Chapter 9
Her
Blinking against the harsh overhead lights, my eyelids feel heavy as if they’re glued shut from the inside, and the steady beep of the monitor pulls me further into awareness. My body feels like it's been dragged through mud, limbs leaden, mouth cotton-dry, a dull ache throbbing behind my temples.
Maddie sits beside the bed, her hand still clasped in mine, her face streaked with dried tears that make her look smaller, more fragile than I've ever seen her.
The events in her bathroom crash back in fragments. The pills spilling into my palm, the desperate swallow for silence, the world tilting into black. Guilt floods me immediately, sharp and unrelenting, twisting my stomach because I see the devastation in her eyes, the fear I put there.
"Mads." I croak, my voice a rasp that scratches my throat raw, and I squeeze her hand weakly, needing the contact to ground me in this sterile reality.
"What... What happened? How did I get here?"
She startles, her head snapping up as fresh tears well in her eyes, and for a moment, she just stares at me, her grip tightening until it borders on painful.
Then the dam breaks, and she bursts into sobs, leaning forward to bury her face against my arm, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.
"Ree, oh God, you're awake." She chokes out, her words muffled and wet against the thin hospital gown.
Maddie’s voice cracks as she leans over me, her words muffled against the thin hospital gown. Her arms wrap around me so tightly it almost hurts.
For a moment I just lie there in the hospital bed, the beeping monitor beside me steady and accusing, the IV tugging faintly at my arm. My head feels heavy, like my thoughts are moving through thick fog.
“Mads…” I whisper weakly. My voice barely comes out.
She pulls back slightly, her face pale and streaked with tears.
“I… I didn’t mean to scare you.” The words sound small even to my own ears. I swallow, my throat burning. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”
Maddie freezes. Then her expression twists. “Scare me?” She repeats hoarsely. Her voice cracks open with disbelief.
“Ree, you almost died.” The words fall into the room like stones.
She grips the edge of the hospital mattress like she needs something solid to hold onto.
“What were you thinking?” She chokes out. “Taking those pills…”
Her shoulders shake. “I thought… I thought I’d lost you.” Her voice grows louder, raw and shaking. “If I’d been even a few minutes later, you wouldn’t be here.”
Her fingers tighten around my arm. “You’d be gone, Ree. How could you do that to me?”
The shout slices through the quiet hospital room, full of hurt and anger that make my chest ache deeper than the IV needle in my arm. Tears spill hot down my cheeks. Because she’s right.
I almost left her with this wreckage. Added my silence to the long list of betrayals already piling up around us.
Maddie lifts her head slowly. Her eyes are swollen now, furious and wrecked. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and straightens, but she still doesn’t let go of me. Like loosening her grip might make me disappear.
“The paramedics said one more… maybe two more pills.” She continues, her voice trembling now. “And it would’ve been irreversible.”
She swallows hard. “I rode in that ambulance screaming at them to hurry. Replaying every stupid fight we’ve ever had.”
A shaky breath escapes her. “Every time I should’ve pushed harder. Every moment I thought you were ‘handling it.’”
Tears slide down her cheeks, but she doesn’t bother wiping them away this time.
“That video,” she says suddenly, anger flashing through her voice again, “that’s not you. That’s his crime. His sickness.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “And yeah… it broke you. But it does not get to take you.”
She leans forward until her forehead presses gently against mine, her breath uneven against my skin.
“You don’t get to check out on us.” She whispers. “Not on me. Not on yourself.”
Her grip tightens again, desperate and grounding. “Promise me.” She says quietly. “Right now. We fight this together.”
Before I can respond, the door swings open with a soft whoosh, and a doctor steps in, his white coat crisp and stethoscope dangling from his neck like a badge of calm authority.
He looks to be in his mid-forties, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed and a name tag reading "Dr. Elias Thorne." He glances at the chart in his hand, then at us, his expression professional but kind, the kind of steady that doesn't flinch at raw emotion.
“Miss Whitlock.” The voice comes from the doorway.
I glance up as a tall man in a white coat steps into the room, nodding politely as he approaches the bed. He pulls a stool closer with a soft scrape against the tile and sits down beside me.
“Good to see you awake and alert.” He offers a small professional smile. “I’m Dr. Thorne. I handled your intake last night.”
He studies my face for a moment, assessing. “How are you feeling? Any nausea, dizziness, confusion?”
