Part 14 ⧫ Déjà Vu

dé·jà vu

dāZHä ˈvo͞o/

noun

A feeling of having already experienced the present situation.

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“Baekhyun?” I demanded. “What happened?”

Chanyeol’s breathing was shallow on the other side, shallow and fast. Background noises were just barely audible from his end, and I could feel my own fingers tightening in anticipation of what he was going to say. Baekhyun. Accident. Suddenly, it was hard to breath, hard to concentrate on anything but what Chanyeol was going to say. I tried to tell myself it probably wasn’t a big thing -- he got into accidents all the time -- but then again, why would have Chanyeol phoned me if it was just a little accident?

“The idiot,” he wheezed into the phone. “Had his music turned too loud when he was crossing the road.”

I suddenly felt oddly cold. I didn’t even notice that I wasn’t breathing, at all. “Is he… alright now?” I asked tentatively, though I almost knew the answer.

“Hospital,” Chanyeol said tersely, and something told me he was close to tears. “He’s such an idiot, such a ing idiot.”

“Which one?” I asked, trying to keep my voice under control, yet too panicked to be able to. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me if something major… happens.” None of us had to specify what I meant by major.

Numbly, I listened to Chanyeol rattle off the name of the hospital and directions, but before I knew it, I was already whipping on the first coat and pair of shoes I found and leaving the apartment. I couldn't remember if I locked the door or not -- or even brought my keys. The wind was chilly against my shirt -- hell, I was wearing a short sleeved t-shirt and a rumpled pair of sweatpants underneath -- but I could barely feel it. Twice I almost tripped on my shoelaces, but I still found myself running as fast as I could towards the bus stop.

The ride to the hospital was blurry and seemed to take an eternity. Something seemed to stick in my throat everytime I tried to breath or swallow, and the only thing I was aware of was clutching my phone so tight that my knuckles turned white. I remember stumbling once over the slightly wet pavement, and I wasn't quite sure if my hands were wet from blood when they scraped against the sidewalk, or sweat.

By the time I reached the waiting room, I was out of breath, palms bleeding, and worried as hell. I wasn't quite sure when this amount of genuine concern for Byun Baekhyun came from (six months ago, I might’ve muttered karma and didn't care at all) — I had practically been running as fast as could for nearing ten minutes — running wasn't even going to help him. What was wrong with me? Truthfully, I had no idea myself. However, seeing Chanyeol in the waiting room with his face buried in his hands was almost too much, to the point where every doubt about myself disappeared. As soon as my legs decided to obey me again, I rushed over towards him.

“Baekhyun,” I demanded breathlessly. “Where is he? Is he alright? How?”

Chanyeol lifted his face from his hands and blinked owlishly at me, as if trying to adjust to my presence. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his face was ashen grey. “He’s in the emergency room,” he murmured so softly that I had to crane my head to hear what he was saying. “He’s not awake yet. He…got hit by a car when crossing the streets.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in — when they finally did, the whole room was spinning — this was déjà vu. For a moment I was ten years old, clinging onto my grandma in the waiting room, waiting for the doctor’s’ news about my mother. My father had been confirmed dead on the scene — I had been screaming for hours, screaming until my throat was hoarse and there was nothing but a whimper left, screaming until I was tired and all the energy had been drained from me. Waiting for the doctors to tell me about my mother’s condition was pure agony, through at some part of it, I was too exhausted and had driften off. The next thing I remembered was my grandma’s normally stoic face crumbling into tears and I already knew what had happened. I still screamed, even though all that came out then was a rasping sob.

I sat down on one of the chairs and tried to steady my heart.

“He’s strong,” Chanyeol mumbled under his breath. “He’ll pull through. He always does.” I wasn't sure if Chanyeol was talking to me or himself — though the way he said it, it sounded more of a prayer, a silent request to a being higher above, than a reassurance. I didn't blame him, just clutched onto my phone like my life depended on it.

I wasn't sure how long we were waiting for, but somewhere along the span of what seemed to be like forever, Jongin barged through the main doors with Kim Joonmyeon in tow. He and Chanyeol shared one look and he burst into tears.

It wasn't doing much to make me feel better.

Joonmyeon patted his back sympathetically while Jongin continued sobbing, saying something that sounded like, “Hyung, I didn't feed the chickens.” I was pretty sure I heard wrong, but Jongin didn't look like he was in the mood for me to ask him.

By the time the doctor finally announced that he was stable and not in a critical state, I was quite sure that I had already been waiting for an eternity. Jongin had calmed down, his breathing however, still coming in as short hiccups. Chanyeol had unconsciously put on a poker face, but it crumbled into relief the moment the doctor announced he was stable. In fact, after the doctor disappeared through the exit, he abruptly pulled both Jongin and I into a huge hug of what was probably relief.

“Thank god,” I heard him mumbling almost incoherently. It was apparently going to be a couple more hours before friends and family members were let into the room to see Baekhyun, but around that time, everyone’s spirits had lifted enough for the atmosphere to feel less gloomy. Chanyeol made small talk, but it was still heavy and tight. It was nearing three in the afternoon by now — almost four hours since I had got to the hospital. I was shivering, though I wasn't quite sure if it was from the rather cold interior of the hospital or out of sheer relief. It could've been both, for all I knew.

I had forgotten all about the fact that my grandma was probably looking for me, so by the time the short hand of the clock pointed to five and I finally turned my phone on, there were six missed calls and twelve unread messages. She was furious when I finally called her.

“Han Iseul,” she snarled from the other side, and I had to take the phone away from my ear because of how loud her voice became. I could hear the static. “Where are you? You’ve been gone for hours without any word.”

I was unsure of what exactly to say, because whatever it was that I said, it was going to be questioned as soon as I got home. And I couldn’t exactly lie either; Chanyeol was staring at me curiously and Jongin was also in earshot. “Hospital,” I said before all the courage to tell the truth drained out of me. “One of my friends got hurt in an accident. D-don’t worry about me today if I’m not home for dinner. I’m alright. I’m really sorry.”

Half of me expected to get an earful from her, for staying out for so long and not telling her, but all I heard was dead silence from the other end. After possibly about ten seconds, her reply was quiet, a huge contrast against her last one. “Alright, be back soon and be careful.”  

The line went dead.

I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing; the fact that she had let me go so easily worried me in two ways. There was two possibilities I could think of on the spot at the moment -- none that I was looking forward to. One -- she was going to leave the scolding for when I got home. Two -- she knew what was happening and she knew about Baekhyun -- I wasn’t sure how, but I something really wasn’t going to do was to underestimate my grandma.

Chanyeol didn’t question me, but from my peripheral vision, I could see him eying me. Jongin was talking with Joonmyeon in hushed tones, none of them paying me any attention. “Your grandma?” Chanyeol asked.

I nodded, he didn’t say anything else, and we lapsed into silence again.

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