“She didn’t finish it,” Derek says. I don’t have to see him to know it’s him.
“Vitals are stable,” the woman says. “We’re running a tox screen.”
Tox.
The word sticks, unwelcome.
“Was… wrong,” I whisper. “Didn’t feel right.”
“You did the right thing,” the man says. “Whatever was in your system appears to be a low dose.”
Low dose.
As if that’s comforting.
Something cool presses against my wrist. Plastic. A sharp pinch.
“I don’t like hospitals,” I mumble.
A soft snort. Alex. “Nobody does.”
“Hey,” Mark says, calm and grounding. “Stay with us, Audra.”
I want to tell him I am. I want to tell all of them I wasn’t careless, that I didn’t do anything stupid, that this isn’t my fault.
But my tongue feels heavy. Thick. Like it’s forgotten how to move properly.
Lights blur. Sounds warp.
I hear someone say I’ll need a ride home once my IV is done..
“I’ve got it,” Derek says immediately.
“I didn’t—” I try.
“I know,” he replies. “It’s fine.”
Something warm presses briefly against my arm. Steady. Solid.
Then everything tilts sideways and dissolves.
Oh God.
My head.
It’s throbbing now. Pounding. Stabbing. Like someone replaced my brain with a jackhammer and forgot to turn it off.
Shit.
How much did I drink last night?
I try to open my eyes.
Instant regret.
Too bright. Wrong ceiling.
I bolt upright on instinct and immediately groan, clutching my head as the room lurches violently.
