In The Between

✧･Chapter 16 Feels Like Everything

It takes me thirty minutes to get to the hospital, another five to find the right parking lot, and a few more just to figure out which lobby Claire would even be in. By the time I actually make it inside, I'm a little out of breath, my steps too fast, my chest tight in a way I can't quite name.

I'm panicking. I don't know when it crossed from a little to a lot, but somewhere between the drive and now, it did.

I round another hallway, and then I hear it. I hear her. And the second Claire's voice hits my ears, my pace picks up again without me thinking about it.

"You have got to be kidding me!"

She's loud - loud enough that people have already started to stare, a few lingering just a little too long, like they're waiting for it to get worse.

"Claire, please. Calm down. It's not the end of the world."

The other voice is older that sounds controlled and very dismissive.

I turn the corner and stop. Claire's back is to me, her shoulders tight, her posture rigid in a way I've never seen before. Across from her stands an older woman, arms crossed, expression flat with something that looks a little too much like annoyance.

"You could've at least called one of us, Mom," Claire snaps.

The woman sighs, like this is exhausting for her, like she's the one being inconvenienced. "You're making a scene."

Claire lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, sharp and humorless. "A scene?" She echoes. "That's what you care about right now? Me making a fucking scene?"

Her mother's expression doesn't change. If anything, it hardens, lips pressing into something thin and unimpressed.

"Yes, Claire. A scene," she says, voice still level, like Claire's the unreasonable one. "Cursing in the middle of a hospital, drawing attention to yourself, it's embarrassing."

Claire actually recoils a little at that, like the word hits somewhere it shouldn't. "Embarrassing?" she repeats, quieter now, but somehow worse. "That's what you think this is?"

"I think," her mother continues, unfazed, "that you've always had a flair for dramatics. This really isn't any different."

There's a shift in the air, subtle but immediate. Even the people lingering nearby seem to go quieter, like they can feel it too. Claire just stares at her for a second, blinking like she's trying to process that, like she's waiting for her to take it back.

"You don't get to do that," Claire says finally, her voice tight, controlled in a way that feels like it's barely holding. "You don't get to act like this is nothing."

"I'm not saying it's nothing," her mother replies with a small, dismissive shrug. "I'm saying you're overreacting, as usual."

That lands, hard. I see it from where I'm standing - the way Claire's shoulders drop just slightly, like something inside her just gave out.

"You know what?" Claire lets out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand down her face. "God, I don't even know why I thought-" She cuts herself off, shaking her head like she can't even finish the thought.

"Thought what?" Her mother presses, tilting her head. "That I'd indulge this? That I'd drop everything because you decided to spiral?"

Claire goes still, and then, quieter than before, almost flat, "wow."

Her mother exhales, already losing patience. "If you're done, I really don't see the point in continuing this conversation. You're clearly not in a place to be rational."

"Rational?" Claire snaps, her voice cracking now despite how hard she's trying to keep it steady. "You show up out of nowhere and take my grandmother to the fucking hospital, don't tell anyone, don't call, don't even text, and I'm the one who's not rational?"

"I didn't realize I needed your permission," her mother shoots back.

"No, you just needed basic decency!" Claire's hands come up in frustration before dropping back to her sides, fingers curling into fists.

Her mother's expression flickers, not softer, just sharper. "You worry too much," she says. "It's not a good look on you. Makes you seem... desperate."

That does it and Claire flinches like she's been slapped and something in my chest twists hard enough it almost hurts.

And before I can think better of it, I move.

"Hey!" It comes out sharper than I expect, louder than I mean for it to.

Both of them turn and Claire's reaction is immediate. Shock, clear and unfiltered, her eyes widening the second they land on me like she wasn't expecting me, like I'm the last person she thought would show up.

"Mae?"

I don't look away from her, even as I step forward, closing the distance without hesitation now.

"Hey," I say again, softer this time, my eyes flicking over her face, taking in more than she probably wants me to see.

Then I glance at her mother, just briefly, my expression tightening.

"She doesn't seem desperate," I add, my voice steady again, quieter but somehow landing just as hard. "She seems like she cares."

