Saved By Steven (the first story)

18. Too Late?

"Please, don't! No, I don't want to." Lauren screamed. "What are you doing? I said I don't want that!"

The room was dim, lit only by a small, flickering lamp. Heavy curtains blocked out the daylight, casting long shadows against floral wallpaper that looked cheerful in the daylight but sinister now in the gloom. The bed sheets beneath her were rough, the kind that smelled faintly of bleach and something older, harder to name. Her wrists trembled where they gripped the blanket.

"You'll feel much more relaxed if you take this." The man said, too softly. He stood by the dresser, silhouetted against the lamp, holding a small syringe in one hand and vial of a transparent liquid in the other. His face was calm. Too calm.
"No! no, please! Lauren begged, her voice rising. Her heart pounded in her chest, faster than she thought possible. She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. "I said no. Please..."

The scent of cheap cologne and alcohol clung to the air like a fog. Somewhere outside the walls, she could hear distant traffic. The sound made her panic grow. No one was coming.
The man stepped closer.
"Just take it, Lauren. You'll feel better in a minute."
Tears streamed down her face as she backed against the headboard. Her sobbing deepened. A sharp whimper escaped her as she flinched away from him.
"Don't do this, please," she whispered.
He didn't listen.
Everything went hazy. Her breathing quickened until she couldn't hold it anymore. The room spun. Her vision blurred. A sharp chill spread across her body before everything faded into black.

"Lauren! Lauren, wake up!" Mick's voice cut through the darkness.
Her eyes flew open. She was drenched in sweat, chest heaving, disoriented and gasping for air.
"You okay?" Mick asked, crouching beside the bed, his voice laced with concern.
"I—I don't know. What happened?" Tears welled in Lauren's eyes before she even understood why.
"You were dreaming again," Mick said gently, handing her a glass of water.
Lauren drained the glass in silence, still trying to anchor herself in reality.
Mick sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. "Remember after the hospital? When you had those bad dreams every night? It's happening again."
Lauren nodded slowly. She clutched the blanket against her chest, staring blankly at the far wall.
"I think this one was worse," she whispered.

Once she calmed down, Mick took her downstairs for some breakfast. The kitchen was already buzzing with quiet conversation, coffee mugs clinking, cigarettes burning. But as Lauren walked in, everything fell still for a beat.
"Good morning," Mick said to the room, casual but pointed.
"Morning," came the uneven reply.
"Lauren, sweetheart, sit here. I'll make you some tea," Mick said, guiding her gently to a seat.

She sat stiffly, feeling the weight of everyone's glances, even if they were too polite to stare.
"Morning, darling," Steven said softly as he approached. "You sleep okay?"
Lauren shrugged, avoiding his eyes.
"Bad dream," Mick offered on her behalf.
Steven started to reach out, but Mick held up a quiet hand. "Give her a minute."

Steven nodded, retreating with concern still etched across his face.
Lauren took a few sips of tea, but her hands trembled.
The room felt too loud.
Too bright.
Too real.
She left quietly, making her way back upstairs.

She slept most of the day, drifting in and out under the weight of exhaustion, guilt, and the lingering fog of last night's pills. Around five, she woke again, her head pounding. Her body felt hollow, twitchy. She reached into her bag and took a hit of coke. Instant relief, though brief and bitter

The shower helped her feel human again—for a moment. She stayed under the stream far too long, trying to scrub off the memories stitched into her skin. Still unsteady, Lauren took another hit and passed out cold on the bed, wrapped in only a towel.

Upstairs, Mick ran into Steven and Marc near the landing.
"Everything okay?" Mick asked.
"We were just talking about Steven's sobriety," Marc said, glancing at Steven with a half-smile.
"He's walking a tightrope."
"Not easy in this house," Steven added with a dry chuckle.

"Where you headed?" Marc asked.
"Checking on Lauren. She's been out all day."
"We'll come with," Marc said. "Just in case."
Mick nodded. "All right."

