desertion

62

merry christmas to those who celebrate!! (sorry for the late posting, exams tired me out :o)

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LYDIA

I lay in the hospital bed, my head resting against Miles's shoulder as he stretched out beside me. His arm was wrapped gently around me, his fingers tracing along my upper arm in a comforting rhythm. I wasn't paying much attention to anything; my body felt heavy, my head foggy.

Buck sat in a chair near the foot of the bed, leaning forward as he and Miles chatted about mundane things—movies, music, anything to keep the mood light in the sterile room. My breathing was slow, my eyes staring blankly ahead, though my hand fidgeted with the silver rings on Miles's fingers.

Christopher had been here earlier, his presence a brief spark of joy in an otherwise dim day. But Carla, ever the voice of reason, had taken him home. "He needs rest," she'd told me. "And so do you."

I had wanted to argue, to insist Christopher stay, but the words never made it past my lips. My exhaustion weighed me down, silencing my protests. I'd only managed a faint nod before Carla ushered Christopher out with promises to bring him back soon.

The silence had filled between the three of us until Miles looked down at me. "Hey," he murmured, tilting his head slightly to catch my gaze. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers kept fiddling with the rings on his hands, a nervous habit I wasn't even aware of.

Buck glanced at me, his expression softening with concern. "You hungry, Lyds? I can grab you something."

I shook my head, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "No. I just... I just want to know how my dad is." My voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying the calm front I was trying to maintain.

Buck sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I don't have any more answers, he's out of surgery and they say he's doing good," he admitted, his voice quiet. "But, Lydia, you need to take care of yourself too."

"I'm fine," I said again, sharper this time. My eyes flicked toward him, dull but determined. "The medicine... it makes me not hungry. I really don't want anything."

Miles gave my hand a small squeeze, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I know, but you've got to try eating something, love."

"I ate a sandwich for lunch," I countered, my tone defensive. "I'm really not hungry."

Miles studied me for a moment, then nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. Buck looked like he wanted to argue further, but he caught the warning glances Miles sent him and relented.

"Okay," Buck said finally. "We won't push." He shifted the topic back to Miles, diving into a story about a ridiculous call the 118 had handled a few weeks ago.

I tuned out their conversation, my thoughts drifting. My hand stilled on Miles's rings, my fingers curling slightly against his. My heart felt heavy, a strange mix of fear and guilt swirling in my chest.

I hated this. Hated being stuck here, useless, while my dad was out there fighting for his life. Every second that ticked by felt like another weight added to my chest.

But I couldn't show it. Not to Miles, not to Buck. They were already worried enough.

So I stayed quiet, letting their voices fill the room, my eyes slipping closed as my body gave into the exhaustion I'd been holding off for too long.