desertion

126

LYDIA

The waiting room was silent, except for the low hum of the vending machine in the corner. My phone screen cast a pale glow on my face as I scrolled aimlessly. Articles about lightning strikes, recovery stories, side effects-it was all a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities. Brain damage. Burns. Long-term memory loss. My stomach churned at every new thing I read, but I couldn't stop myself.

The clock on the wall ticked louder in my ears with every passing second. When it hit 9:30 AM, I let out a shaky breath. It had been twelve hours since I got here. Twelve hours of sitting, waiting, hoping. And now I had to leave.

I pushed myself up from the chair, my legs stiff from sitting for so long. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, worry, and an unspoken understanding.

"I have to head to work," I said quietly, avoiding their eyes.

Bobby gave me a small nod. "Have a good shift," he said, his voice kind but weary.

I forced a weak smile. "I'll try."

Dad's eyes lingered on me for a moment, his brow furrowed like he wanted to say something, but he stayed quiet. I couldn't handle a lecture about taking care of myself, not right now.

I turned and walked out of the hospital, the cool morning air hitting me like a slap. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that matched how I felt inside. I got into my car and drove home, the radio off, the silence pressing against me.

********

When I got home, I moved like a robot. I swapped my jeans for black slacks and threw on my work polo, the fabric scratchy against my skin. My reflection in the mirror made me wince. Dark circles under my eyes, hair pulled into a messy ponytail that did nothing to hide how unkempt I looked.

I didn't bother fixing it. I didn't have the energy.

I grabbed my keys again and headed back out. The drive to the pizzeria was a blur, my mind too clouded with thoughts of Buck, of what might be happening to him while I was stuck slicing pizzas and ringing up orders.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I sat in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to fake smiles for customers or pretend like everything was fine. But staying home wasn't an option either.

With a deep breath, I stepped out of the car and walked inside.

The smell of tomato sauce and melted cheese hit me immediately, a familiar scent that usually felt comforting. Today, it just made my stomach churn.

"Hey, Lydia," Miles called from behind the counter, his voice unusually upbeat. I could tell he was trying to put on a show for me.

"Hey," I mumbled, clocking in without looking at him.

The morning rush hadn't started yet, so the pizzeria was quiet. Just the hum of the ovens and the faint chatter of the kitchen staff. I slid behind the register, pretending to organize the till even though it was already perfect.

Miles leaned against the counter beside me, his arms crossed. "You okay?" he asked gently.

I shrugged. "Fine."

He gave me a look, one that said he didn't believe me for a second. "You don't look fine."

"Thanks for that," I muttered, my tone sharper than I intended.

Miles held up his hands. "Sorry. Just... you know you can talk to me, right?"

I nodded, but I didn't say anything else. Talking wouldn't change anything.

********

The first few hours of my shift passed in a haze. Customers came and went, their orders blurring together. A family of four ordered a large pepperoni pizza. A guy in a suit grabbed a slice to-go. A group of teenagers loitered near the soda machine, laughing too loudly.

I barely noticed any of it. My mind was still in that hospital waiting room, replaying every possible worst-case scenario.

"Lydia," Miles said, nudging me.

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at the register without actually doing anything.

"Huh?"

"The customer," he said, nodding toward a woman standing at the counter.

"Oh. Sorry." I forced a smile and rang her up, but I could feel Miles watching me, his concern practically radiating off him.

********

By the time my lunch break rolled around, I was running on fumes. I sat in the back room with a slice of pizza in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to eat it. The thought of food made my stomach twist.

Miles walked in and sat across from me, his own lunch in hand. "You've gotta eat something," he said, nodding toward my untouched slice.

"I'm not hungry."

"You say that every time," he said, frowning. "Lydia, you're gonna make yourself sick."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. He was right, but knowing that didn't change anything.

Miles sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know how to help you," he admitted. "But I want to. Just... tell me what you need."

"I don't know what I need," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

We sat in silence after that, the weight of everything hanging between us.

********

The rest of the shift dragged on, every second feeling like an eternity. By the time I finally clocked out, I felt like a shell of myself.

When I got into my car, I didn't start it right away. I just sat there, staring at the steering wheel, my hands trembling. The tears I'd been holding back all day finally spilled over, and I buried my face in my hands, sobbing quietly.

I didn't know how much longer I could keep going like this. The weight of everything-Buck, work, school, life-it was crushing me. And I didn't know how to stop it.

But as I wiped my tears and started the car, one thought kept repeating in my mind: I can't lose him. I just can't.