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𝗦𝗜𝗕𝗬𝗟 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢𝗪 chapter twenty three
The blinding light from above fades into a fluorescent hum as Erica's eyes adjust, squinting against the harsh brightness in the crowded ER. She blinks, disoriented, feeling the stiff hospital gown scratch against her skin, a reminder of the countless visits she's endured for her condition. Melissa McCall's voice breaks through the haze, warm and reassuring, as she checks Erica's pupils with a penlight, giving her a smile that feels like home in the cold, clinical space.
Melissa's joke about her legs gets a smirk out of Erica, and for a moment, the tension melts away. As Melissa smooths Erica's hair, her touch is gentle, almost motherly, and Erica allows herself to relax. But as Melissa steps back, Erica closes her eyes, feeling a weight settle over her—another hospital trip, another round of medication, another reminder of her illness. She tries to block it out, to drift off into a space where her body doesn't betray her.
Without warning, she feels the gurney begin to move, the air around her shifting as if someone is guiding her through the space. Her eyes flutter open to find the familiar ER bustling around her replaced by a corridor of stark white walls, sterile and silent. Panic flares, and she tries to turn her head, to see who's pushing her. But a firm hand comes down, pressing her back, keeping her still.
The hallway morphs as she's wheeled through swinging doors, a chill creeping up her spine as she sees the metallic gleam of morgue drawers reflected back at her. With a surge of adrenaline, she sits up, turning to face a figure holding a small pill bottle, reading its label like he's casually browsing the ingredients of a snack. His dark eyes, flecked with unsettling red, finally meet hers.
"Who are you?" she asks, her voice faltering between fear and curiosity.
Derek's casual approach and his deep, unwavering gaze make her heart beat faster, an unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air. She watches him with bated breath as he moves in closer, the world narrowing down to his penetrating stare and the cold, sterile room fading away. She wants to look back, to escape, but his eyes—brilliant and red, impossibly dark and otherworldly—hold her captive.
When he speaks, his words slice through her fear like a blade: "What if all this could go away?" His fingers brush her ankle, sparking a sensation that's unfamiliar, electric, and terrifyingly thrilling. She's never felt this kind of power, this pull, as he closes the space between them, leaning in with an intensity that takes her breath away.
"What if everything got better?" His voice is low, a dangerous murmur that promises a life free from weakness, a future beyond this hospital bed and the pitying stares of others. Erica's voice is barely a whisper as she asks, "How?"
