Fear

24

It was a stupid idea.

I knew it even as I said the words aloud, even as Dr. Thorne blinked at me like he wasn't sure he'd heard me right. His hand paused mid-motion, the bandage still half-rolled in his palm, the air between us suddenly too quiet.

He'd come to change the dressings on both arms and give me something to dull the ache in my side, which I took reluctantly.

"I want to see Tyler."

He didn't speak straight away. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say no — like he should've done — but instead, he searched my face. His gaze met mine with uncertainty, then dragged over the lingering thumb bruises on my neck like maybe he was trying to guess what the hell had driven me to this.

Like it was any surprise.

"Emily..." he started gently, eyes flicking to the machines behind me. Something in his tone was off. He seemed tired, almost resigned. "You're not stable enough for that kind of—"

"I don't care."

My voice was raw. Quiet but sharp. I held his gaze.

"I need to talk to him. It's important."

Something flickered in his expression — hesitation, frustration, maybe a bit of fear.

"Maybe later."

I ignored his dismissive tone. "Please."

Finally, he inhaled, slowly. Then nodded. Just once.

By the time the bandages were changed and the IV drip removed, the weight of my decision sat like a stone in my stomach. But I didn't back out. I couldn't. Not when our lives depended on it.

I caught Tom watching us as Dr. Thorne helped me down from the bed. He didn't speak, but he seemed to understand — or at least I hoped he did. I gave him a look, a silent vow, and he held my gaze as I shuffled around the corner out of sight.

—

The hallway was colder than the ward. Darker, grimier, damper. It stunk of dust, with lesser undertones of blood and metal. It made me more nauseous than the canteen food, and that was saying something.

The usual sounds surrounded us, seeming to press in on all sides. Distant screams, doors opening and closing, people mumbling behind walls, muffled conversations.

It really was like a psych ward. Just not in the modern sense.

But I carried on.

My legs held me up on determination alone, my body almost too weak to stand, but Sam helped. My hospital gown fluttered slightly as we walked, and I was suddenly aware of how thin it was. How exposed I was. Dr. Thorne tried to offer me his coat. I didn't take it.

I shuffled forward step by step, rehearsing a speech I'd prepared in my head. Every word I planned to say to him. How I'd act. How I'd try to manipulate, if I had to.

Finally, after walking down multiple corridors for what seemed like an eternity, we stopped in front of a large wooden door.

A brass plaque gleamed under the overhead light, illuminating a name:

T. Hemsworth
Clinical Director

'So that's his surname...'

Dr. Thorne rested his hand gently on my arm. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes."

The word left my lips even as my mind screamed, No.

He gave me a long look, as if debating whether he should just take me back, then reluctantly knocked.