I shift slightly against the pillows, the movement sending a wave of fatigue through my body. My muscles feel heavy, like they’re filled with sand. My head swims faintly. But his voice cuts through the fog like a thin lifeline.
“Tired.” I admit. My voice scrapes painfully against my throat, but it feels a little stronger than it did earlier. “My throat hurts. Everything else… feels numb, I guess. What did I take?” I ask quietly. “How bad was it?”
Dr. Thorne flips open the chart resting on the foot of the bed, scanning the notes with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
After a moment he looks back at me, offering a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite hide the concern beneath it.
“You ingested a significant dose of lorazepam.” He explains. “An anti-anxiety medication, from what your friend told us.”
He glances briefly toward Maddie. “We acted quickly.” His voice stays calm and matter-of-fact.
“Your stomach was pumped. We started IV fluids and administered activated charcoal to absorb what remained in your system.”
He pauses briefly, clearly choosing his next words with care. “Your bloodwork came back clean. No organ damage. Electrolytes are stable. Vitals are strong.”
The words sink in slowly.
“The medication will metabolize out of your system over the next day or two.” He continues. “You’ll probably feel foggy. Maybe a headache. Some lingering weakness.”
He gives a small reassuring nod. “But nothing permanent. You were lucky. Timing made all the difference.”
Beside me, Maddie exhales sharply. The sound comes out like she’s been holding that breath for hours. Her hand tightens around mine as she turns toward the doctor, relief and fear tangled together across her face.
“So she’s really okay?” She asks quickly. Her voice wobbles despite her attempt to keep it steady. “No long-term damage?”
She glances at me briefly before looking back at him.
“I found her and called 999 right away.” She says. “But I keep thinking… what if I’d waited?”
Her grip tightens around my fingers. “The bottle was half empty. She must’ve taken a lot.”
Dr. Thorne nods gently and rests the chart against his knee as he answers her. “You did everything right, Miss Montclair.”
His tone is calm but firm. “Quick action saved her life. No what-ifs necessary.”
Maddie visibly relaxes a fraction.
“We’ll monitor her overnight.” He continues. “If everything remains stable, we can discharge her tomorrow.”
He glances briefly at me again. “Standard protocol includes a psychiatric evaluation before discharge. Just to make sure we establish a safety plan.”
Relief washes through me slowly. I’m still here. Still breathing. But the words psychiatric evaluation stir a flicker of unease in my chest. A reminder that this isn’t really over.
The video. The stalker. The hollow ache that pushed me to swallow those pills in the first place.
“Thanks, Doctor.” I say softly.
I glance sideways at Maddie, trying to force a weak smile. “See? I’m tough.” My voice is light, though it feels forced. “We’ll laugh about this someday.”
I nod toward her. “Me raiding your medicine cabinet like a bad spy movie.”
Dr. Thorne smiles politely, but his eyes remain serious when they settle back on me.
“Tough, yes.” He says. “But even the toughest people need support after something like this.”
He leans forward slightly on the stool. “Have you considered therapy, Iris? Not just a one-time evaluation.” He continues. “Ongoing therapy.”
He gestures lightly with his hand. “Unpacking the trauma from… whatever led here.”
His gaze holds mine steadily. “An overdose usually indicates deeper distress. Addressing that directly can help prevent this from happening again.”
I shake my head almost immediately. The idea prickles under my skin like an unwelcome touch. Talking about it means reliving it.
The video. The humiliation. The feeling of being watched even when I’m alone.
“I’m fine.” I insist quickly. My voice comes out firmer than I feel. “Really.”
I shift slightly against the pillows. “It was just a bad night. School stress. Personal stuff. I’ll manage.”
“Therapy’s not really for me.” I force a small, determined smile. “I’d rather just move on.”
Dr. Thorne doesn't push right away, instead turning to Maddie with a subtle nod, like they're in quiet conspiracy.
“Miss Montclair, a word?” Dr. Thorne rises from the stool, smoothing the front of his coat. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”
He gestures politely toward the far corner of the room. Maddie hesitates. Her fingers tighten around mine for a moment before she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and stands.
“I’ll be right back.” She murmurs.
She follows him a few steps away, near the window where the pale afternoon light filters through the blinds. I try not to stare, but my ears strain automatically, searching for pieces of the conversation.
Their voices stay low. Urgent.