Just The Girl

Chapter 25

D A H L I A

I awoke to the sterile hum of fluorescent lights above me, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. My eyelids felt heavy, as though they had been glued shut, but I managed to blink them open, disoriented by the brightness that immediately greeted me. The ceiling was white—too white, almost blinding.

For a moment, I was unsure where I was, the edges of my mind still foggy, like I had been pulled up from the bottom of a deep, dark well.

It wasn't until I tried to shift my body that the weight of the situation hit me. My limbs felt sluggish, weighed down by an invisible force, and when I attempted to move, a dull ache radiated from my side, reminding me of something—though I couldn't yet place what.

Slowly, I became aware of the rhythmic beeping next to me, the quiet, steady sound filling the sterile room. An IV line was taped to the inside of my arm, the drip slowly feeding fluids into my veins. It took me a second longer to realize I was in a hospital yet again.

The room was eerily quiet, save for the occasional muffled voices and footsteps passing just outside the door. Curtains, a muted blue, were pulled partially around the bed, cocooning me in a small, personal space. I tried to remember—tried to piece together how I ended up here. My head felt thick with clouds, memories slow to resurface.

There had been...a street. A sidewalk. And Steffi—Steffi, with her eyes blazing and her hands shoving me. Then the blur of headlights, the rush of fear, and the impact—or had there been an impact?

A dull throb in my head answered that question. Yes, there had been an impact, all right. I let out a shaky breath, my throat dry and scratchy, like I hadn't spoken in days. I swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in my chest ease just a fraction as I took in the sterile, unfamiliar surroundings.

I wasn't alone. The sterile quiet of the hospital room was softened by the presence of familiar faces, scattered like a constellation of comfort around me. By the couch, I could see Feather and Ilyon, leaning against each other, their bodies folded into a tender kind of exhaustion. Both of their eyes were closed, their breathing synchronized in a way that felt comfortable, like two halves of a whole finding peace in each other's presence. Their chests rose and fell in perfect harmony, a subtle rhythm that added warmth to the otherwise cold, clinical space.

Marvin sat in the chair by the window, his back turned to me, gazing out at the world beyond the glass. The soft glow of the fading sunlight framed his silhouette, casting long shadows across the room. He looked contemplative, his posture relaxed but distant, as if lost in thoughts that swirled just beyond my reach. His hands rested idly in his lap, fingers occasionally twitching as though he was on the verge of some profound realization.

The view outside must have been peaceful, maybe even beautiful, but I couldn't see what he saw from where I lay. All I could see was the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, his presence a quiet anchor that kept the room from feeling too empty.

And then there was Ivan. Sound asleep beside me, slumped comfortably against the side of the bed. His head rested on the edge of the mattress, his dark fringe falling messily across his forehead. His face was soft in sleep, free of the worry lines that had probably etched themselves deeper into his features over the past hours—however long that had been.

His hand was tightly clutching mine, fingers intertwined as if he was afraid I might slip away if he loosened his grip. Even in his sleep, there was a protectiveness about him, an unspoken promise in the way he held on, like he needed to remind himself that I was still here.