don't even know, but this is gettin' old. You got one minute to start walkin' out that door with me. If not, I'm leavin' your ass here!" Though T.L. was quite mad and not wanting to deal with his sister's difficulties, he tried desperately to not make a scene, no matter how much anger his voice displayed, attempting to keep even the most adamant pleas to a whisper.
"Good," Shylah shouted. "That's what I want!"
Shaking his head, sighing in disgust, T.L. walked away. He knew that nothing short of physical force would persuade his sister. Leaving Shylah behind was something T.L. would never do under normal circumstances. Of course, it had never happened before like this, but T.L. was exhausted, stricken with worry and grief, agitated to no end, and far too unwilling to continue arguing. He made his way to his truck and quickly drove away toward home. Shylah was left to her own foolish errand. She would spend the remainder of the night dozing and worrying in a waiting room chair.
When the sun began to peak its head through the sliver of glass not barricaded by concrete, it shone directly into Shylah's eyes, waking her instantly. She had slept, on and off, for maybe two hours. She desperately craved more sleep, but worrying about Mark was her instant concern. She immediately wondered, once more, how she had let all of this happen, why she had done what she did to him, why she ignored the feelings that were so obviously there, all because her father did not agree with the circumstances of it all.
It had only been a few hours since Shylah heard Dr. Samuels' words. They still rang clearly in her mind... "surgery... metal plating... others have died from it." Shylah had no idea when Mark would go into surgery and doubted that anyone knew of her presence. Mark had likely been told nothing. For all that Shylah knew, Mark was already in surgery. Shylah immediately marched to the desk and asked to know all of the information that there was on Marcus Crady. The woman at the desk, however, had no information to give and said politely that she would do all that she could. Unfortunately, that would take a considerable length of time.
Shylah waited, dreaded, feared, contemplated, felt an undying anxiety that nothing could quench. She had left her purse in T.L.'s truck and had no money with her, no phone, nothing. She felt her stomach grumble with its demand for food, but unless begging were an option, there would be none. In no time, Shylah had read every magazine available and watched what seemed like an endless supply of mind-numbing TV. There was nothing at all left for her to do but worry, not that she hadn't been doing that already.
Shylah pondered the idea of throwing herself at Mark's mercy the first chance that she got and begging for his forgiveness and even for him to give her another chance, to put behind them what she had done, all of it. Though time had been drearily moving along, it was nearing nine o'clock. Shylah had been at the hospital for eight hours with no food, spending five of those hours with no company but her own troubled mind.
Finally, at almost ten, T.L. strolled in, along with Mr. and Mrs. King. It was a much welcomed surprise for Shylah. Now, at least, she would have some company. Whether or not that would ease her worries, she did not know, but it would definitely make time go by more quickly.
Mrs. King threw her arms around her daughter before Shylah could even rise from her seat, embracing so tightly that Shylah felt suffocated. "Mama, you gotta let go of me some. You're... you're choking me."
"Sorry, Honey," laughed Mrs. King, releasing her hold completely. "What were you thinkin', stayin' here all night, not comin' home with your brother?"
"I was worried, Mama."
"I know. I'm worried, too, and believe it or not, so is your daddy. You know how we feel about Mark." Shylah knew that her mother loved Mark dearly, but she was
"Good," Shylah shouted. "That's what I want!"
Shaking his head, sighing in disgust, T.L. walked away. He knew that nothing short of physical force would persuade his sister. Leaving Shylah behind was something T.L. would never do under normal circumstances. Of course, it had never happened before like this, but T.L. was exhausted, stricken with worry and grief, agitated to no end, and far too unwilling to continue arguing. He made his way to his truck and quickly drove away toward home. Shylah was left to her own foolish errand. She would spend the remainder of the night dozing and worrying in a waiting room chair.
When the sun began to peak its head through the sliver of glass not barricaded by concrete, it shone directly into Shylah's eyes, waking her instantly. She had slept, on and off, for maybe two hours. She desperately craved more sleep, but worrying about Mark was her instant concern. She immediately wondered, once more, how she had let all of this happen, why she had done what she did to him, why she ignored the feelings that were so obviously there, all because her father did not agree with the circumstances of it all.
It had only been a few hours since Shylah heard Dr. Samuels' words. They still rang clearly in her mind... "surgery... metal plating... others have died from it." Shylah had no idea when Mark would go into surgery and doubted that anyone knew of her presence. Mark had likely been told nothing. For all that Shylah knew, Mark was already in surgery. Shylah immediately marched to the desk and asked to know all of the information that there was on Marcus Crady. The woman at the desk, however, had no information to give and said politely that she would do all that she could. Unfortunately, that would take a considerable length of time.
Shylah waited, dreaded, feared, contemplated, felt an undying anxiety that nothing could quench. She had left her purse in T.L.'s truck and had no money with her, no phone, nothing. She felt her stomach grumble with its demand for food, but unless begging were an option, there would be none. In no time, Shylah had read every magazine available and watched what seemed like an endless supply of mind-numbing TV. There was nothing at all left for her to do but worry, not that she hadn't been doing that already.
Shylah pondered the idea of throwing herself at Mark's mercy the first chance that she got and begging for his forgiveness and even for him to give her another chance, to put behind them what she had done, all of it. Though time had been drearily moving along, it was nearing nine o'clock. Shylah had been at the hospital for eight hours with no food, spending five of those hours with no company but her own troubled mind.
Finally, at almost ten, T.L. strolled in, along with Mr. and Mrs. King. It was a much welcomed surprise for Shylah. Now, at least, she would have some company. Whether or not that would ease her worries, she did not know, but it would definitely make time go by more quickly.
Mrs. King threw her arms around her daughter before Shylah could even rise from her seat, embracing so tightly that Shylah felt suffocated. "Mama, you gotta let go of me some. You're... you're choking me."
"Sorry, Honey," laughed Mrs. King, releasing her hold completely. "What were you thinkin', stayin' here all night, not comin' home with your brother?"
"I was worried, Mama."
"I know. I'm worried, too, and believe it or not, so is your daddy. You know how we feel about Mark." Shylah knew that her mother loved Mark dearly, but she was
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