Day 7: I Love You (Anna's PoV.)

I'm just chilling on the couch and waiting for you to get home when my phone rings. The screen lights up with the name 'Gerda Anders,' but I can't come up with a reason that your aunt would be calling me. I answer the call and say, "Hi Gerda. What's up?"

"It's Elsa," Gerda replies simply. "She's been in an accident."

My phone slips from my now limp fingers and falls to the couch. I can hear Gerda continue talking, but her earlier words keep repeating in my head. You. An accident. Suddenly, the apartment is too small and I can't breathe. I need to get out. I need to find you. I grab my phone off of the couch "Where is she?" I ask.

Gerda sputters for a moment, having been in the middle of something about a red light. "They took her to the hospital," she says eventually.

"Which one?" I demand. A small part of me winces at my tone. I should apologize for being so brusque, but I can't bring myself to right now. My sole focus right now is getting to you. I tell myself I'll apologize later, once I know you're okay. Gerda tells me the address and I put it into my phone for directions. I end the call without so much as a goodbye and throw on the first pair of shoes I can find. I'll really need to call her back to apologize later. Grabbing my keys, I sprint out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind me. I make it out of the building and silently thank anyone who wants to listen that I managed to get a close parking spot for once.

I jump into my car and slam the door shut, but my hands are shaking too much to get my key into the ignition. I try to force myself to calm down, but I can't get a horrible image of you out of my head. I can see your body lying broken and bloody in the middle of the road. It's nearly enough to make me vomit. After missing the ignition slot for the fourth time, I grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. Despite the image of you lying in the road still lingering behind my eyelids, I take two slow, deep breaths. When I open my eyes again, I finally manage to get the key into the ignition and start my car. I tear across the parking lot like a bat out of Hell, and I can only pray that I won't come across any police on the way to the hospital. As I race through the streets, my horrible thoughts fade away… all except one. One thought fills me with regret.

I never told you that I love you.

I do, of course. I love you more than anything, more than I thought it was possible to love another person, I but I never said those three little words. I know I should have. I wanted to tell you every day, but I was scared. Despite the urgency of the situation, I can't help but think back to when you first said that you loved me.

"I love you."

Your words seem to suck all of the air out of the room, and suddenly I can't breathe. You're looking at me with a mix of hope and apprehension, but I can only flounder like a fish out of water. I try to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled squeak. The color drains from your face, leaving it a deathly pale white. You frantically wave your hands, as if trying to bat the words out of the air. "I-I'm sorry," you stutter, "Just forget I said—"

"No, no!" I cut you off after finally finding my voice. "That's… that's amazing. Thank you." I cringe at my own words, and the way your face falls makes me feel even worse. "I'm sorry," I continue lamely, "I know that 'thank you' isn't exactly the response you want to… that." I can't bring myself to say the words, even if it's quoting you. "I just… I was burned by saying it too soon. It's… hard."

"What happened?" you ask. Immediately, you try to backtrack, saying, "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me. Forget I asked."

"No, it's okay," I respond. "It sucked, but I got over it. Besides, I've got someone way better now." I lace my fingers through yours, causing your face to turn a deep crimson. I take a breath and get ready to dig into some old wounds.

"His name was Hans Westergard," I begin. Venom drips from his name when I say it, but I commend myself on not dropping an F-bomb in the middle. Even though I claim to have gotten over him, it's still a sore subject. "We dated for a while in high school. He was tall, handsome, and crazy smooth. He seemed like he would be the president of the Model UN or something with how well dressed and eloquent he was. I told him that I… loved him after a couple of weeks. He said that he didn't feel the same way yet, and I was okay with that. I was so sure that I loved him, so I was willing to wait."

"But then," I pause. This part never gets any easier. "I came by his apartment to surprise him one day. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in and…" Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, but I keep going. "and I found his face buried between the thighs of the head cheerleader."

You gasp, then immediately pull me into a bone crushing. "I'm so sorry," you murmur. I'm taken aback for a moment; I hadn't expected such a… strong reaction.

"It's okay, really," I reply. I slip my arms around your waist and return the hug. After a few moments, we finally pull away from one another. When our eyes meet, your gaze is soft and full of love.

"I love you," you say, almost reverently, "so much." I shift a bit and open my mouth to say something, but you cut me off. "Don't feel like you need to say it back, Anna. I know that you care about me, and that's enough." You smile warmly, and my cheeks feel so hot I'm surprised they don't catch fire.

I slam on the brakes to avoid speeding through a red light. My car skids to a stop just shy of entering the intersection, and I use a sleeve to wipe away the tears threatening to stream down my face. My free foot is rapidly bouncing while I try to force the light to turn green. When it finally does, I floor the accelerator and resume my race through the streets.

I try not to dwell on the aftermath of you dropping the 'I love you' bomb. You didn't say it often, and I could tell that you wanted to say it more but were holding back so that I wouldn't feel pressured. I never did feel pressured to say it. Hell, I wanted to say it. I wanted to tell you that I loved you every day, but I was scared. At first, I was scared because of what happened with Hans, regardless of how ridiculous it was to compare you to him.