Claire's still staring at me, like she hasn't caught up yet, like she's trying to figure out if I'm actually here and I don't give her time to overthink it.

I don't look at her, because her mother recovers first. "And you are?" she asks, her tone sharp, already edged with irritation.

I don't hesitate. "Someone who's telling you to stop."

Her brows lift, just slightly. "Excuse me?"

"This isn't how you talk to her," I say, my voice steady but not soft. "Not here, not anywhere."

A tight, humorless smile pulls at her mouth. "I'm her mother. I think I'll decide how I speak to my own daughter."

"And I think you already did, decide" I shoot back, "and clearly, it's not working."

"This is none of your business," she snaps.

"Then don't make it everyone's," I gesture lightly around us, at the people still pretending not to watch. "You're the one doing this in public."

Claire shifts beside me, like she's trying to say something, but nothing comes out.

"I don't know what Claire has told you," she continues, her voice sharpening, "but she has a habit of blowing things out of proportion. She always has. Everything is bigger, louder, more dramatic than it needs to be-"

"Stop," I cut in, firmer this time, but she doesn't.

"-and frankly, it's exhausting. I'm trying to have a rational conversation and she-"

"I said stop!" The words land harder now, and for a second, she actually pauses.

Then her eyes narrow. "You don't get to speak to me like that."

"And you don't get to tear her down and call it a conversation," I fire back, stepping forward without thinking, closing the space just slightly. "You don't get to show up, dismiss her, and then act like she's the problem when she reacts to you."

"That is not what I'm doing," she snaps.

"It is exactly what you're doing."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have a pretty clear idea," I say, my voice dropping, sharper now. "I've been standing here listening to you talk to her like she's an inconvenience."

Claire sucks in a breath beside me, like she didn't expect me to say it out loud.

Her mother lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Oh, please. Claire's fine. She's always fine. She just likes the attention."

Something in my chest snaps. "Yeah?" I shoot back. "Is that what this is? Attention?"

I glance at Claire for half a second - just enough to see the hurt she's trying to hide, the way her hands have curled into fists at her sides - then back to her mother.

"Because it doesn't look like attention," I continue, my voice low and cutting. "It looks like she's been trying to get you to care, and you won't even meet her halfway."

Silence slams down between us and Claire's mother's expression hardens, something colder settling in. "You're out of line," she says.

"No," I reply immediately. "You are."

Another step forward, not aggressive - but not backing down either.

"You don't get to call her dramatic because she reacts to you," I add. "You don't get to call her desperate because she cares. And you definitely don't get to stand here and act like she's the problem."

"That's enough," she snaps, her composure finally cracking. "I will not be spoken to like this by- by whoever you are."

"I don't really care who you'll tolerate," I cut in, sharper now, the patience gone. "What I care about is you don't talk to her like that again."

For the first time, she doesn't fire something back immediately. She just looks at me, then at Claire. Then back at me, like she's trying to recalibrate, trying to figure out where control slipped.

Claire's voice finally breaks through, quieter, unsteady. "Mae..."

I glance at her, and she looks... stunned. Not just surprised I'm here, but at what I just did. At the fact that I didn't hesitate. That I didn't soften it, didn't back off, didn't try to smooth anything over.

Her mother exhales sharply, clearly done with this. "This is ridiculous," she mutters, shaking her head. "When you're ready to have an actual conversation, Claire, you know where to find me."

She turns, already stepping away, and just like that, she's gone. The space she leaves behind feels different. Quieter, but not in the same suffocating way as before.

Claire doesn't move. She doesn't say anything, and for a second I think she might just walk away from me too. I turn to her fully, the adrenaline still humming under my skin, my voice quieter now when I say her name.

"Claire."

She doesn't look at me. Her jaw tightens instead, her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder like if she just doesn't engage, this will all go away. Like I'll go away.

I hesitate for half a second, then step closer anyway. My hands come up slowly, giving her enough time to pull back if she wants to - but she doesn't. I cup her face gently, my thumbs brushing over her skin without thinking, grounding more than anything else.

Her breath catches, and that's what finally makes her look at me.

