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THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT. And I just stand there.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just stare at the space where she was, where she stood not even ten seconds ago. It’s like my brain hasn’t caught up with what just happened. Like if I don’t move, maybe time won’t either. Maybe she’ll come back.
But she won’t.
Her words echo in my mind. “No, you just couldn’t save your mum, so now you wanna save me.”
She knows.
I never told her. But I don’t need to guess twice to know who did. Fucking Dylan.
She looked me dead in the eye and said what she said, like it was some throwaway comment. Like it didn’t matter. Except it does.
My chest tightens, and I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat doesn’t budge. My jaw locks, my fists curling at my sides. Fuck, it hurt. Way more than I expected. But the worst part?
She’s hurting more.
I saw it, right there in her face. The way her eyes went glassy the second the words left her mouth. The crack in her voice when she tried to cover it. The regret. The fear. She’s spiralling. She’s slipping and I let her walk out the door.
She thinks I’m judging her. God, that’s what kills me. Because I never could. I never would.
I’m still frozen in the middle of the hallway, stuck in the moment, stuck in all the things I didn’t say—stay, please stay, you’re not alone, you don’t have to do this by yourself—when I catch the smell.
Burnt sugar. Smoke. Shit. The pancakes.
I move without thinking, storming into the kitchen. The pan’s still on the stove, black smoke rising off the edges, the batter charred and sticking to the sides like tar. I flip off the stove, grab the pan, and scrape the mess into the bin.
The pancakes were for her.
I didn’t sleep last night. Not a second. I stayed up because I wanted to be here when she woke up. Dad and Cora went to the breakfast cafe that we used to go to with mum. But I stayed. For her. I wanted her to smell breakfast, to come downstairs and sit at the table, and maybe, just maybe, feel a tiny bit normal again. Safe. Not judged. Not broken. Just… loved.
And now she’s gone.
She left thinking I looked at her like everyone else does. Like she’s damaged. Like she’s fucked up. Like I don’t care. And it hurts. It hurts like hell.
I press my palms against the countertop, dropping my head between my arms. My heart’s beating too fast, and my eyes burn with exhaustion and something worse. Something heavier.
Guilt.
Because she was falling apart right in front of me. And I didn’t say enough. I didn’t stop her. I let her walk out that door when everything in me was screaming to run after her.
But I didn’t. I just stood there.
I lift my head, slowly, like even that takes effort, and see my dad’s name lighting up the screen. I let it ring twice before I finally pick up, pressing it to my ear and rubbing my forehead with the heel of my palm.
“Yeah, Dad?” I say, voice low and tired.
“You’ve got a check-up with your doctor in thirty minutes,” he says casually, like it’s just another thing on the calendar.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, straightening up. “I do?”
“I’m a few minutes away. Get ready.”
He hangs up before I can say anything else. I stand there for a second longer, phone still pressed to my ear even though the line’s dead. My eyes flick to the clock. Right. Of course. That appointment I forgot about. Because everything in me’s been focused on Carmen.
Fuck.
The last thing I want to do is sit in a white room and talk about my ankle when Carmen is God knows where, doing God knows what, in God knows what kind of headspace. I should be checking up on her. Texting her. Finding her.
I sigh hard, running a hand through my hair before heading upstairs. I’m still in my black sweatpants, so I grab the matching zip-up hoodie off the back of my chair and throw it on, zipping it halfway. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I pass-red-rimmed eyes, hollow under the weight of no sleep.
I look like shit.
I splash cold water on my face in the bathroom, gripping the edges of the sink like it’ll hold me together. My knuckles go white.
You let her walk out that door.
I reach up and open the mirror cabinet, looking for eye drops. My fingers brush past a few bottles, and stop.
The pill bottle to help with the pain from my ankle. It’s gone.
Dad must’ve taken it. He hates having anything like that around the house. Doesn’t matter. I shake the thought away and grab the eye drops, squeezing a few into my burning eyes. They sting, but I blink hard and toss them back in the cabinet before heading downstairs.
Outside, I lean against the brick wall by the driveway and take my phone out. I open Carmen’s contact. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, the screen glowing with her name. I want to say something. Anything. But what the fuck do you even say after that?
After she looked at you like she didn’t believe you could love her?
Before I can type even a word, Dad’s car pulls up. The door swings open and Cora jumps out, her energy bouncing off the pavement.
“I ate the biggest waffle ever,” she grins.
“Oh, yeah?”
“You missed out, Connie.”
I force a smile. I’ve got nothing in me to be happy right now, but I fake it for her. “You have fun, kid?”
She huffs. “You know I hate it when you call me that, prick.”
“Love you too.” I ruffle her hair, and she smacks my hand away with an eye roll before stepping inside.
I walk over to the car and slide into the passenger seat. “Cora seems happy,” I note as Dad pulls away from the curb.
“Yeah,” he says with a small smile. “We’re making progress.”
“That’s good.”
“What’ll make today even better is if your doctor finally clears you to play again.”
