Omorfia’s heart dropped like a stone. Panic bloomed in her chest as tears suddenly stung the backs of her eyes, “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“His appendix ruptured late this morning,” Maria sounded exhausted, “and during the emergency surgery, he had a bout of aspiration and they held him for observation.”

Omorfia grasped the edge of her desk, attempting to squelch the fear in her belly, “Will he be ok?”

“Yes, honey.” She replied reassuringly. Suddenly, a quiet voice sounded in the background and the phone-line crackled slightly, “He’s saying he’d like to see you. But you don’t have to come down if you don’t want to.”

She stubbornly wiped the welling tears from her eyes, “Sure, I can come down. That’s fine.”

“Room 828,” Maria said, “We won’t go anywhere.”

“Ok.” She had to harness every bit of strength she had not to burst into panicked tears.

Fifteen minutes passed and she pulled into the parking lot of Seattle General. Her car shuddered to a standstill as she removed the key. A long moment passed as she stared at the angular building. She shuddered as the not-so-far-gone memory of losing her father began to surface.

She’d pulled up into this very parking lot, in this very car, on a day very much like this to run into the ICU and see her father. Her father, who had always been so steadfast, unconscious and with a tube shoved down his throat to keep him breathing. She squeezed her eyes shut.

She quickly found her way up the stairs and through the maze of intersecting hallways to find the correct wing. She hated to admit it, but she knew these halls like the back of her hand. She’d wandered them endlessly as her father fought for his life, unable to speak or open his eyes. His eyes. She suddenly remembered that they would flutter open, as if he was awakening from his dangerous slumber, only to close again.

The doctors had told them it was due to the brain damage he’d suffered in the car accident. Even so, every time his eyes fluttered, her misguided hope lifted along with them, only to fall when his eyes closed once again.

Room 828 was upon her before she could think to tear her mind from the unwelcome memory. She peered inside to see Cal resting silently in the sterile, white room. Though he lay in a spider’s web of tubes and IV’s, he was still quite handsome, his square jaw relaxed and golden hair slightly tussled. She entered quietly, attempting not to disturb him. Maria sat in a chair on the far wall and smiled.

“I’m going to go get a cup of coffee, keep him company for me?”

Omorfia nodded and pulled up a chair beside the bed. Cal’s eyes opened slightly, a grin brightening his face, “Hey Morfi, glad you came.” His voice was sleepy.

She swallowed the rapidly forming lump in her throat, “H-how do you feel?”

He flopped his head to the other side to look at the morphine drip above him, “Fantastic.”

She smiled, “I’m thankful you’re alright.” Her voice broke as the last word left her.

Cal may have been drugged with pain-killers but he was still maddeningly insightful, “Don’t worry! I have a couple extra holes in me, but I’m fine. See?” he shoved his IV-punctured arm towards her, as if it were reassuring. He reached for her hand, “Your dad?”

She lurched from the chair as if his hand had been a snake. Memories bombarded her fragile mind: the cold, sterile light, her family huddled in the waiting room, her father lying helpless in a bed identical to the one Cal was now in. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, “not now.”

“Morfi, don’t go.” He said as urgently as his drug-addled mind would allow.

“I don’t want to be here,” she shuddered, facing away from him, “I can’t be here again.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t wanna’ be here either.” She turned to see a goofy smile plastered on his normally attractive face. He patted the bed beside him, “Talk.”

She gingerly sat beside him, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged good-naturedly. He watched her expectedly when she remained silent, “It’s ok to miss your dad.”

Her eyes lifted to his, “It’s not just that.” She nervously re-adjusted her glasses, “Every time I think about him…I’m sad, sure, but then there’s this rage.” Cal was obviously surprised when his eyebrows nearly met his hairline, but he remained quiet. “Deep down, I know he didn’t want to leave… but he did. I hate what this has done to my mom and Camilla.” Her throat threatened to close, “I hate him for leaving.”

Cal took her hand, sighing deeply; she could tell he was tired. “He loved you. But I think you’ve gotten bitter about it all. You’re making yourself miserable.”

She let out an indignant little puff of air, “I have not.”

One of his eyebrows rose, “Hm, tell me about the new friends you’ve made.”

Her mouth opened but no sound emerged. She frantically searched her mind for any semblance of a friendship. “Codie,” she blurted, “Codie and I are friends.”

“Have you ever hung out? School doesn’t count.”

“No,” she replied honestly, “We haven’t.”

He regarded her with tired eyes, “You’re a cool chick. You should let people see that.” The fact that an outside, third-party viewer like Kal could see her ever-increasing shortcomings took the breath from her chest. Anger twisted her soul and she attempted to close her eyes, willing the fast-accumulating tears to cease. Cal pulled her into his arms, the same arms that had held her close the night her father had passed from the earth, and held her firm against his chest.

The dam broke and so did she. Hot tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks and onto his scratchy hospital gown. He held her tighter as sobs began to rack her body. She hated it. She wanted the chasm that seemed to be opening in her chest to close at any cost. Her ears burned and her heart writhed. And, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push the pain away. It wouldn’t recede but came as a tide that overtook and washed her away.

It was some time later before she came back to herself, nestled comfortably against Cal’s chest, his heart beating gently. “I won’t leave you.”

There was a ping of sullen doubt in the back of her mind but she quickly reprimanded herself. She had to embrace the pain, even if it meant more pain, in order to move on.

“Look outside,” he said, she peered out the window.

Rain was starting to fall from the sky but, in the fading light of the afternoon sun, looked no different than sparkling diamonds falling to earth. They watched the growing storm together and Omorfia recalled the awful storm from that morning. Rain would always be just that, rain. It would always fall from the sky and be irritatingly cold but, one thing she could count on was that there would always be different storms. Brutal storms, lively storms, beautiful storms.

Her name was Omorfia Dimakos and she couldn’t quite figure out whether the diamonds above reflected her or if she reflected them.