little do you know ⍟ camila cabello

drunk enough to say that i love you

*trigger warning*

I sat at Y/N's bedside, holding my head up uncomfortably with my fist. She'd laid there, unconscious, unable to break away from the distorted visions that haunted her dreams: the gritted teeth, the clenched fists, the angry and pained expressions on her face were tell-tale.

No doubt she'd have woken up if it wasn't for the steady stream of morphine flowing abundantly into her vein, sending her into a prison of oblivion. I took pity on her yet admired her for her unwavering strength and determination.

The nightmares, the memories of the car accident that consumed both my conscious and unconscious being. Those wonderful 'dreams' that make any shut-eye a complete and indescribably horror irrevocably ruined me; add that to the long list of things that made my life unbearable. But I was forced to live, forced to suffer while I partook in the constant memories of what happened that fatal night. My beloved liquor was my escape from reality. But for Y/N, nothing. She couldn't even drink without retching abominably short after. It was funny, I admit. But she still had no way to escape, and neither did she seek out one. For a girl who has been through losing her entire fleshly family to then fall pregnant and lose her newly born baby in a car accident, it was remarkable that she managed to keep her sanity, let alone stay alive.

Tired of my fist grinding into the hollow of my cheek, I laid my heavy head down on the mattress, by Y/N's side. It was funny how well we knew each other. We didn't have to speak to know one another's thoughts. Who knew that we could be so radically different yet so incredibly alike? She still loathed me though, and I'm not sure she'll ever be able to forgive me.

The soft hum of the monitor that told me she was still alive and her slow rhythmic breaths began to lull me into unconsciousness. It's the first test I've truly had in a few days. The stress of paperwork and police visits followed by visits from family and friends has seriously taken its toll. I feel guilty about drinking my way into oblivion, so I've tried to stay sober, at least for Y/N's sake.

Y/N grunted and turned on her side. Her hands reached out for something...but what? Eventually, they found my hand and coaxed them gently into her grasp, nestling it close to her breast. I sighed exasperatedly but let her hold my hand. I began to slip back into sleep when she started shrieking in a panicked frenzy.

"Luna! No! Stay with me, baby girl. Please, don't leave me! They can't take you too! I-I won't let them! Baby, please!"

The beeping on her monitor accelerated and her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, her breathing turning to gasps for air. Her hands squeezed my poor hand so tightly it cut off the circulation, and I wondered if I'd have to amputate it. I resisted the impulse to snatch my hand away from her.

Damn it, Y/N. I can't blame her though. I can't. "Luna..." she murmured, before softening the death grip on my hand. A nurse came in to check on Y/N, the increasing heart rate a cause of alarm.

"She's fine," I mutter impatiently. "The nightmares." The young nurse nodded in recognition but still came up to her side and pressed the back of his palm on her forehead.

"She's breaking out in cold sweats," he informed me. "I'll increase her morphine dosage."

Wordlessly, he dunked a cloth into a cool bowl of water and wiped her face, then laid another across her forehead, then pressed the buttons on a screen and scanned his retina before upping the dose of the clear blue liquid flowing into her arm and relaxing the facial muscles that refused to allow her countenance to un-frown itself.

"I'm sure your girlfriend will be so happy that you stayed with her through all this when she wakes up," he said with a smile, darting his eyes in my direction.