Chapter 20
Sebastian
The sound of sirens grows louder until it drowns out all other noise. Rattling the windows. Rattling me.
Red and blue lights strobe through the glass, painting her skin in flickers.
Boots thunder down the hall—voices urgent, clipped, and way too fucking calm. Hands reach for me. Gloved and steady.
"Sir, we need to take her now—"
"No!" My arms tighten around her, even knowing these men are here to help, to try to save her. But it's like every muscle in my body is seizing. "No, you can't. She needs me.”
“She needs me!"
"Sir, please let go." The paramedic pleads with me, but I can't. My arms are stone around her dying body. If I let go, she might slip further away—into a place I can't follow. If I let go, it means she's leaving me.
Another paramedic crouches low in front of me, voice softer. "We're going to help her, but you need to trust us. Don't take away her only chance of surviving."
Trust. The word tastes like poison. I never trusted anyone but her, and look what happened.
Now I'm supposed to hand her over to strangers who don’t know how she sounds when she laughs, or the way she hates silence when she sleeps.
They don’t know the sound of her saying my name like it mattered.
Leaning down, I place one last kiss on her cold, pale lips and whisper, “I love you.”
I don't want to be the reason she dies here. I have to let them take her.
This time, when he reaches for her, I let him.
They peel her inch by inch away from me. Her arm slips from my shoulder, her hair sliding through my fingers—and then she's gone.
I sit on the floor in a puddle of water and blood, barely managing to hang on to myself. I can hear them taking her away. I hear one of the men say she has a faint pulse, and that's the only shred of hope I allow myself—because if she doesn't make it, neither will I.
***
The drive to the hospital is a blur of lights and sirens, but I'm not in the ambulance.
They shoved me back, strapped her down, and shut the doors. I was left standing there, screaming until my voice gave out. Roman and Ace dragged me into a car, but I don't remember moving. I don't remember breathing.
Now I'm in the waiting room. Fluorescent lights humming above me—way too bright, too sterile.
The smell of disinfectant claws at my nose.
My clothes are stiff with Mary's dried blood, my skin matching.
I can't stop rubbing my hands together, as if it will erase it, but it only smears deeper into my skin.
Every time a door opens, my head snaps up. My stomach knots so hard I bend forward, choking on bile as my chest seizes again and again, like I've forgotten how to breathe.
I see Mary in flashes behind my eyes every time they close—
Her head thrown back in laughter at some joke.
The way she'd shove me away when I teased her too much.
I press my fists into my eyes until I see stars, until the memories blur into the white walls of the hospital. Time stretches, like it's mocking me from this fucking waiting room. Five minutes feels like an eternity. Every second without any news is a new knife twisting deeper.
A doctor finally appears—blue scrubs and tired eyes—she approaches our group. My body launches out of the chair before my brain catches up.
"She's okay." Her voice is quiet, understanding. "It'll take her some time to recover from what happened. Is there any family we should contact?"
“I’m her only family.” I'm barely holding on by a thread. I need to see that she's okay with my own eyes.
"Okay. You can go in, but only one at a time." She looks from me to the small group of us. "We don't want to overwhelm her." All the blood in my body rushes to my ears as she rattles off the room number and how to get there. It's a miracle I understood any of it.
Leaving the others behind without a word, I walk the hospital halls toward her room, my heart heavy, anticipation twisting tighter with each step.
The sterile smell of disinfectant, mixed with dread and apprehension, dominates the air all around. As I approach the room, my palms grow clammy, and a knot forms in my stomach.
The door creaks as I push it open, revealing a scene that instantly steals the breath from my lungs.
Mary’s sleeping form—fragile and vulnerable—lies covered in crisp white sheets, resting against her pale body. The fluorescent lights above cast an eerie glow, accentuating the shadows beneath her closed eyes.
Tubes snake around her, connecting her to machines that beep and hum. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to continue, until my legs find their way and carry me to her bedside.
The closer I get, the more my heart hammers against my chest. The sight of her there, so small and frail, shatters the illusion of strength I’d held onto for so long. Reaching out slowly, my fingers hover above her hand.
The warmth radiating from her, even in her unconscious state, brings me closer—reassuring me she's here and alive, that she’s okay.
I sit down in the chair next to her bed.
With bated breath, I take hold of her hand, lacing our fingers together, seeking solace in the simple touch that’s always brought me comfort.
I study her face—her delicate features etched with lines of pain and fatigue.
Her eyes, usually vibrant and full of life, are now shielded by heavy lids, as if guarding her from the danger of the world.
And it’s all my fault. She was always happy, full of life.
I should’ve known I was pushing her too far.
Way too much. She didn’t show up for school for weeks.
Wouldn't answer my calls or texts. After two weeks of her being gone, she finally came back.
The dark bags under her eyes told me she wasn't sleeping well.
Or at all.
She's been suffering alone for over six months. Six goddamn months.
A single tear escapes from the corner of my eye, tracing a path down my cheek. I blink away the rest, determined to remain strong for her.
This isn’t the time for sorrow—it’s a time for hope.
Time seems to lose all meaning as I sit by her side, clutching her hand tightly.
The outside world fades away, leaving the two of us alone.
I pray silently, begging for any sign she’ll be okay beyond the doctor's words.
And then, almost imperceptibly, her fingers twitch within mine.
***
It’s been four days, and the only time I’ve left was to shower and change out of my bloodied clothes.
Ace tried dragging me from the room to get something to eat, but I refused to leave her side—which meant he’s been bringing me food from the cafeteria downstairs and stale coffee to help keep me awake.
Sleeping has been impossible. With only a small chair next to Mary’s bed, I’ve managed a few hours here and there, only to wake up from the nightmare of finding her again.
But this time, she wasn’t alive. Every time I close my eyes, I’m taken back to that moment, so it’s easier to avoid sleep.
Not when she’s right in front of me. Breathing.
Nurses have come and gone, offering me sad smiles as they check her vitals and replace the empty blood bags from the transfusions.
Mary lost way too much blood, but after four days of recovery, she’s starting to look better.
Her wrists are healing the way they should.
The scarring will be brutal, but I’ll have to remind her it’s proof that she survived.
Now it’s just waiting for her to open her eyes and wake up.
I’m not sure how long time has passed, as I rest my head against the side of her bed, my eyes closing on their own even as I fight it. I can’t sleep—she might wake up—but when I feel the graze of smooth fingers in my hair, my head shoots up, and my breath catches.
Mary is looking right at me, a faint glimmer in her gaze. Her lip curves slightly, and heat rushes through me, loosening the hold on my throat.
“Am I dreaming?” Her voice sounds rough and dry from not talking, but my eyes still fill with tears.
I shake my head. “No, baby. You aren’t dreaming.” My voice scrapes out rough and raw. Mary blinks a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the lighting.
"I’m here," I whisper, the words falling apart as they leave me. "I'm right here with you." Her fingers twitch, trying to curl around mine, enough to ground me.
“Rebel, I'm so sorry.” The air punches out of me, and I bow my head to her stomach, pressing my face there, breathing her in, shaking.
"S-Seb," she murmurs, barely a whisper—yet it stabs straight through me.