Darling

XXXV

Clementine woke to the sound of steady beeping, her body aching like she'd been wrung out and left to dry. The world felt distant, fogged over, but warmth wrapped around her—a heavy, suffocating warmth. She blinked, her lashes sticking together, her vision adjusting to the dim lighting.

And then she saw him.

Sebastian sat beside the hospital bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. He wasn't looking at her—he was looking through her, as if lost in some thought he couldn't shake. His jaw was tight, his hair ruffled like he'd run his hands through it too many times. He looked... frayed.

She tried to move. The effort sent a wave of nausea crashing through her. She gagged, her body revolting against her.

Sebastian moved in an instant, grabbing a small basin from the table and holding it beneath her chin just as she heaved.

Her empty stomach clenched painfully, but nothing came up. She had nothing left to give.

His other hand pressed against her back, steadying her as she gasped for air. "Jesus, Clem..." His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in hours.

She was shaking so badly that she could barely hold herself up.

Sebastian set the basin aside, his hands gripping her shoulders, forcing her to lean into him. His warmth should've been comforting, but all she could feel was the way her body trembled violently against his.

Tears burned at the edges of her eyes. "I—" Her voice broke. She swallowed thickly. "I don't— I can't—"

He hushed her softly, his thumb brushing against her damp temple. "I know," he said. "I know."

But he didn't. He didn't understand the way it felt to be trapped inside her own body, a body that was rejecting everything, even life itself.

The sight of him made something inside her chest tighten painfully.

Her lips parted, but her voice came out raw, barely a whisper. "Sebastian..."

His head snapped toward her.

Something flashed through his eyes—something dark, unreadable—but he didn't speak right away. Instead, he reached for her, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead, his calloused fingers unbearably gentle.

She swallowed, her throat dry and sore. "What... happened?"

His jaw ticked. "You collapsed."

Memories came back in sharp fragments—the dizziness, the pressure in her skull, the way the world had tilted.

Her fingers weakly clutched the hospital blanket. "The baby...?"

His grip on her chin tightened, forcing her to look at him. "Fine," he said, his voice low, firm. "For now."

For now. The words rang in her head like an alarm.

A knock on the door made Sebastian's body go rigid.

The doctor stepped inside, his face calm but serious. He glanced at her chart, then at Sebastian. "She's suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum."

Sebastian's eyes darkened. "And what does that mean?"

The doctor exhaled. "It's a severe form of pregnancy sickness. It's why she's been so weak, so dehydrated. It's why she collapsed." He turned to Clementine. "Your body is struggling to hold onto nutrients, and with how little you've been eating, it's not just affecting you—it's affecting the baby, too."

Clementine flinched.

Sebastian's grip on her hand tightened almost painfully.

"She needs IV fluids, constant monitoring," the doctor continued. "If this continues, we may have to consider more serious interventions, including hospitalization for a longer period."