The three of them walked to Lauren's room. Mick opened the door—and froze.
Lauren was sprawled on the bed, wrapped in a towel, pale as porcelain. Her lips tinged slightly blue. The air in the room seemed to vanish.

"Shit," Mick whispered, rushing to her side.
"What's going on?" Marc asked, stepping inside.
Mick didn't answer. He pressed two fingers to her neck.
"Her pulse is weak," he muttered, almost to himself.
Steven stepped forward, his stomach dropping. "Is it an overdose?"
"Looks like it." Mick's voice was clipped, focused.

Marc pulled out his phone, dialing emergency services without a second thought.
"They're sending a helicopter," he said after a moment. "Storm's too rough for an ambulance."
Mick nodded. "Roof access is clear. Go guide them in when they get here."

Steven stood frozen beside the bed, staring at Lauren. She looked so small now. So broken. He took her hand in his.
"I was supposed to help," he muttered. "Not let this happen again."
Mick didn't look at him. He was checking her breathing, adjusting the towel so she didn't choke on her own spit.
"She's still here. Don't give up yet," Mick said.

Minutes later, the paramedics burst into the room. They moved fast—an injection, an IV, a breathing mask. Words like "toxicity level," "blood filtration," and "liver stress" filled the room.
"She needs immediate transfer," one of them said. "There's a massive amount of narcotics in her system. We'll stabilize her on the chopper."
"I'll go with her," Steven said, stepping forward.

Mick stopped him gently but firmly.
"Steven, you can't. We've got twenty guests downstairs, including some of your friends. I need you here. Marc and Vivian can go."
Steven shook his head. "Forget the guests, Mick. She needs someone she knows. She barely knows Marc and Vivian. You expect her to wake up surrounded by strangers after this?"
"She'll be unconscious most of the ride," Marc said calmly, stepping forward. "Vivian and I have done this before—we'll make sure she's safe and doesn't wake up alone."
Steven looked at Vivian, who nodded reassuringly, but it didn't comfort him. He turned back to Mick, voice tight. "Come on, man. She trusts me."
"I know she does," Mick said, voice quiet. "But you're not stable enough to handle this right now. You're still holding on by your fingernails. This is going to get ugly, fast. If something happens in that chopper, it could break you too."

Steven clenched his fists. "So what? I'm just supposed to sit here and wait?"
Mick sighed. "No. You're supposed to be ready when she wakes up. You need to be the one who stays calm when the storm passes."
Steven didn't answer. His jaw tensed, but he stepped back. Marc and Vivian gave him a quiet nod as the paramedics lifted Lauren into the helicopter.
As the rotors started spinning, Steven stared up at the night sky, fists still tight by his sides.
"You better take care of her," he muttered under his breath.
Mick put a hand on his shoulder.
"They will. Now let's get through the rest of this night."

At the hospital, the fluorescent lights buzzed, the walls were too white, and the air was far too sterile. As the paramedics wheeled Lauren out on a gurney, her towel replaced by a hospital blanket, she stirred faintly. Her fingers twitched. Marc and Vivian walked beside her until the stretcher disappeared into the elevator.

Lauren was admitted to a private room. A dialysis-like machine was set up to cleanse her blood, and two doctors hovered nearby, assessing damage they might not be able to undo.
Vivian and Marc sat outside the room, quiet and alert.A couple hours later, Mick, Steven, and Joe arrived, their faces drawn and pale under the hallway's harsh lighting.
"Any change?" Steven asked.
Vivian stood. "She's awake. Barely. But they say she'll pull through if there's no brain damage."
"She's asking for you," Marc added. "Might be the drugs talking, but still."
Mick exhaled. "Let's go in."

They walked into the room. Lauren blinked slowly, groggy and lost, wires and tubes snaking from her arms.
Steven stepped forward. "Hey, baby. We're here."
Lauren looked at him, then at Mick, tears sliding down her cheeks silently.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered.
"I know," Mick said, gripping her hand. "You're safe now."
Steven nodded, brushing her hair back gently. "We've got you. One step at a time."