Saved By Steven (the first story)

19. Shadows and Needles

The room was cold. Sterile. Lauren felt it before she heard anything—the chill of thin hospital sheets against her bare legs, the weight of a blanket too stiff to offer comfort. Somewhere nearby, voices floated in and out like the tide, muted and foreign. It was like listening through a pane of glass.

She tried to open her eyes. Nothing.
Her body was heavy, like it had been anchored underwater. But she could move her fingers, barely. She flexed them, weakly. A hand wrapped gently around hers.
"Lauren?" a voice whispered—soft, close to her ear, full of something she couldn't quite place. Worry? Relief?
She tried again to speak, but her throat burned. She shifted her fingers instead.

More voices. Louder now. Footsteps moved around her like shadows. Something cool pressed against her throat. She flinched.
Then—a sharp pain.
"She's gagging—get the tube out," someone said.

Lauren spasmed as the tube slipped from her throat. Her lungs screamed. She coughed violently, each spasm sending needles of pain down her chest and into her skull.
Light burst into her vision like a bomb. Everything was too bright, too loud, too fast.

"Welcome back," the doctor said, his voice clipped and clinical. He didn't wait for a reply—he was gone before her vision stopped swimming.

The room slowly settled into focus. Shapes sharpened. First a silhouette—tall, dark hair—Steven. Then Mick, standing to the side with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. And behind them, Joe, distant and unreadable.
"Wh—what... happened?" Lauren rasped, her voice like sandpaper, not remembering the night before. 
Mick stepped forward. "Honey, don't talk yet. Just breathe, okay?"
Lauren blinked slowly, confused. Her throat ached and her chest was raw, like it had been scraped from the inside. She tried to sit up, but her body was too weak. Panic rippled through her.
"I think... she wants to know," Steven said, his voice low and full of something that cracked at the edges—guilt, maybe.
"I don't think we should tell her yet," Joe interrupted. "She just woke up, she's barely conscious."
"She's asking, Joe," Steven snapped. "She deserves to know."
"She's fragile," Mick said, his voice tense. "Let her rest."
"No," Lauren whispered. "Please... tell me. Where... am I?"
Steven hesitated. Then, softly: "You're in the hospital. You overdosed, Lauren."
She stared at him. The words hit her like a blow to the chest.
"You had too much in your system," Steven continued, his voice breaking. "You passed out. We couldn't wake you."
Lauren's lips trembled. Her eyes welled. She turned her face into the pillow, and cried silently until her body gave out and sleep took her again.

Mick pulled the others into the hallway. The hospital lights flickered, harsh and humming.
"She's not going anywhere for a while," Mick said. "You should go. Finish the tour. I'll stay."
Steven's expression darkened. "I'm not leaving her, Mick. Not like this. She just woke up—she needs someone she trusts."
Marc stepped in from the corner, having just arrived with Vivian.
"Steven—listen, man. You've barely slept. You're rattled. You want to help her? Take care of yourself first."
"She doesn't even know Marc and Vivian," Steven said, voice rising, eyes red. "You sent them in the chopper with her like she was a damn project. She needed someone familiar. Someone safe."
"She needed someone sober and stable," Mick countered. "And Vivian's a nurse. You were half-ready to throw fists an hour ago."

Steven paced the hallway, fists clenching and unclenching. "I made her a promise, Mick. I told her I'd be there when she broke. I can't just walk away now."
Joe stepped forward, too smooth for Steven's liking.
"You did your part. She's alive, thanks to you. But Mick's right—this isn't your weight to carry. Not all of it."
Steven turned, eyes locking on Joe. "You have no idea what weight I'm carrying."
Joe looked away.
Mick placed a hand on Steven's shoulder.
"If she asks for you, I'll call. You have my word."
Steven didn't answer.
"Tell her... tell her she's not alone. No matter what she thinks."
"I will," Mick said, voice quiet.
Steven stood there a moment longer. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Mick by the door, clutching a piece of paper Steven gave him to give to Lauren, like it weighed more than the world.

Lauren stirred slightly in the bed, unaware of the conversation in the hallway. The machines beeped steadily, whispering the rhythm of her heart as her body fought its way back to life.Mick pulled the chair close to her bedside and sat down. He took her hand again—this time, gently, without urgency. Just a quiet presence."You're safe now," he murmured. "Rest, Laur. We've got a long road ahead."

A light drizzle had started to fall, misting the parking lot in a silver haze. The glow of the hospital's fluorescent lights buzzed above the exit as Joe leaned against the van, a cigarette already between his fingers. He took a drag, watching the ember flare before glancing toward the hospital doors.

Steven stood just outside, arms crossed, staring at the building like he could will time to reverse.
"You ready?" Joe asked, exhaling smoke into the damp air.
Steven didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the third-floor window, where a faint silhouette—Mick, maybe—passed by.
Joe held out the pack. "Want one?"
Steven shook his head without looking. "I don't smoke anymore. You know that."
"Yeah," Joe muttered. "Right. Forgot."
Steven finally turned toward him, his voice clipped. "Do you really think leaving right now is the right thing to do?"
Joe took another drag, letting it sit in his lungs a moment before releasing it with a sigh.
"It's not about right or wrong, man. It's about what's possible. Mick's got her. The tour won't wait."
Steven ran a hand through his hair. "She barely knows Marc and Vivian. And now she's waking up in a hospital with strangers around her."
"She knows Mick," Joe replied. "And she'll be out of it for a while anyway. Best thing we can do is not crowd her."
"You keep saying that like it's comforting."
Joe's gaze flicked up, meeting Steven's.
"You want the truth?"
"I always want the truth."

Joe dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his boot.
"You're too close, Steven. You're not thinking straight. You're trying to carry her pain like it'll make yours lighter."
Steven bristled.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're playing the savior when you haven't even cleaned up your own wreckage yet."
Joe's tone softened slightly, but it still carried weight. "You're sober, yeah. But you're still rebuilding. And this... this is heavy."
"I can handle it."
"Can you?" Joe took a step closer. "Because I've seen this movie before. You get too deep, she pulls you under, and then we're back at square one—if we're lucky."
Steven looked away, jaw tightening. "I made her a promise."
"And maybe keeping that promise means knowing when to step back."
Silence settled between them. The rain had picked up, tapping steadily on the roof of the van.
Steven finally sighed and opened the passenger door. "Doesn't feel right.""It won't. But it's not forever."
As they pulled away from the hospital, Steven kept his eyes on the window until it disappeared behind them. The road ahead was dark and wet, the city lights distant.
Neither of them said another word the entire drive to the tarmac.