Atone (The Disciples 2)

I toss the keys into my bag, which seems heavier every day, and rush down the stairs approaching him and a pitiful-looking Cindy.

“Jesus.” She’s doubled over and I reach for her. “Cindy? Do you want me to take you to the ER or urgent care?” I look at the poor Uber driver. If he’s a day past twenty, I’ll be shocked.

“Um, I think she needs a hospital.” He points to Cindy’s crotch.

“Oh shit,” I scream, causing her to look up at me.

Black streaks of mascara run down her face and her nose is bright red. But her usual pink lips are pale.

“What?” she moans.

“Take us to the ER,” I yell at the driver. His eyes are fixated on Cindy’s pants. They’re covered in blood.

“Hey, get it together,” I snap.

“Oh my God,” she screams as she looks down at her pants.

I look around my apartment complex—for what I don’t know. All I see is my asshole upstairs neighbor staring down at us, smoking pot on his balcony.

“Come on.” I open the door to the poor Uber driver’s Nissan. He looks like he wants to say no, but my glare shuts him up. Nodding, he goes to the driver’s side. Thank God, because there’s blood on the back of his tan seat.

We both see it as Cindy starts to wail again. “Just get in. We’ll deal with it later. I’ll make sure we tip him.” It sounds awful, but I’m starting to get freaked out myself. What the hell is making her hemorrhage? Is she dying?

“Please hurry.” I sound way too calm.

“Yes,” the Uber driver croaks out.

Turning to Cindy, I grab her hand. “You’re going to be fine.” I try to make my voice soothing, which is pointless. She’s hysterical.

I sit, traumatized, holding her hand. As we speed down La Cienega, everything outside the window blurs.

Thankfully, the driver says nothing as he drops us off at the emergency room doors.

I grab our purses and hoist Cindy’s arm over my shoulder as we limp inside.

“Thank you, here.” I fish around in my wallet while holding Cindy and hand the guy a hundred dollars.

“We don’t have more money or time.” I wave as I hurry inside.

The air conditioner works a little too well in here, and my skin pebbles with goose bumps. I steer her over to the nurses’ station.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she tells a nurse who helps her into a chair and takes her information and vitals.

“I’ll take her to bed number sixteen,” the nurse says. In a matter of minutes, poor Cindy is in a wheelchair and gone from my view.

“Can you fill out some paperwork? Are you a relative?” I stare blankly at a woman at the front desk.

“No, I’m her boss. Well, I’m her friend,” I say to the woman who doesn’t even look up from the computer.

“Okay, we’ll discuss the rest with her.” At last, she glances up at me. “You can have a seat. We’ll let you know how she’s doing.”

“Thank you.” Quickly, I turn and scan the waiting room. It’s large and packed with people. Parents are rocking sick babies, children are coughing, and old people sit in wheelchairs.

Rather than sitting, I walk toward the restroom. Cindy is in the fucking hospital, bleeding. Happy, always-in-a-good-mood Cindy. “What the hell?” I mumble as I enter and go straight to the sink to wash my hands.

The blood comes off, but I still keep soaping them until my phone starts ringing.

“Hello?” I’m out of breath and no doubt sound crazy.

“What has happened?” my mom screams. “Did that man hurt you? I got some weird message from Cindy. I couldn’t understand her.”

“Mom,” I cut her off. “Stop worrying about David. Something awful has happened.” As I walk out of the bathroom, I tell her about Cindy in a whisper and find an open seat in between a man who is sleeping and a petite woman who is crying.

Suddenly another phone rings and it dawns on me that I’m holding Cindy’s purse.

“I’ll keep you posted, Mom, but I have Cindy’s phone and it’s ringing.”

“Wait… Do you want me to come?” And I don’t know if it’s because I’m sitting in a crowded emergency room, or what, but I love my mom and I love that she’s offered. I look around for a clock, but all I see is a large flat-screen TV. No one seems to be watching it besides one guy who is either on drugs or has a terrible eye infection.

“No, Mom, stay at the diner. I’ll keep you posted.” It’s amazing how calm I sound—I’m anything but. My hands shake as I reach for Cindy’s phone. Jesus.

“Hello?”

“I need to fuck you again. I know we said one and done, baby. But my cock is dripp—”

“Whoever this is, I need to stop you. This is not Cindy.” The line is silent and I almost hang up.