I groaned softly, my arms limp, my wrists unnaturally cold. The monotonous hum in the corner of the room didn't seem to help rid me of my pounding headache, but it was enough to bring me back to my distressed soul-capsule.
I could feel bright lights beating onto my eyelids, and panic immediate aroused within my chest.
Where's the lavender??
The only whiffs of air that I caught were sterile and chilling against my unaccustomed lungs.
I tasted blood, my teeth hooked harshly onto my bottom lip. I tried to lift my hand to wipe it away, worried that Jug might've questioned, only to find that neither of them would budge.
My eyes shot open as I heard footsteps rushing quickly out of the room, yelling in the distance.
"I need a doctor!! She's awake!".
Frantically, I took everything in: the white walls, the plain, thin sheets, the humming machines beside my bed and the IVs pumping through the countless needles in my left arm, which was held down my a leather strap, the same as it's counterpart.
People dressed in blue scrubs and masks ran back in, their faces lightening at the sight of my confusion.
"W-Why am I in the hospital? What's ha-happening to me? Why am I here? Someone p-please explain!", I cried, heaving in shallow breaths while I looked between each of them, desperate for help.
"Why am I restrained??".
"You don't remember, sweetie?", one lady asked, her wavy brown hair draping over her back in its tightened ponytail.
I shook my head rapidly as she approached my side, flinching as she laid a hand onto my shoulder.
Their elated facial expressions dropped, all of them becoming sorrowful.
"Honey... you tried to commit suicide.".
My world stopped turning for a moment.
"W-What? W-When?".
"About six months ago. One of your neighbors noticed you hadn't been out in a while... emergency services found you in the bathroom, your arms covered in slits and a razor in your hand. I'm so sorry.".
"N-No! That can't be true. Jug... Jug and I have been dating for months now. I've been with him. I've been with h-him all this time.".
I turned to the man fo the group, who I'd assumed to be the doctor.
"C-Can you get him please? J-Jughead Jones, or Forsythe Jones the third?".
One of the nurses nodded, scurrying out of the room. She came back a few minutes later, her face twisted when she leaned into the doctor's ear and showing him the stack of papers in her hands.
His face mirrored hers, and he quickly turned back to me, clasping his hands together.
"Miss Cooper... Jughead Jones... I don't know how to tell you this, but he...".
"What!? Just tell me, for the love of God!".
"He committed suicide almost 2 years ago, at the age of 23.".
The little amount of color in the room seemed to drain, seeping through the cracks in the floor, leaving the vicinity desolate and lonely. The lighting intensified, the humming becoming deafening. The sounds of their rapid questioning and apologies magnified as I sank further into the mattress, hoping it'd swallow me whole.
"No!! N-No, you're lying!! He's fine! He's fine! P-Please bring him to me, I'm b-begging you!".
I started struggling to release myself, screaming louder and louder as they stood, refusing to comply to my pleas. Instead, they held me down, assuring me that I was alright.
Their words went out one ear and out the other, each of their breaths becoming more and more meaningless while I silently watched the blurry room sway, despite constantly letting it leak onto my cheeks.
