My eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone. Slowly, I forced them open, consciousness returning like a dim flame in the dark. Pain spread through me, every muscle stiff and sore, my lips cracked and dry. Even breathing felt like effort, each inhale scraping against my throat.
I'm alive… but why?
Above me, the ceiling light glared down, sterile and unfeeling, its brightness stabbing into my vision. I blinked several times, trying to adjust, but the glare refused to soften.
Beside me, the monitor beeped steadily, each sound echoing in the quiet room, reminding me I was still alive. The rhythm was steady, mechanical, indifferent — yet it tethered me to existence.
That sound… it's proof I'm still here. But what's the point of surviving if everything I loved is gone?
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and faintly of metal, the air cold enough to make me shiver. The sheets against my skin were stiff, the pillow beneath my head thin and uncomfortable. Every detail of the room seemed designed to remind me of fragility.
A nurse walked in just in time to see me awake. Her eyes widened, and she hurried back out, shoes squeaking against the polished floor as she rushed to inform the doctor.
Moments later, the doctor entered, the nurse trailing behind him. His white coat swayed as he approached, his voice calm but firm.
"Miss Reed," he said gently, "you are finally awake."
I turned my head sideways, my neck stiff, eyes struggling to focus on him. My throat burned with dryness. I managed to squeeze out a single word.
"Water."
"Get her some water quickly," the doctor instructed.
He moved closer to my side, his eyes soft, the steady beeping echoing in the room. "Times like this are hard. You cannot give up. Bad things happen in life that we have no control over. But moving forward is the only way."
Moving forward? How do you move forward when every step feels heavier than the last? When the only person you trusted has abandoned you?
The nurse returned with a bottle, lifting my head slightly and pressing it to my lips. I drank slowly, each sip cooling my parched throat. The water tasted faintly of plastic, but it soothed the dryness. After a moment, I raised my hand, signaling it was enough.
The nurse stepped back. I rested my head against the pillow, my gaze fixed on the doctor. Then, unexpectedly, I smiled. It was unsettling — faint, fragile, yet strangely calm.
"It's okay, Doctor," I whispered, my voice low. "I am alright now."
If I say it enough, maybe I'll believe it. Maybe they'll stop looking at me with pity.
The doctor frowned, unconvinced. "You need people by your side now more than ever. Is there anyone you want me to call? A family member, perhaps? A friend?"
My eyes grew blank. Family? I had none. Friends? I had never believed I needed them. I had Ryan. The one person I thought I could trust.
"Yes," I said softly. "There is someone. Ryan."
"Wonderful," the doctor replied. "Please, Miss Reed, put down the number and we will call him."
The nurse handed me a phone. My fingers trembled as I typed in Ryan's number. I had memorized it long ago, each digit etched into my mind.
"Rest," the doctor said as he reached for the door. The nurse followed him out. "We'll get through to the person." The door shut gently behind them, leaving me alone with the hum of machines.
Outside, the doctor instructed, "Call the number and give me the feedback."
The nurse dialed. The phone rang for several minutes before it was picked up.
"Hello," the nurse began.
"Am I speaking to Ryan?"
"Yes, this is Ryan Moon," came the reply.
The nurse blinked in surprise. Moon? She hadn't expected that. But she continued.
"Ah, yes. Your friend Thalia Reed had an incident. She was stabbed."
"Stabbed?" Ryan's voice carried confusion.
"Yes," the nurse explained. "She was stabbed, but luckily she is out of immediate danger. Still, she needs someone by her side. She gave us this number to reach out."
There was silence. Then Ryan spoke, his tone cold. "I am a very busy man and can't make it. And it's not like we are that close. Why would she give you my number?"
Before the nurse could reply, the line went dead.
She stared at the phone. "He really cut the call…" Her voice trembled with anger. "What a heartless jerk. Oh, that poor girl. I can't even imagine what she's going through right now."
The nurse walked back toward my room, opening the door gently.
She screamed.
I was no longer on the bed. I was sitting on the hospital window ledge, my face pale, lifeless, my gown fluttering slightly in the draft. The city lights glimmered faintly outside, casting shadows across my fragile frame.
More nurses and doctors rushed in, alarmed by the scream. They froze, stunned by the sight.
"Miss Reed!" a doctor called out, stepping forward.
"Stop," I said sharply. "Don't come any closer."
If they touch me, they'll drag me back into this endless cycle of pain. I can't go back. Not again.
The doctor halted, his shoes squeaking against the floor.
"My life has been nothing but sadness," I said, my voice trembling yet resolute. "I'm tired now. I want to finally rest."
No one ever stayed. No one ever truly loved me. Maybe peace only exists in the silence after the fall.
Everyone stared at me, helpless. The room was silent except for the steady beep of the monitor, a cruel reminder of my fragile existence.
Before the doctor could speak, I leaned forward.
Air brushed against my face as I fell. The wind rushed past my ears, my gown fluttering wildly. For a brief moment, I felt peace, as if the weight of my suffering had finally lifted.
This is freedom. This is release.
Then came the loud thud — a body hitting the ground.
I lay still, crimson spreading across the floor, my blood pooling against the cold pavement.
Silence filled the hospital. Nurses covered their mouths, doctors froze in disbelief.
And then, in another space — a place beyond the living — my soul floated. I opened my eyes once more.