The new information should terrify me, but her silky voice smooths the sharp edges. My breathing slows, her presence calming me with every passing second.
“There’s something wrong with my eyes.”
She sighs knowingly. “Some bleeding was spotted around your eyes while running tests. We were hoping for a better outcome. However, we couldn’t predict anything based on the findings alone—you had to wake up first.”
“What is it? Why can’t I see?”
“Hold on, I’ll get the doctor,” she says, followed by mumbling. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
That sounds ominous. My stomach knots, and I wish I hadn’t asked anything at all. There are taps of a finger against the phone before she dials, followed by the low murmur of her voice when the call connects. “Dr. Royce, Seaborn’s awake…yes, he’s asking about his vision. Should I?” A pause. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”
“What is it?” I repeat my earlier question in a barely audible whisper.
A chair scrapes the floor on my right. She must be sitting down. “Dr. Royce will go into more detail once you meet him, but it’s most likely Terson’s Syndrome,” she explains. “That’s when bleeding in the brain triggers hemorrhaging inside the eyes. The pooled blood clouds your vision, but the retinas themselves usually remain intact.”
“So I’m not—” I stop, swallowing hard. “I’m not permanently blind?”
“It’s difficult to predict the outcome.” Ivy doesn’t sugarcoat the situation, which I appreciate. “In many cases, vision somewhat returns once the blood reabsorbs on its own. Sometimes surgery helps, but unfortunately, there’s no guarantee of restoring vision. Right now, all we know is you’re stable. The fact that you can speak this clearly is a miracle in itself.”
“It is?”
“Very much so, but I’m glad you can communicate. It means you don’t have to feel alone.”
“You sure about that?” My voice cracks. “Feels pretty damn alone in here.”
She places a delicate hand on my forearm and squeezes it reassuringly. “I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”
A flicker of warmth pulses through me at her comforting touch. It doesn’t chase away the pain, but manages to cut through the haze I’ve been trapped in.
“I might’ve scared off my parents,” I say tiredly.
Ivy lets out a soft, genuine laugh. “I’m still here, though. And I’ve seen worse.”
“Let me guess. It’s another day at the office for you?”
“I’m a neuro nurse who used to work in the ER,” she replies, a hint of humor threading through her tone. “It’s not my first time holding someone’s hand through hell.”
“I hate being helpless,” I confess under my breath.
“You’re allowed to be scared. It doesn’t make you helpless.”
Utterly exhausted, I sink into the pillows. My thoughts spiral, even as the panic begins to settle. “Am I that obvious?”
“No. But I could hear it in your voice when you were yelling earlier. Most people raise their voices out of anger. It sounded like you were drowning, and yelling was the only proof that your head was still above water.”
There’s something weirdly comforting about the fact that she actually gets me. “You’re not just saying all this because it’s your job, right?”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” Her voice softens again on the last word. “I’m not going anywhere. Fair warning, you might be sick of me by the time you leave.”
I laugh at her attempt to lighten the situation. My new reality is filled with questions I can’t answer, yet Ivy calms me more with every word said. “At least you have a lovely voice. It could be way worse.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” She chuckles, the sound music to my ears. “Are you thirsty?”
“Yeah, I could probably drink more than small sips I took earlier.”
“We’ll start with ice chips. You should take it easy at first.”
“Ice chips?” I scoff. “Living the fucking dream.”
