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"Jolls!"
A panicked female voice echoed from somewhere far away, right before a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. I tried to open my eyes, but nothing moved.
"Why did you slap her?!" the same voice snapped, sharper now.
"That's how they wake people up in movies. Do you have a better idea?" a male voice shot back. Their voices sounded distant, warped, like I was underwater.
"Here, try using this," another male voice said — calmer, steadier.
What happened next jolted my eyes wide open.
"What the fuck!" I screamed, shooting upright — instantly regretting it. My throat burned like I'd swallowed shards of glass. Water dripped down my face as I stared at the three standing over me: Sam, Brandon, and Chase.
Sam sagged with relief, hands dropping to her knees.
"Thank God," Brandon breathed out dramatically. "We thought you died," he added, and before I could react, he and Sam wrapped their arms around me. Chase chuckled somewhere beside them — I could practically feel him shaking his head.
I didn't move. I couldn't.
"Stop being dramatic," Chase said. "You'll send her into shock." He gently pried them off me.
I was grateful. Their fussing only made the nausea twist harder in my stomach. My mouth tasted awful, and my head throbbed like it was splitting open. I wished I'd never woken up.
"Oww." I winced when my hand brushed against Brandon's back. What happened to my hand? Why did it hurt?
And… what the hell were these three doing in my apartment?
"What is that disgusting sme—" I stopped as my gaze landed on the mess on the floor. The urge to puke hit instantly.
"What happened?" I asked, pinching my nose to block the awful smell.
"We should be asking you that," Chase said, his voice unnervingly calm.
"Is she having dementia?" Brandon asked in full panic. "We should take her to the hospital." He reached for my forehead like a frantic mother.
"No hospitals," Chase said firmly, helping me up. Sam moved to my other side, both of them lifting me toward the couch. My whole body felt like it had been hit by a truck. My legs barely worked.
"I'll go to the pharmacy and get supplies," Chase said once I was settled.
"Why not just take her to the hospital?" Brandon argued. "They actually know what to do. We don't."
Their bickering made my skull throb harder. I wanted to tell them all to get out — to stop hovering.
"The same reason we didn't call the police," Sam said quietly, placing her hand on my forehead. Her eyes shimmered with tears. "We might get her in trouble."
"I still don't get how she could get in trouble," Brandon muttered, frowning. Chase ruffled his hair before planting a quick kiss on his forehead and heading out.
Sam left, opening the door to one of the rooms.
"How are you feeling?" Brandon asked, squeezing himself next to me on the sofa. Warm, worried eyes. A soft voice. Too soft.
"I'm good," I lied, shifting away. I hated attention — hated being fragile — hated not knowing what happened.
My gaze lingered on my bruised knuckles. Did I fight someone?
"Try to stay calm," Sam said as she returned. She carried a basin of water and a towel. She dipped the cloth and gently pressed it to my knuckles. The warmth stung, pain shooting up my arm.
"Sorry," she whispered, blowing softly on the bruised skin. "But we have to clean it before it gets infected." Her voice shook. She didn't look at me.
"Stop being a baby!" Brandon complained when I kept pulling my hand away.
"Brandon," Sam warned, eyes cold. "Go bring her something to eat."
When Chase returned, Sam was feeding me — gently, patiently — reminding me I hadn't eaten since school.
"Here," Chase said, handing her a bag.
She emptied the contents on the coffee table: spirit, cotton wool, bandages, painkillers, gloves.
"Hope that's everything," he said.
"It's perfect," Sam replied, putting on the gloves. She poured spirit onto cotton. I instantly yanked my hand back.
I could act tough through anything — except spirit.
Sam gave me a small smile, the first one she'd shown since I woke.
"I'll be gentle. I promise."
Slowly, I gave her my hand.
Ten minutes felt like ten hours, but she finished. My wounds were cleaned, wrapped, and throbbing. Chase put on a movie, and they all focused on it — except Sam, who kept glancing at me.
I closed my eyes, hoping to drift off.
Big mistake.
Memories slammed into me.
"Sandy…" I whispered. Everyone turned.
"We can't be friends anymore."
Her voice echoed in my skull, ripping open the wound in my chest. I grabbed my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked, touching my arm.
"I'll never let anyone in ever again."
The promise I made replayed like a curse. My breathing faltered.
How did they get in? I looked at the door. It wasn't broken.
"How did you get in?" I asked, voice unsteady.
"The caretaker had a spare key," Chase said.
"Get out," I whispered.
"What?" Brandon blinked.
"I said get the hell out!" I snapped, clutching my throat as pain shot through it. I couldn't do this — couldn't let them care only for them to leave.
"Get out," I repeated, quieter, sitting up.
"Jolls, come on. Stop being a baby," Sam said — hurt bleeding through her voice.
"Brandon," Chase murmured, motioning him toward the door.
"We are NOT leaving her alone again," Brandon insisted.
"No — not all of us. Sam is staying. Us crowding her is making everything worse," Chase said, pulling him along.
"Don't leave her alone. No matter what," Brandon said before disappearing with him.
The door shut. My eyes snapped to Sam.
"What are you still doing here?" I asked, voice low and sharp. "You should go too."
"You're not getting rid of me that easily." She crossed her arms. "What happened? What did she do?"
Her voice softened. Encouraging. Concerned.
My throat tightened. My eyes burned.
And before I could stop it, tears spilled down my cheeks.
Sam's eyes widened. Then her arms wrapped around me. Warm. Safe. Exactly what I needed — which only made everything worse.
I leaned into her, letting the pain melt into her pink top as she stroked my back. I didn't want her to leave. But she would. Eventually, she would.
"Leave," I whispered, pushing her gently.