I glance down at my ankle. It’s been feeling good lately. Stronger. I should be excited. I should be buzzing to get back on the pitch. But that’s the least of my worries. That girl, she’s consuming every thought on my mind.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
My phone buzzes. Again and again. I look, hope flickering in my chest for half a second—please let it be her—but it’s Jack, telling me that the lads are going to The Holloway tonight and if I wanted to join.
I scoff under my breath and toss the phone in my lap. Nothing against the poor guy but he’s not the one I wanted to hear from.
Dad hears my phone buzz again. Still Jack. “Turn your phone off, Connie. Don’t need it going off during the appointment.”
Right. The appointment. Thirty minutes tops. I can turn it off. Just for a bit. I press the side button and watch the screen go dark.
The rest of the ride, Dad’s rambling about Royal United and the upcoming tournaments, about how proud he is and how things are looking up. I nod along at the right times, hum a little to show I’m listening.
But I’m not really.
I’m thinking about Carmen.Her face this morning. Her silence. That edge in her voice. The way she flinched when I tried to reach for her.
She’s slipping. And I’m scared I’m going to lose her. Fuck—she’s so special to me, someone so important that has her own place in my heart. Actually, at this point, she fucking owns it. So if I lose her? I don’t know what I’d do.
The doctor’s office smells like hand sanitiser and old furniture.
I sit on the edge of the exam table, hoodie sleeves shoved up, trying to look relaxed. I’m not. Every few seconds, my fingers twitch. My leg bounces. I just want to get out of here. To get to her. I need to see her.
Dad’s next to me, tapping away on his phone like this is the most normal day of our lives.
Dr. Patel walks in with her usual calm smile. “Aaron. Good to see you again.”
“You too.” My voice comes out tight.
She dives straight in. Checks my ankle. Makes me flex it up, down, side to side. Takes notes. I go through the motions like muscle memory.
She stands back after a minute. “Mobility looks good. Any pain?”
“Not really. Just stiff in the mornings.”
“You’ve been running again?”
I nod. “Light jogging. No issues.”
Dad chimes in, proud. “He’s been following the recovery plan to the letter.”
“Great to hear.” Dr. Patel types something on her computer. “Then I think we can clear you for non-contact training next week. If that goes well, full contact the week after.”
Dad grins. Claps a hand on my back. “That’s what we’ve been waiting for.”
I nod, but it doesn’t feel like anything. Like the words aren’t sinking in. Just floating above me like I’m not even here.
“We’ll send the letter over to the school,” Dr. Patel says. “Any questions?”
“No.” I stand up too fast. “Thanks.”
She gives a small smile. “I expect a ticket to your debut game when you go pro, alright?”
“Deal,” I chuckle lightly.
We say our goodbyes and walk out before stepping into the elevator. “Hopefully we don’t need to step into this hospital again,” my dad sighs.
“Yeah, I don’t need any more injures,” I mutter under my breath. I hate being here. The bright lights. The terrible memories. It’s too much.
The elevator doors finally open and we walk out. Dad pockets his phone. “Gonna hit the bathroom before we go. Wait outside, yeah?”
I nod, already halfway to the door. The second I’m in the hallway, I feel like I can finally breathe.
I step out into the hospital car park. The sky’s overcast, grey in every direction the type that makes you feel empty. My hands shove into my hoodie pocket as I stare at the pavement.
I should be happy. I’m cleared. I can play again.
But all I can think about is Carmen’s face in my car last night, the way her voice cracked, the way she looked when she was muttering words I couldn’t make out.
A chill runs through me. Maybe I should call her.
A gust of wind pushes past me, carrying with it the distant screech of tyres. Then a horn. Then an ambulance swings into the hospital drop-off lane. Paramedics jump out. One pulls open the back doors and reaches in.
“Sixteen-year-old female. Unresponsive. Possible overdose, unknown substance.” The voice cuts through everything. It’s sharp, urgent.
I turn and step closer, instinct pulling me forward. I don’t know why. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
Then I see the girl. It’s a glimpse, but I’d recognise those dirty blonde curls anywhere.
My stomach drops. My legs move before my mind catches up. Carmen.
I break into a run, my name echoing somewhere behind me, my dad maybe, but I don’t stop. My voice rips out of me. “Carmen!”
I push toward the stretcher, but a nurse intercepts me. “Sir, you need to stand back-“
“That’s—fuck, that’s my…” The words choke me. She’s barely breathing. Her eyes are shut. Her lips look wrong. Like they’re losing colour.
I can’t breathe.
Then a blur of movement comes from the side, and suddenly I’m shoved back. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Felix.
His face is a storm. Red eyes, clenched jaw, fury written into every line. He shoves me again. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“I-I didn’t-” My voice cracks. I look at Carmen, then back at him.
“I found this,” he pulls out something from his coat pocket, “on the floor near her bed where she overdosed, where she almost died.”
It’s a pill bottle. Orange. White cap. Almost empty. And then I see my name on it. Prescribed to Aaron O’Connor.
My lips part in shock and I can feel my heart beating faster by the second. No. This can’t be real.
How? How did she get it?
And why would she take them? Almost all of them? It’s like she wanted to… No.
