.

And that’s where I’d leave it—

Her death hanging in the air like a blade.