Chapter 5 Ethan: Aftermath

• Ethan's point of view:
• I sped through the streets, my heart racing with fear. The girl's limp body lay in the passenger seat, her bright red hair stark against the dark leather. I couldn't believe what had just happened.
• I couldn’t help but blame myself, it’s been a long while since I’ve been behind the wheel. My driver, Ben, had a family emergency, so I gave him the day off. I should have ordered an Uber or called my grandfather’s driver to take me home. I missed the feeling of taking charge of the car at the steering wheel. Now look where that landed me.
• As I drove, I couldn't shake the image of her pale face from my mind. Who was she? And what had I done?
• I finally arrived at the hospital, screeching to a halt in front of the emergency department. I leaped out of the car, rushing to her side. I gently lifted her out of the passenger seat, cradling her in my arms.
• The automatic doors slid open, and I sprinted through them, desperate for help. A team of medical professionals rushed towards us, quickly taking her from me.
• "Please, you have to help her," I begged, feeling a wave of panic wash over me.
• The doctors and nurses moved with precision, their faces a blur of efficiency. I watched in a daze as they wheeled her away, feeling helpless.
• I followed them to the exam room, my mind racing with fear. What if she didn't make it? What if I had killed her?
• The doctors began their examination, their voices a steady stream of medical jargon. I stood back, feeling useless.
• One of the doctors turned to me, a kind face amidst the chaos. "Sir, What is your name and can you tell me what happened?"
• I took a deep breath, trying to recount the events leading up to the accident. “ My name is Ethan Grey, she was hit by my car , I didn’t see her , she came out of nowhere “ I rushed. The doctor listened intently, his expression growing more serious by the minute.
• As I finished my story, the doctor nodded thoughtfully. "We'll do everything we can to help her," he said. "But I need to ask, do you know her name?"
• I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt. I didn't even know her name. She could be someone’s wife, mother or daughter.
• Oh God, please let her pull through.
• The doctor nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry, we'll take care of her. You can wait outside, we'll keep you updated."
• I nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. I did everything I could. Now all I could do was wait.
• I stepped out of the exam room, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over me. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum in sync with the racing thoughts in my mind. I couldn't shake the image of her pale face from my mind, her bright red hair stark against the dark leather of my car. I remembered the sound of her body hitting my car, the sickening thud that still echoed in my mind.
• I made my way to the waiting room, my eyes scanning the space for a familiar face. But I was alone. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
• As I sat in the waiting room, I couldn't help but notice the sterile glow of the fluorescent lights overhead. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and the faint tang of sickness, making my stomach turn. I fidgeted in my chair, trying to get comfortable, but the worn, beige cushions offered little support.
• I glanced around the room, taking in the worried-looking faces of the other patients and family members. Some were typing away on their phones, while others stared blankly into space, lost in thought. I felt a pang of solidarity with them - we were all waiting for news, all hoping for the best.
• My gaze drifted to the nurse's station, where a team of medical professionals bustled about, their faces focused on the task at hand. The soft beeps of machines and muted whispers of conversations filled the air, creating a sense of controlled chaos.
• As I waited, my eyes wandered down the nearby hallway, where the sound of wheels on tiles echoed, accompanied by the occasional clang of a metal cart or the soft whoosh of automatic doors. I felt a sense of unease building in my chest, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
• I stood up, needing to move, and walked over to the vending machine in the corner. I selected a bottle of water, the colorful snacks and drinks a jarring contrast to the otherwise drab surroundings. As I waited for my selection, I noticed the water cooler nearby, its clear plastic bottle half-full, as if waiting for the next thirsty visitor.
• I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in my stomach. But it was no use - I was stuck in this limbo, waiting for news about the girl, wondering what the future held.
• I couldn't help but think about what had happened. I had been driving home from work, distracted by my grandpa’s call, when I saw her. She was running from something .I had slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. I had hit her.
• The memory of the accident played over and over in my mind like a bad movie. I remembered the sound of screeching tires, the crunch of metal, and the sight of her body flying through the air. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, and I closed my eyes, trying to push the image away.
• The sound of her body hitting my car still echoed in my mind.
• I still needed to return my grandpa’s call. He must have been shocked by the way the call dropped.
• After what felt like an eternity, a doctor emerged from the exam room. "Mr. Grey?" he said, his voice kind.
• I stood up, my heart racing. "Yes?"
• "She's stable," he said. "But she's got a concussion, a few bruises and a broken wrist. We're going to keep her here for a few days for observation in case of any internal bleeding later ."
• I nodded, feeling a mix of emotions. Relief, guilt, worry.
• "Can I see her?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
• The doctor nodded. "Yes, of course. She has been moved to a patient’s room. But please, just for a minute. She needs her rest."
• I nodded, following the doctor back to the exam room. As I entered, I saw her lying in the bed, her eyes closed. Her bright red hair was a stark contrast to the white hospital sheets.
• I approached.