Y/N Mayfield, Max Mayfield's twin sister, has a life that's anything but ordinary. Strange things seem to follow her wherever she goes. What happens when she crosses paths with four boys? Will she trust them... or fall for one of them? And as the st...
All I could hear was screaming—so much screaming it barely felt real. Voices blurred together—doctors, machines, Joyce—and somewhere in the middle of it all was me. But Will's screams were the loudest. They cut through everything. He was crying out that it was burning, his voice raw with pain, but when the doctors tore off his shirt, there were no burns—just his pale, trembling skin.
They kept asking him where it hurt, and every time he choked out the same thing: everywhere. Joyce was sobbing, begging them to help him, and I could feel my own tears blurring everything around me.
Then one of the doctors slid a needle into his arm, and slowly, the screaming stopped. The silence that followed felt worse. The only sounds left were Joyce's muffled sobs... and mine.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my head—like someone had flipped a switch inside my brain—and before I could even cry out, everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I woke up, my head was resting against something warm. I blinked a few times and realized—it was Bob. I shot up immediately, embarrassed, and he gave a small, awkward smile, keeping his tone calm like he always did.
"Hey, easy there," he said. "You passed out for a bit. The doctors said it was just stress. You've been through a lot."
I rubbed the back of my neck, still a little dazed. "Yeah... guess so. Is Will okay?"
Bob's expression softened. "They've got him stable for now. Joyce and the others are with him." He stood up and motioned for me to follow. "Come on, I'll take you over."
The hallways were too bright, too white—it felt wrong, sterile. When we reached the room, Joyce, Hopper, and Mike were standing outside the door. No one said anything; they just looked tired, like they'd aged years in a few hours.
The doctor stepped out, gave a small nod, and we filed in. My breath caught in my throat.
Will lay there, pale and still, covered in wires and tubes. Machines beeped softly around him. The sight made my eyes sting, but I swallowed hard, refusing to cry. I just stood there, silent, wishing I could do something—anything—to help.
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(If don't know what the tubes look like)
We all stood around Will's bed while Dr. Owens asked him questions, his tone careful like he didn't want to push too hard. The only sounds in the room were the steady beeping of the monitors and the soft hum of the machines beside him.