“Felix, I swear down, I didn’t know she took them-“
He doesn’t care. His hands slam into my chest again. “This is your fault.”
This is my fault. He’s right.
Then, suddenly someone grabs Felix’s shoulder and yanks him back. My eyes fall onto the bottle in Felix’s hands and how he slides it back into his pocket.
“Tranquilo, Felix.” It’s Coach Castro.
He steps between us, one arm holding Felix back, the other bracing against my chest. His eyes flick between us both, then land on me. “We’re sorry about this.”
I can’t answer. All I can think is, this is my fault. I don’t move from the spot. Not when the ambulance doors slam shut. Not when Felix and Coach disappear into the hospital. I’m frozen.
She’s in there. And I’m out here.
And the only thing echoing through my skull is “Sixteen-year-old female. Unresponsive. Possible overdose, unknown substance.”
Carmen.
My Carmen.
My knees buckle. I stumble backward until my spine hits the brick wall of the hospital entrance. My hands run through my hair, like if I pull deep enough I can rip this feeling out of me.
What the fuck just happened?
She was fine. This morning. In my kitchen. In my house.
No. That’s a lie. She wasn’t fine. I should’ve stopped her. But I didn’t. I let her walk away. And now she’s in there. Because of my pills. My fucking pills.
I never use them. Never even looked at them. I thought Dad took them. I didn’t even notice they were gone until this morning.
I squeeze my eyes shut. But that only makes it worse.
Because I see her.
No, not Carmen.
Her. My mum.
She’s laying on her side in bed. Still. Too still. I’m ten years old, standing in the doorway with a chocolate bar in my hand. I was gonna surprise her. I thought she was sleeping.
But she wouldn’t wake up.
No matter how many times I shook her, she wouldn’t wake up.
And the pills—God, the pills—were spilled across the sheets like they belonged there.
The doctor told me later she was already gone by the time I found her.
And now Carmen… fuck.
I dig my fingers into the sides of my head, trying to force the thoughts out, but they won’t go. They’re slamming around in my skull like they want to destroy me from the inside.
I can’t breathe.
I swear I can’t fucking breathe.
My chest tightens, like something invisible is wrapping around my lungs and squeezing, and I try to suck in air but it feels like I’m drowning. My vision’s blurring. I’m shaking. My ears are ringing.
My phone’s still in my hoodie pocket. With a trembling hand, I unlock it.
And there they are.
Two missed calls. Five unread messages. No. No, no, no.
“Fuck!” A scream rips from my throat before I can stop it. I should’ve answered. I should’ve followed her. I should’ve—
A hand lands on my shoulder. I jerk back, ready to snap, but it’s my Dad. His face drops the moment he sees mine. “Aaron,” he says quickly. “Hey. Hey, look at me. Breathe.”
“I can’t,” I choke. “I can’t—she’s in there, Dad. Carmen’s in there—”
“Just focus on me, okay?”
“I can’t breathe,” I barely manage to say, my eyes burning with tears that are threatening to spill out any second.
“Yes, you can,” he reassures. “You’re just panicking. We’re gonna get through it. Together. You hear me?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him.
“Alright,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “Tell me three things you can see.”
Letting out a shaky breath, I force myself to scan my surroundings. “I—I see the pavement. Parked cars. The sky.”
“Good.” He nods his head encouragingly. “Three things you can hear.”
I shut my eyes for a second, trying to block out my thoughts long enough to hear what’s around me. “The traffic. The ambulance…” I pause, swallowing hard, “and your voice.”
“You’re almost done.” His grip on my shoulder tightens. “Three things you can touch.”
“My hands,” I murmur, looking down at them. “My hoodie. Your arm.”
“Good, Aaron. You’re doing good,” he mutters quietly. “You’re here. You’re okay.”
My breathing slows, not by much, but enough to stop the world from spinning. I lean my head back against the wall, my throat raw. My chest aches like it’s been torn open. It has.
“She…” The words barely manage to come out. “She overdosed.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just wraps his arms around me like he used to when I was a kid when the nightmares wouldn’t go away.
“She’s not gonna die,” he says quietly, like a promise. “You hear me? She’s not gonna die.”
I want to believe him. I do.
“I need to go see her.” I try to head towards the entrance but my dad pulls me back.
“You won’t be able to,” he sighs.
“No,” I snap, pushing his hand off me. “I can’t leave her in there.”
“How about we go home and you calm down first?”
Calm? How the fuck can I be calm after this? “I need to see her, dad. I need to,” I plead, my voice breaking.
“Connie,”his tone is serious, strong, catching my attention, “only immediate family will be able to see her, you know this.”
He’s right. Fuck. He’s right.
“We’ll come see her first thing tomorrow, okay?” I nod my head, the words not able to come out due to the lump in my throat. “Alright, son,” he mutters, gripping onto my shoulder again. “Let’s go.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I just follow him to the car.
“She’ll be okay,” he adds.
But I’ve heard those words before. All I can do is wait. Wait and hope. That she wakes up. That she’ll be okay.
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