Medically room
Chapter 38— continued
LORENZO
"How is she, Doc?"
Maria asks the question before the doctor even fully turns around. Her voice carries that specific, tight nervousness of someone who is keeping themselves together through the sheer effort of having something practical to focus on.
We both wait.
It has been ten grueling minutes since Doctor Hassley asked me to set Sophia down on one of the beds so she could examine her.
Ten minutes in which Maria and I have just...
stood here. Looking at each other. Looking at the white curtain drawn tightly around the bed.
Not talking, because there is absolutely nothing left to say.
The medical wing is large and modern, ten beds on either side, each separated by privacy curtains, with a small seating area near the entrance. For the football team alone, it makes sense to have a private doctor on the premises.
I genuinely cannot remember the last time I was in here.
The afternoon sun comes through the frosted windows in long, pale strips, warming a room that the air conditioning keeps at a freezing temperature.
It makes everything feel slightly unreal.
Clean. Quiet. The kind of room where sounds arrive softened.
Doctor Hassley finally steps out from behind the curtain and looks at both of us.
"Your friend is lucky," she says, making brief air quotes around the word lucky in a way that immediately tells me the next part is going to be bad. "Her skull is bruised. Not fractured. She will be fine." A heavy pause. "However."
However what? What the hell is the however?
"Miss Miller is suffering from acute sleep deprivation."
Doctor Hassley delivers the words with the measured calm of someone stating a fact rather than a verdict.
"That deprivation is what caused her body to lose the ability to stabilize itself after the impact. Simply put..."
she closes her folder with a definitive snap, "..her body had nothing left."
Beside me, Maria draws a sharp, quiet breath.
I stare at the plastic folder.
"So, what does that mean?" I ask, my voice sounding rougher than intended. "What does that mean for her?"
"It means I have been trying to reach her aunt . Miss Miller needs complete rest. Her body needs time to recover."
Doctor Hassley glances down at her watch.
"The sleep disturbances appear to have been ongoing for several weeks. She is incredibly run down."
She casts another professional glance toward the closed curtain.
"She will stay here until I reach her aunt. It would also help if she changed,her uniform is quite dirty from the fall."
"I think I have something in my locker," Maria says immediately, already pivoting toward the door. The sharp, rhythmic clicking of her heels quickly retreats down the corridor beyond.
I turn toward the exit as well.
I mean what exactly am I supposed to do here?
What contribution can I possibly make to this situation that someone else couldn't make better, and with considerably less complication?
I place my hand flat against the doorframe, ready to bolt.
"Mister Calloway." Doctor Hassley's voice catches me right before I clear the threshold.
I turn back around. She is already gathering her medical papers, her expression pleasant and completely non-negotiable.
"It would be helpful if you could stay and keep an eye on your friend while I go to the director's office to reach Miss Miller's aunt."
She flashes a quick smile, and then she is gone.
Your friend.
There it is again.
That word. It sits heavily in the sterile air of the room like something I have no idea what to do with.
I don't think about it. I don't let myself hesitate.
I cross the quiet room, pull the white curtain back, and stand at the edge of the cot. And look down at her.
Sleep deprivation. Weeks of it, apparently.
Now that I actually know the truth, it's painfully obvious. The dark shadows bruised under her eyes that I noticed without fully registering.
The way she moves sometimes, with a heavy exhaustion buried beneath her sharp energy, like a machine running on far less fuel than it should be.
Does she even sleep at all?
Does she throw her hair up every single morning in that messy, chaotic bun because she doesn't have the time to do anything else?
Because she is already running behind before her day has even started?
I drop heavily into the plastic chair beside the bed.
Before I can stop myself, my hand moves on pure instinct. I reach out and gently brush a stray strand of dark hair away from her pale face. My fingers linger near her skin.
"At least you're not annoying like this," I say quietly.
"You know what, stalker... maybe I was a bit too harsh," I whisper finally. Saying it out loud makes it feel slightly more real. It makes it an actual confession rather than just another intrusive thought I keep finding in my own head and trying to lock away.
As if she can actually hear me, she murmurs something incoherent into her pillow.
I lean forward slightly, my chest tightening. "What?"
"I miss you," she murmurs. The words are soft, shapeless, the tragic drifting of someone trapped deep inside a dream.
I go completely still. I stop breathing.
"Who do you miss?" I ask, my voice dropping into a rough whisper. I don't know if she can hear me, or if she is somewhere else entirely.
She shifts on the mattress. A small, fractured sound escapes her—not pain, exactly, but the specific restlessness of someone whose sleep is never peaceful. She turns her face away, then rolls back toward me.
"Who do you miss, Sophia?" I ask again, leaning dangerously closer without meaning to.
"Mum and dad," she murmurs against the fabric.
She turns again, settling deeper into the pillow.
My lungs freeze. Her face is turned directly toward mine, her expression completely devoid of any guard. She carries none of the careful, defensive layers she wears like armor every single day through every single room of this academy.
What happened to her family?
But before I can follow the thought into the dark, the curtain pulls back fast.
I sit up even faster, my elbow almost knocking the metal lamp off the side table.
Maria appears from behind the white fabric, a massive pile of clothes balanced precariously in both arms. She peers over the top of the stack. "I found a bit more than I thought," she says, dumping the clothes onto the foot of the bed.
Then, her eyes dart to me.
Then to Sophia.
Then straight back to me.
Her gaze narrows. "What's going on here?" she asks slowly. Then, her voice filling with a sharp, protective edge
"What did you do, Lorenzo?"
"Relax."
I stand up, pulling my shoulders back and slipping my hands into my pockets to hide the sudden tension. I cast one last, lingering glance down at Sophia's sleeping form.
"I was just leaving."