"she plays guitar?" wilbur soot x reader

i hate hospitals

tw: mentions of past alcoholism, sh, drug usage, hospital, abuse

I hear loud beeping right next to my ear and practically jolt up from the laying position I was in. The last time I was in a hospital, my father hit me across the face for wasting money on hospital bills. I was about 7 or something. It wasn't a pleasant time for me or Tom.

My eyes widen as I feel a grip on my shoulders push me down back to how I was laying before. I could see the outline of the person's figure, but I couldn't see the colour of their hair or eyes, and I couldn't grasp their face. It feels as if I have a filter on. Black and white accompanied by face blur.

"Y/n, it'll be okay."

Whose voice is that? It's too low to be Toms, but it's too high to be Will's. Ash doesn't sound as scratchy when he talks, so...

Joe.

I regain my sight and begin to feel overwhelmed by the sudden colours and lights hitting my vision. I look to my feet. I seem to be fine, no physical damage, but there's a machine on my wrist and finger to keep track of my heart rate, I presume. I look to the door of the hospital room I was in.

A doctor comes up to me and begins to speak. "So, Y/n Simons, right?" I nod, confirming that he got my name right.

"Right, so, Y/n, were gonna need at least one emergency contact encase of future occurrences. We'll also need the person to come in and sign some paperwork, but that's for later. How's your head?" he asks as he looks at me with little to no emotion on his face.

"I feel fine. What's wrong, exactly? How long do I have to stay here?" I ask, still not knowing shit about my condition. He smiles. "You need to stay here for only five more hours, we need to monitor you for a bit. As for what's wrong, you had a severe panic attack. A nearly fatal one, at that. We recommend therapy and anxiety medication for cases like yours."

Fuck me. I know Joe is in the room, so he knows I need therapy and shit. I would've just said I'll get it, but we all know I won't. "I don't need therapy. It was a one time thing of shock, that's all. I can go on light meds for like a week to help me recover, but I don't think a therapist is necessary." I say, lying like a pro.

"Well... I'm not sure. I can't force you to get therapy, but I'll still assign you somewhat strong medication. Your heart took some damage, and it needs help from medication for a full recovery. I would recommend no working out for at least three days. It could completely drain you and, well, kill you." the doctor says.

I feel Joe's eyes burning into my cheek, but I simply focus on the doctor. "Okay. And, what if I don't really have an emergency contact?" I ask, circling back to the first conversation. "We would usually just put down a legal guardian, a parent." he says and I feel my eyes get a bit watery.

"I think I have two people. The names are Tom Simons and William Gold."

I look to Joe, who seems surprised at what I've just said. I simply look away from him and to the doctor. He tells me to call them to come here and I look to Joe. "They're on their way already. Ash is also coming." Joe says. I smile at the thought that multiple people actually cared for me like this.

(memory)

"There's a reason that London puts barriers on the tube line." I write in my diary. I hear a knock on my door, a harsh one.

Mum.

She walks into my room holding a bottle of wine, drunk out of her mind.

"YOU, YOU MADE MY HUSBAND LEAVE US, YOU KNOW? AND, YOU'RE TWENTY ONE YEARS OLD AND STILL LIVE HERE!" she yells drunkly. I don't take these words to heart anymore. I'm more concerned about her alcohol relapse. I made her quit when I was 14, but I don't think she ever did.

"Mum, you're spiralling. Linda had a session with you JUST about meltdowns just like these last week." I say. Linda is the therapist I forced mum to get. I payed for her with my college money. Fuck my future, I'd rather have mum be a good parent to Tom than go get myself a future.

"I know, Y/n. I just don't want to anymore. You've ruined me, you know? You're killing yourself and me in the process. Not because I love you, but because Tommy will be so so sad." she says.

She doesn't mean it.

She's hammered.

Don't let these words fool you.

"I raised him, of course he would mourn my passing." I say, holding back tears.

"I wouldn't." she says as she closes my door and stumbles down the stairs.

That night is the night I relapsed. It turned into a daily thing. Mum didn't talk to me, but she said she loved me every now and then. I don't know if I believed her words. Tom made sure I didn't go near alcohol for a week, but then I went to a party and got really drugged up.

I was at my lowest point, and yet it was my favourite night from my whole life. Nothing tops Tom's birth and his birthdays, but this was up there.

(memory over)

"Y/n?" Joe says, snapping me out of my trance. "Why are you crying?" he asks.

Oops...

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JOE MAMA