Trauma changes people. trauma changes everyone.
All rights for the 9-1-1 cast and all rights to most of the plot goes to ABC. New plots and new characters belong to me 🫶
Book continues in Apparition! 🫶
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
let's just ignore the shoe...
MILES
The TV flickered softly, casting a gentle blue light across Lydia's pale face. I'd been sitting here for hours, my shoulder serving as her pillow, our fingers loosely intertwined. The movie - some romantic comedy we'd seen a dozen times before - played in the background, more of a comforting noise than something we were actually watching.
"How are you feeling?" I whispered, turning slightly to look at her.
No response.
I shifted, realizing her breathing had become deep and steady. She was asleep, her head heavy against my shoulder. The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors and the distant sounds of nurses moving through the hallway.
The door opened, and Dr. Martinez walked in with Eddie. They spoke in hushed tones, but I could hear every word.
"I think she's ready to go home," the doctor said, his voice professional but not entirely confident. "But I want to keep her one more night for observation. Just to be sure."
Eddie nodded, his face etched with worry lines that seemed deeper than usual.
"We still can't determine what caused her severe vomiting," Dr. Martinez continued. "Her electrolyte levels are concerning, and her overall weakness is unexplained. If I can't identify a clear cause, we might need to extend her stay another day."
I nodded slightly, my hand unconsciously squeezing Lydia's hand.
After the doctor left, Eddie turned to me. "Did she eat anything?"
"The sandwich we brought," I replied. "But it wasn't easy. I basically had to convince her to take each bite."
Eddie's shoulders slumped. The weight of her health was visibly crushing him. It was crushing all of us.
"She's been struggling," I added softly. "Not just with eating. With everything. I really don't think she should go home tomorrow but they're the professionals."
The room fell silent. Lydia stirred slightly in her sleep, her fingers twitching against mine. I remembered the past week - the arguments, the tears, the frustration of watching her fight against her own body.
When Eddie stepped out to get coffee, I leaned closer to Lydia. Her skin was still too pale, her body thinner. The hospital gown hung loosely on her frame, a stark reminder of how much weight she'd lost.
I thought about how we'd gotten here. Her seizures that day, the tears, the confusion. The only thing the doctors came up with was electrolyte imbalance, but it has to be more. I know it.
Her breath was soft against my neck, and I felt a surge of protectiveness. Whatever was happening, I was going to be here. Right here.
The door opened again, and a nurse came in and checked Lydia's vitals. She smiled sympathetically at me, moving carefully around Lydia's sleeping form.
"She's been very brave," the nurse said quietly.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Brave wasn't even half of it.
As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the hospital room, I realized how much had changed. A few months ago, we were just normal teenagers. Now, everything has turned to crap.
I sighed before turning to Lydia. I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, carful not to wake her. She looked so vulnerable, so different from the strong-willed girl I knew.
Eddie returned, two coffee cups in hand. He offered me one, and we sat in companionable silence, united by our concern for Lydia.