The reaction is immediate. Shock and confusion, something softer buried underneath it that she clearly doesn't want there. It flickers across her face before she can hide it.

"Mae..." My name comes out quieter than before, like she's still trying to catch up. "How- why are you here?"

Her voice cracks just slightly at the end, and she closes her eyes like she's frustrated with herself for it.

Then she steps back.

It's not aggressive, not sudden, but it's enough. Enough to break the moment, enough to put space back between us where she thinks it belongs. My hands fall away, the absence of contact immediate.

"Helena called me," I say, keeping my voice even. "I came as soon as I could."

Claire lets out a dry, tired laugh, shaking her head as she looks off to the side. "Of course she did," she mutters, dragging a hand over her face.

There's no real bite to it, just exhaustion. "You didn't have to come," she adds after a second, quieter now. "I'm fine."

It's automatic, the kind of lie that doesn't even try to sound convincing.

I don't argue with her. I don't push. I just watch her for a second longer, taking in the way her shoulders are still tight, the way she's holding herself together by force more than anything else.

"Yeah," I say softly. "You look fine"

Her eyes flick back to mine, a flash of something sharp there, but it fades almost as quickly as it comes. Whatever fight she had a minute ago, it's still there, but it's buried under something heavier now.

She exhales, long and slow, like she's suddenly too tired to keep standing. "God," she mutters under her breath, more to herself than to me.

Then she turns, walking a few steps over to the row of chairs lining the wall and dropping into one without another word, leaning forward slightly, elbows on her knees, hands coming up to press against her face.

I follow without thinking, sitting down beside her but not too close, giving her space without leaving her alone.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

The noise of the hospital fills the gap - distant voices, footsteps, the steady hum of everything continuing like the world didn't just tilt a little.

I glance over at her. "How is she?" I ask quietly.

Claire doesn't move right away. Her hands stay over her face for another second before she drags them down, exhaling as she leans back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling like the answer is written there.

"She's... mostly okay," she says after a moment, her voice rough around the edges. "As okay as she can be, I guess."

I nod slightly, waiting.

"She's asleep right now," Claire continues, blinking a few times before her gaze drops forward again. "They gave her something earlier. My sister's in there with her."

"Hallie?" I ask.

Claire nods. "Yeah."

A small pause.

"She's got a broken arm," she adds, her voice flattening a little, like she's listing it off just to get through it. "And a really bad bruised eye. Her lip's... pretty messed up too. But-" she exhales, shaking her head slightly, "-it could've been worse. So... she's fine, mostly."

Mostly. The word hangs there, heavy with everything it's not saying. I don't respond right away. I just sit there with her, letting it settle, letting her have the space to exist in it without trying to fix it or soften it.

Claire's shoulder brushes mine as she exhales, slow and uneven, and I realize it's not just exhaustion...

she's shaking. It's subtle at first, barely there, but once I notice it, I can't un-see it.

The tremor in her hands, the way her breath stutters every few seconds like her body hasn't quite caught up to everything that just happened.

For a second, I hesitate.

I've spent years teaching myself not to do this. Not to reach for her. Not to close the distance I was the one who created in the first place.

But she's right here, struggling with all of this, feeling alone in it all.

So I move before I can stop myself, slowly sliding my hand across the space between us until my fingers brush against hers. It's tentative, barely there, like I'm giving her time to change her mind, to pull back, to remind me why I shouldn't be doing this.

But she doesn't.

Instead, her fingers curl around mine - sudden and tight - and the second it happens, it's like something sharp and blazing tears straight through my chest. My breath hitches, completely out of my control, every nerve in my body lighting up all at once like I've just stepped too close to a fire I forgot could burn me.

It's too much. Too fast. Six years of distance collapsing into something as small as her hand in mine.

And somehow, it feels like everything.

I go still, my fingers tightening around hers without meaning to, like if I don't hold on just as tightly, I might lose this too.

Claire doesn't look at me. Her head is tipped back against the wall, eyes closed, jaw still tense, but her grip on my hand tightens just a little more, grounding and more certain.

And she doesn't let go.

I spent years convincing myself distance was the right thing.

Sitting next to her now, I realize...

I don't think I can do that anymore.