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I’VE NEVER DRIVEN SO FAST IN my life. The rain taps lightly against the windshield, a soft rhythm that somehow makes the silence in the car feel louder. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles pale, like I’m holding onto it for dear life. Maybe I am.
I didn’t sleep last night. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Pale. Lifeless.
She could’ve died.
The thought keeps slamming into me like a freight train, over and over. And it’s my fault. Not entirely-not fully-but enough. I was careless. I left those pills where she could find them. I was supposed to be the one helping her, protecting her, and I ended up being part of the reason she ended up in that hospital bed.
I should’ve known. Should’ve pushed harder. Should’ve stayed.
But I didn’t. I let her walk away.
Now I’m driving to the hospital alone. Dad offered to come with me, insisted on it even, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him. This isn’t something I want anyone else involved in. This is between me and her. Between the part of me that broke something and the part of her that’s trying to piece herself back together.
I pull into the hospital car park, heart thudding, and sit there for a second, just staring at the building. I’ve been here before. With Mum. And now again-for someone else I love.
Love.
Yeah. I do. I love her. And I’m terrified I’m too late.
I walk through the hospital doors, soaking in the sterile smell, the harsh lighting, the faint buzz of machines in the distance. It’s too familiar. Too loud in my head.
I head straight to the front desk, palms sweating. “Hi,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “I was wondering if I could check if a patient is still here. Her name’s Carmen Castro.”
The nurse looks up, polite but distant. “I’m sorry, but I can’t confirm whether a patient is here or not.”
I nod, but desperation is already clawing at my throat. “Please. It’s important. I just… I need to know if she’s okay.”
Something shifts in her face. Maybe it’s the panic in my voice. The way my hands are practically trembling. She glances left and right, then types something quietly into the computer.
Her brows furrow. “She’s not here.”
“What?” My stomach drops.
“She must’ve been discharged.”
I stare at her, stunned. “But I—I saw her come in here yesterday.”
She offers a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, love. She’s not here anymore.”
I thank her, but it’s automatic. My legs carry me outside while my brain screams. Discharged. Where did she go? Did she get worse? Was it a mistake to leave the hospital yesterday?
I slide into the driver’s seat and slam the door shut, the echo of it sharp and final. For a moment, I just sit there, breathing through my panic. The car feels empty without her. Everything does.
I reach for the steering wheel, press my forehead against it, and close my eyes. She’s not here. So where the hell is she?
There’s only one place I can think of.
Carmen’s house feels different today. I drive slower than usual, memorising every turn, every familiar street, as if slowing down time will somehow make this less real.
As I pull up to the gate, I see it’s already open. I don’t hesitate. I walk right through, my heart pounding in my chest like it’s trying to escape.
The house is big, modern, black and white with neatly trimmed hedges and too many plants that look like they came straight out of a catalogue. It’s perfect. Its polished. Too much so it doesn’t seem real.
I ring the doorbell and wait, fingers twitching by my sides. After a few seconds, it opens and Felix is standing there. He looks exhausted. The hollowness in his eyes tells me he hasn’t slept either.
“I need to talk to her,” I say, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
“You can’t,” he deadpans.
The fuck he means I can’t? I open my mouth to talk, but he beats me to it.
“I know,” Felix mutters. “I know you didn’t give her the pills. She told me”
I freeze. Then nod my head. He talked to her. Fuck, I just hope she’s okay. “Please, lad. Let me talk to her.”
Felix sighs, his shoulders sinking like the weight of everything is finally catching up to him. “She’s not here, Connie.”
My heart stops. “Then where is she?”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I know the answer before he says it. “Rehab.”
“What?” My voice cracks.
“When my dad found out this has been going on for a while, he didn’t want to wait to get her help.”
I rake a hand through my hair, stepping back like the word rehab physically knocked me. I didn’t expect this. But I don’t know what else I expected either. “Where is it?”
“You can’t see her,” he says. “None of us can.”
“Felix—”
“I’m serious. No visitors for the first few weeks, it’s apart of her recovery plan or some shit.”
“Just tell me the name.”
He hesitates before finally giving in. “It’s called Silver Pines Recovery Centre. It’s up near Suffolk.”
I nod slowly, repeating it in my head like a prayer.
As I’m about to walk away, he calls out. “Connie, wait.”
I stop, turning back.
“You like my sister?”
No. “I love her.”
He swallows, and for the first time in all the time I’ve known Felix, he looks like a big brother. Not the loud, cocky one, but the real kind. The kind who cares too much and doesn’t know how to say it.
“She’s not okay,” he says. “This is gonna be one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do. You ready to be there for her?”
I nod. “I am.” Through everything.
Felix doesn’t reply at first, then simply says, “Good.” And steps back inside, closing the door behind him.
As I walk toward the gate, someone else walks in. Someone I wouldn’t expect. JJ.
We look at each other, just a second too long, but neither of us says anything. I thought her and Felix aren’t on speaking terms? Whatever. School drama is the least of my problems.
I get into the car. The rain’s started again, this time heavier. I reach over and turn on the CD player, because that’s what Carmen would’ve done. Ava by Famy plays.
I know she likes this song. Every time it comes on, her lips tilt up into a small smile. She hums the lyrics, tapping her fingers on her thighs to the beat.
I never really cared for this song, but now? Now it just reminds me of Carmen.
I glance at the passenger seat, and for a moment, I see her. Laughing. Singing. Mocking my driving. Telling me to stop pretending I don’t know the words.
And I realise… I’d do anything just to hear her say my name one more time.
She’s not with me.
But she’s alive. And that’s enough. For now.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening, as the road blurs around me. Not from the rain-but from the ache in my chest that’s rising like a wave, heavy and bitter and too much all at once.
She’s in some place hours away, all alone, and locked behind walls I can’t get to. The thought punches a hole straight through me.
I turn the volume up a little, letting the chorus wash over me, drowning out the guilt clawing its way through my ribs. Her laugh echoes in my memory-sharp and clear, like a match being struck in the dark.
I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget any of it. The way her eyes crinkle when she smiles. The way she says Connie like she’s teasing but also like she means it. The way she always sits sideways in her seat, knees curled up, like she owns the space around her.
And maybe I don’t get to see her.
Maybe I can’t hold her hand or brush her hair behind her ear or tell her how fucking proud I am of her just for choosing to fight.
But I can wait.
And when she comes back, when she’s ready, I’ll still be here. Because I don’t mind waiting. I’ll wait for months if I have to.
Because even if I can’t be next to her right now, I’m not going anywhere.
Not ever.
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