Saved By Steven (the first story)

26. A Nasty Detox and A Saviour

The second day in rehab was worse than the first—but it had started long before sunrise.

Lauren had barely slept the night before. Her skin was already itching, her stomach tight and sour. Every sound outside her door—the click of a nurse's shoes, the rustle of sheets in other rooms—made her flinch. She couldn't lie still. Her legs trembled, then her arms. Her head throbbed with dull, pulsing pain.

Around 2 a.m., she stumbled into the bathroom and threw up water and bile. She sat on the cold tile floor for what felt like hours, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up. Her sweatshirt stuck to her skin with sweat. 

The shakes she could live with—she was used to those. But the pain in her stomach was another story. It clawed deep, lower than just withdrawal. It brought back memories she didn't want—memories of the rape, the abortion, the crushing silence that followed when no one—not even she—knew what to say anymore. She felt filthier than ever.

She rocked slightly, whispering to no one, "This isn't that bad. It'll pass. I've done this before."

But she hadn't done this. Not like this. Not without something to ease the drop. No bottle, no bump, no crutch. Somewhere near dawn, she managed to crawl back into bed, but she never really slept—only floated in and out of thin, haunted dreams.

At 7 a.m. the nurse entered, as part of the daily routine. When she saw Lauren's empty bed, she moved to the bathroom. She found her there—collapsed on the floor, half leaning against the wall, one arm draped over the toilet again.

"Oh dear," the nurse said, crouching down beside her. "Are you okay?"

Lauren couldn't answer. Her throat was raw, her jaw clenched. Every breath felt like it scraped her insides. Her whole body had begun to betray her.

"Come on now, sweetheart, let's get you up," the nurse said softly, guiding Lauren to sit upright. Her skin was clammy and pale. The nurse quickly called for the doctor.

A new voice arrived moments later—soothing, male. "Lauren? Lauren, can you open your eyes for me?"She tried. The light stabbed her, and her eyelids felt like they were weighed down by stone."I just need to see those blue eyes. Just for a second," he coaxed gently.Eventually, she blinked. Just once."That's enough," the doctor said. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. I can't give her meds—not yet—but we'll make her as comfortable as possible. Ice for the headache. Massage for the tremors. Let's keep her in bed and monitor her until she stabilizes."
"Got it, doc," the nurse replied.

They tucked her back into bed, placed a cold compress on her forehead and set a bucket nearby. A physical therapist arrived within the hour and began to work her muscles with slow, rhythmic pressure. At first, it brought a moment of peace—almost sleep—but the relief was short-lived. As the detox surged forward, Lauren moaned softly in pain.
"Cold," she muttered through chattering teeth.
"I'll get you a blanket," the nurse offered.
"No—water," she gasped.
They brought more ice. She sipped it with effort, her lips cracked and dry.

By 3 p.m., the nurse assumed the worst was over. Lauren was asleep, her body twitching only slightly now. The nurse left her to rest. But Lauren knew better. She wasn't through it yet. She could feel it under her skin. Her body may have been limp, but the pain hadn't left. She was just too exhausted to fight.An hour later, a familiar voice stirred the air.
"Hi, I'm Steven. I'm here to see Lauren."
The receptionist smiled. "Let me check... yes, you're on the list. The doctor would like to speak with you first, if that's alright."

After a short consultation—where Steven was told, gently, just how bad things had gotten—he was led to Lauren's room.

Steven's heart clenched. Lauren was barely coherent when Steven arrived. Her body trembled beneath the blanket, her skin hot and clammy despite her chills. A young man sat beside her, still applying pressure to her shoulder blades. When the physical therapist had left the room, and Steven had taken his place beside her. 

He dabbed a cold cloth to her forehead and whispered her name until she stirred. Her eyes opened just enough to find him.
Don't... leave... me... I... think... I'm... going... to... die."
"You're not going to die," he said softly, brushing her hair back.
"I... need something..." she said. Her voice was cracked and hoarse, but her meaning was unmistakable.
Steven paused. "What do you mean, baby?"
"Just... something. A drink. Or a pill. I can't... this hurts too much."
His face tightened. He took her hand gently, anchoring her.
"No pills. No drink. You know that. You're in pain, but it will pass. You've done the hard part—walking in here. Now you just need to hold on."
She pulled her hand away and curled into herself.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know," he said, "You can hate me all you want. I'm still not going anywhere."

She cried silently for a few minutes, tears soaking the pillow. Her body jerked occasionally with tremors. Finally, she turned her face toward him again.
"I'm scared."
"I know that too. But I'm here. You're not doing this alone."
Steven reached for the ice pack and adjusted it. Her breathing slowed slightly. Steven stayed beside her, brushing his fingers gently across her back. 

"What the fuck is going on here?" a voice boomed suddenly.
"Shhh. Don't yell. I finally got her to sleep," Steven said sharply as he turned toward the door.
The man standing there looked stunned. "Oh my God. You're Steven Tyler."
"And you are?" Steven whispered, rising from the bed and gently guiding the man into the hallway.
"I'm Richard. I'm a... friend of Lauren. We're in group together. I was worried. She didn't show up today."
"She's going to be okay. She's fragile right now. Just needs time."
"I didn't realize you two were... you know. Involved?"
"That's not really your business," Steven said, politely but firmly.
Richard raised his hands in retreat. "Of course. Sorry. I just... care. I've been where she is."

Steven nodded, but said nothing more before slipping quietly back into the room. The sound of the door closing woke Lauren. Her eyes fluttered open. The shakes had dulled, just slightly.
"Hey there," Steven said, settling back beside her.
"Hi." Her voice was thin, but less broken.
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore. Tired. Thirsty."
"Want me to get you a drink?"
"Can we... go together?"
"Of course."

It took several minutes for Lauren to get dressed—just sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie. She clutched Steven's arm for balance. Her steps were shaky, but she didn't fall.
They made their way slowly to the cafeteria and found a small couch near a sunny window. Lauren curled up against him without hesitation. Her head rested against his chest, and Steven wrapped an arm around her, stroking her hair softly.
"You don't have to talk," he said. "Just breathe."She did. In and out. And before long, Lauren had fallen asleep in his arms.