I made a sound—half gasp, half cry—and my hands flew to my head.
My knees buckled. Michael caught me before I hit the floor.
“Claudette.” His voice was urgent now, scared in a way that made everything worse.
I tried to answer but the pain was spreading too fast, radiating from the base of my skull outward in waves that made my vision blur at the edges.
Images flashed behind my eyes. Disconnected and ungraspable.
“Claudette!” Michael’s hands were on my face now, tilting it up. “Stay with me. Breathe. Just breathe.”
I tried. But breathing felt impossible when everything hurt.
He was already moving, scooping me into his arms. My body felt weak, boneless. All my strength had evaporated with the pain.
“Jack—” Michael’s voice was sharp, commanding. “Get a doctor. Now.”
I heard Jack’s footsteps, running. Heard him calling out for help.
Michael was carrying me back toward my room, his arms tight around me.
“I’ve got you,” he kept saying. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just hold on.”
“What’s wrong with me?” The words barely made it out.
“Nothing’s wrong.” But his voice shook, betraying him. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. You’re going to be fine.”
The hallway lights were too bright. They streaked across my vision as he moved, making the pain worse.
We reached my room just as a nurse appeared, followed quickly by the doctor from earlier.
Michael laid me on the bed, careful but fast, his hands never quite leaving me. Like he was afraid if he let go, something terrible would happen.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said to Jack, who’d appeared in the doorway. His voice was strained but firm. “I’ve got her.”
The nurse and doctor were asking questions, checking things, but their voices sounded distant. Muffled. Like I was underwater.
Michael’s hand found mine and held on.
“What’s happening to her?” he was asking the doctor. “This is the second time today?—”
“We need to stabilize her vitals,” the doctor said. “Get her pain under control?—”
“Then do it.” Michael’s voice was raw. “Please.”
Someone adjusted my IV. Something cold flooded my arm, and slowly—so slowly—the pain started to ease. Not gone, but manageable. Distant.
The doctor and nurse were talking to Michael in low voices. I caught fragments. “Monitor closely” and “run more tests” and “concerning pattern.”
Then they were gone, Jack leaving with them and it was just us.
Michael was in the chair beside the bed, still holding my hand. His other hand came up to smooth my hair back from my forehead, gentle around the bandage.
“I’m not a child,” I whispered, anger and fear tangled in my throat. I tried to sit up but he put a hand on my shoulder, keeping me down. Not roughly, but firmly. “I’m not fragile. I’m not stupid. And I’m tired of everyone acting like I can’t handle the truth.”
“Claudette—”
“No.” I grabbed his wrist, holding on. “You heard what I heard in that hallway. You know I heard it. So stop pretending. Stop—Stop lying to me.” My voice cracked on the last word.
