His Little Heart

Where Everything Begins

Luna Weathers is a new patient of Dr. Thomas Hiddleston, a medically licensed physician who specializes in behavioral health. In the middle of the night, she's rushed into his care after a life-changing crisis that dismantles her sense of identity and stability. Due to the supreme circumstances of her condition, it's decided that more than one night in the hospital is required to help her. Of course, as expected, she isn't at all pleased.

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It had been a long night for me. One moment I was walking up the steps to my orphanage, the next being carted off into an ambulance in flashing blue and red lights. I can't recall very well what happened exactly that brought me here - the Behavioral Health Pavilion at Nationwide Children's - but I know for certain I didn't like where I was now.

The room I was in was clad in a pretty baby blue with soft white carpeting. It held very little, a small white couch I was hunched over, waiting anxiously for my case provider to see me, and a few large cushioned sofa chairs tucked up in the corners. Every few minutes, my tired eyes would wander over to the door, securely closed to keep me from walking free. A narrow window was built in the door, a peep hole of sorts for me to see any approaching people. Right now, a nurse stood guard outside, waiting until the doctor showed up.

If it weren't for the circumstances I was presently in, I'd have thought the small room absolutely gorgeous. I wouldn't have minded sitting on the couch I was on, my hands cupped underneath my chin with my palms facing up as my right leg trembled and my stomach felt light in anxious fear. I tried not to look around the room, staring vacantly at the white carpet floor. A small dull pain throbbed at my forehead, exhaustion heavy in my tiny bones.

Sitting there, alone in that room, prisoner to wherever I was, my mind contemplated the events of the night. Things had been fine and so unsuspecting to what happened, a terrible occurrence I couldn't remember. Blue and red lights, and loud wailing sirens lit up my night, and then the jarring sounds of people calling my name, asking, demanding to state my name and date of birth. Nurses, I realized too late, and then, two hours in a room full of chaos.

I was given a wristband to identify who I was. A doctor, a man who promised I was in good hands, took my vitals and some of my blood. A kind-faced nurse, now standing outside this room, aided me into a loose fitting gown before taking me to collect a sample of my urine. Harry, that was his name, was patience and kind while he assisted me in the bathroom. He tried making small-talk with me, his voice friendly and rich with care, yet I refused to say anything, faint with fear.

He took me back to the emergency ward, and closing it off, allowed me a small respite. I had slept for a couple of hours before he roused me, explaining softly I was being moved elsewhere for more deeper care. There, after guiding me into a wheelchair, he took me to this room, reassuring me all was well.

"We're going to find someone to come talk to you," I remember him saying before he left. "It'll be alright. You can relax now."

It was impossible to relax. The longer I sat here waiting, now going on past an hour, the more nerve-racking I became. I was tried, scared, and uptight. It felt like I was sitting on glass, my body prepared to bolt if need be, my muscles aching in dreaded anticipation. I wanted sleep, needed it badly, but there was no way I could bring myself to do so, not until I had a better picture of what was going on. I didn't trust this environment, full of faces and people I didn't know.

The muffled sound of voices caught my attention. A stream of fear crept down my back at realizing that it was probably the doctor I'd been waiting for to come see me. The thought of seeing another new face caused me to pull down on my lower lip, twisting it nervously between my thumb and index finger. I wasn't ready to see anybody, didn't want to.