My fear quickly changed, and I was afraid of just how much I loved you. It was like before we started dating all over again. You were all I could think about. I dreamt about you before we started living together. When you eventually did ask me to move in, I didn't even need to think about it. Living with you just seemed so… right. I even caught myself looking at engagement rings leading up to our anniversary. I was madly, dangerously, in love with you, but I was afraid to tell you.

My car skids around a corner and the hospital comes into view. I have to restrain myself from flooring the accelerator again, but I still blaze along at a solid fifteen miles over the speed limit. I weave between cars as the hospital looms closer and closer. Several people honk at me as i make a right turn from the left lane, but I don't care. I don't bother looking for a parking spot and just park next to the front doors, leaving my hazard lights on in the universal symbol for 'this is an emergency and I'll come back in a minute to move my car.' I sprint through the lobby, narrowly avoiding two wheelchairs and an old woman with a walker.

"I'm looking for Elsa Anders," I say after crashing into the front desk. The woman seated on the other side stares at me in shock for a few moments, then blinks and starts typing on her computer.

"Name?" she asks and I can only blink in confusion. I just told her your name. After a beat of silence, she tries again. "Your name, ma'am? I need it for the Visitors Log."

"Oh, right," I reply, mentally smacking myself on the forehead. "Anna Eriksson."

"Ah, Miss Eriksson," the woman says, her mouth twitching up into a smile. "Miss Anders made sure we knew you'd be coming. Normally we would restrict visitors to just family so soon after admittance, but she was rather… insistent that you be allowed in." She enters a few more things into her computer. "She's in room 404," she says, pointing down a hallway to the left. "Take the elevator down that hall up to the fourth floor and follow the room directions on the wall."

I take off toward the hallway, belatedly yelling back a quick 'thank you' before rounding a corner. Luckily, someone is just getting off of the elevator when I reach it and I'm able to hop on. I jam the '4' button over and over until the doors close. I nervously bounce on the balls of my feet as the elevator slowly. I groan as the floor number finally shifts from '1' to '2'. This has to be the slowest elevator in the world.

After an eternity, the elevator finally reaches the fourth floor, and I squeeze between the doors as they open. I race over to the plaque on the wall and try to find '404'. An arrow pointing to the right reads '401-414', so I sprint down the hallway in that direction. Numbers fly by until I nearly reach the end of the hall. I come to a stop at room 405, but the next one is 403. There is no room 404. I look back and forth between the doors to 403 and 405. "Where's 404?" I wonder aloud.

"Anna?"

I whirl around at the sound of your voice and am standing directly in front of a door with '404' written on it. I bound through the door and finally see you laying in the bed inside. I'm so relieved to see you that it takes me a few seconds to notice that one of your legs is suspended above the bed and wrapped in a cast. "Oh my God," I cry, "what happened to your leg?"

"It's nice to see you, too," you mutter dryly. I start to offer a stuttering apology, but you wave it away, giggling. "It's fine, Anna." You beckon me closer, and I suddenly realize that I'm still frozen in the doorway. I cross the room and gingerly sit next to you. "Anyway," you say, "I was driving home from school and some guy on his phone ran a red light. He slammed into the side of my car, and the collision broke my tibia and fibula. The doctor said I'll need to wear the cast for six to eight weeks, and no walking for at least two weeks."

"Are you okay?" I ask before immediately wanting to slap myself. "I mean of course you're not okay, you've got a broken leg. But other than—" I pause for a moment when I finally notice a white bandage running along your forehead and another across your cheek. I lean in close to peer at them, as if I could see anything through the bandage, but it's difficult because you're shaking with poorly suppressed laughter.

"I'm fine," you say between giggles. You gently nudge me back so that you have a little more room, and I flop back down on the bed. "I got some cuts from the window breaking during the collision, but the doctor said they shouldn't scar over." You shift a bit, and a grimace flashes across your face. "I'm sure I'll get some nice bruises out of it, too."

I let out a big sigh and lean forward again, pulling you into a hug. "I'm just glad you're okay… well, mostly," I say. Once we separate, my eyes flash to the cast. "Does your leg hurt?"

"A little," you reply, shrugging. "But they're giving me some really nice pain medication for it." You lay your hand on mine and say, "I'm sorry you were worried about me. I told Aunt Gerda to let you know I wasn't seriously hurt." You sigh and look to the bedside table. Your phone is laying on it. The screen is completely shattered and about a third of the glass is missing. "Sadly, the same can't be said for my phone."

"Ouch," I say. I flip my hand over so that I can hold yours. I rub my thumb in small circles on the back of your hand, and you smile at me. All of the thoughts that raced through my head during the drive to the hospital come flooding back. I lift your hand up and kiss the back of it.

"I love you," you say softly.

"I love you, too."