Juliana Woodland and Nate Jacobs have been best friends for as long as they can remember.
They are now in their junior year at East Highland High School and things are starting to get complicated.
*Had this story up on my old account and it got dele...
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The chilling echoes of the New Year's Eve party had barely faded when the news of Nate Jacobs' condition began to spread like wildfire through East Highland. The whispers grew louder, the rumors more twisted.
Juliana had been at the epicenter of the chaos that unfolded, watching in horror as Fez unleashed a torrent of fury upon Nate.
In the immediate aftermath, she had felt the tremors of shock through her body, rendering her nearly immobile as the rest of the party-goers dispersed into the night.
She could barely remember bringing Nate to get help. She had a vague recollection of herself, Maddy and McKay somehow managing to carry him to McKay's car, and blood- there was so much blood. She knew she still had stains of his blood on her legs underneath her clothes.
Now, in the stark, sterile confines of the hospital, Juliana sat vigil by Nate's bedside, her heart heavy with a tumult of emotions.
Every time she looked at him, his face swelled up and covered in cuts and dark bruises with bandages around his head, she wanted to throw up.
Her mind replayed the events of that night over and over, no matter how hard she tried not to think about and make herself feel even worse. Her agreeing to go the bathroom to talk to him, the things he said to her when they had sex, the heated exchange they had, the look on his face when he told her he loved her.
And then the look on his face when she told him she hated him.
She couldn't stop hearing those words in her head; the last thing she said to him before Fez attacked him.
If she could take it all back, she would. She wished more than anything she could go back to that night and tell him she loved him back. They could have left the party together, and things would be so much different now. She wouldn't be here wondering if her best friend was ever going to be okay.
The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the occasional rustle of medical staff moving through the corridor outside were the only constants in this new, unwelcome reality.
The days that followed were a blur of hospital routines and painful silences. Juliana's own face reflected all kinds of feelings: the shock of what she had witnessed, the fear of what the future held, and the guilt she felt.
The hospital room was a sanctum of sorts, a place where reality and the outside world felt eerily muted.
The only interruptions were the visitors: Marsha, who was there almost as much as her, offering her sympathetic words, and Cal, who she felt looked at her with accusations she couldn't bear to confront. His face was etched with a mix of resentment and concern every time he came in.
Her own mother came, too, and both her and Marsha tried to convince Juliana to go home and get some rest. They would bring her food which she would only pick at to keep them happy, and extra clothes which she only changed into to get them off her back.
She didn't care about food, what she was wearing, or anything else besides Nate.
"Juliana, we'll stay here the whole time you're gone. Go home and get some proper rest, sleep in your own bed, get a nice shower. You'll feel so much better," they told her. "He would want you to look after yourself."
But she refused, no matter how hard they tried. She was terrified that he would wake up the second she left, or worse- something else would happen to him if she left, but in order to keep herself sane, she couldn't allow herself to consider that possibility.
He had been her safe space and she was his- she was the one who knew how to navigate his tempestuous moods and the darker parts of him.
But as she sat there, her hand clutching his, she realized she had never fully understood the depth of the turmoil he faced, as much as she tried to.
The assault was a stark reminder of the consequences of secrets and the violence that simmered just beneath the surface of their lives.
Sometimes her thoughts drifted to Fez and the cold, hard expression he had worn as he pummeled Nate. She hated him for it and wondered what had driven him to such lengths.
Did he and Nate cross paths and she hadn't been aware? Or was it something deeper, a recognition of the monster that lurked within Nate, who had hurt so many, including her.
Her friends had texted and called her many times to check in, but she would never pick up the phone. All she could do was text back short responses saying that she was fine and that there were no changes with Nate.
She loved them but she had no desire to confide in any of them and share the burden of her mess of emotions. The only person who had ever truly understood her was now lying unconscious before her.
Her mind flitted to the times she had spent with Nate when they were children, the carefree days of playing with toys in her bedroom and perfecting their dives in his swimming pool. Back when life was easy and their friendship was simple.
Then she thought back to when he left her house the last time- she truly thought they were done that day. What she wouldn't do to be able to change what happened that day and tell him that she wanted to be with him, too, instead of things ending the way they did.
As the hospital grew quieter with the descent of night, she would drift off into a troubled sleep in the stiff chair in his room, resting her head on his bed, still holding his hand.
The fourth day in the hospital brought a semblance of normalcy to the chaos. The police had come and gone, their questions probing and cold.
The nurses and doctors recognized her as a constant presence, offering her kind smiles and words of encouragement as they tended to Nate.
Juliana's eyes never left his face, searching for any flicker of consciousness, any sign that he would wake up and this nightmare would be over.
With eyes puffy from crying, she gazed at him, willing the color to return to his pale cheeks, willing the life back into his unmoving body.
As the last light of the day disappeared through the window, the corridor outside grew quieter. The nurses footsteps grew more sporadic, and the distant sounds of TVs and muffled conversations faded away.
In the solitude, she felt the gravity of the situation pressing down on her even harder.
She whispered apologies and promises of change in the starkness of the room. But he remained still, his breaths shallow and uneven, his body a testament to the brutality he had faced.
