And the doctor said

The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway buzzed overhead, their cold brightness casting harsh shadows against the walls. I paced back and forth, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. I couldn't sit still—not with Nat in there, not when I had no idea what was going to happen next.

I hadn't heard anything since they'd rushed her into the ER. It felt like hours, but when I checked my phone, only fifteen minutes had passed. My heart was hammering in my chest, the anxiety gnawing at me with every second that ticked by.

I hadn't been able to get any more information about Nat's condition, and the doctors had barely given me a look when they ushered me to the waiting area. The silence of the room pressed in on me, making everything feel amplified—the soft buzz of a TV in the corner, the occasional beep from the machines down the hall, the sound of my breath coming too fast.

I couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not when we still had so much left to say, so much left to do. My hands were clammy, and I wiped them on my jeans for the hundredth time. I hated feeling like this—helpless, powerless. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't alone in this. Nat had people who cared about her, people who loved her. But it was hard not to feel like I was failing her—like maybe if I'd gotten to her sooner, if I hadn't let her bury herself in work for so long, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

Just as I was about to walk over to the front desk to ask for an update, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, expecting to see a nurse or maybe one of the doctors, but instead, it was Claire—the barista from the cafe.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and there was an uncertainty in her step as she hesitated in front of me. She didn't speak at first, just stood there, looking at me with an apologetic expression that did nothing to ease the frustration still boiling inside me.

"I... I'm so sorry," Claire finally said, her voice fragile. "I didn't know how bad it was. I—Billie, I should've noticed. I should've done more."

I narrowed my eyes, the anger from earlier still fresh in my chest. "Yeah, you should've," I said, my voice tight. "You all should've. But you didn't. And now we're here."

Her lips trembled, and I could see that she was genuinely upset. But I didn't have the energy to be understanding right now. All I wanted was Nat to be okay.

"I know," Claire whispered, her shoulders slumped. "I—I talked to the rest of the staff. We're all... we're all really sorry, Billie. We should've been there for her. We shouldn't have let it go this far."

I rubbed my face, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. The apology wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until Nat was sitting up in a hospital bed, her eyes full of life again. But at least Claire was taking responsibility. She wasn't hiding from it.

"I don't know if 'sorry' is going to cut it, Claire," I said, my voice softer now, though the anger still lingered beneath it. "What matters now is what you're going to do to make sure this doesn't happen again. Nat gave you everything—everything—and you didn't notice she was falling apart. This place is her heart. You owe it to her to make sure you're there for her when she wakes up."

Claire nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll do whatever it takes, Billie. I swear. We all will."

I exhaled through my nose, my frustration simmering down just a little. There wasn't much else I could say to her right now. She had already heard me. Now I needed to focus on Nat.

"Just go home," I said, my voice low and tired. "You need to take care of things at the cafe. Make sure the staff knows what's going on. We'll deal with this later."

Claire hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I'll check in on her tomorrow. I promise." Then, without another word, she turned and walked down the hall, her footsteps fading into the distance.

I stood there for a few more moments, letting the silence fill the space between me and my own thoughts.

The sound of a door opening caught my attention. A doctor—tall, with graying hair and a stern expression—was walking toward me, a clipboard in hand. My heart skipped a beat, and I straightened up, ready for whatever news he had to give.

He stopped in front of me, his eyes scanning my face for a moment. "Billie Eilish?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes, that's me. How is she? Is she okay?"

The doctor took a deep breath, his gaze turning serious. "We've stabilized her, but I won't lie to you—she's in critical condition. She was severely dehydrated, malnourished, and—" he hesitated for a second, glancing at his clipboard, "—she has some pretty deep cuts on her arms. It looks like she's been self-harming" he took a pause before saying, "again."

I sucked in a sharp breath. My world seemed to tilt. The air in the room suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. The doctor continued talking, but I barely heard the words.

"She's lucky we got to her when we did," he was saying. "If you hadn't brought her in when you did, the outcome could have been much worse. She's going to need time, Billie. Time to heal—physically and emotionally."

I nodded numbly, feeling a lump form in my throat. The image of Nat, alone and hurting, haunted me.

"Can I see her?" I managed to choke out. "Is she awake? Can I... please?"

The doctor's face softened, a hint of empathy in his eyes. "She's still unconscious, but you can sit with her for a bit. We'll be monitoring her closely. If anything changes, I'll let you know."

"Thank you," I whispered, the words barely leaving my mouth.

I followed the doctor down the sterile hallway, my legs feeling like lead. I didn't know what to expect when I saw Nat, but I needed to be there for her. More than anything, I needed her to know she wasn't alone.

When we reached the room, the doctor motioned for me to enter. I stepped inside, my breath catching in my throat.

There, lying in the sterile hospital bed, was Nat. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, and her arms wrapped in bandages. She looked so small in the hospital bed, so fragile—like someone who had been through too much and couldn't carry the weight of the world anymore.

I sat down beside her, taking her hand in mine, not caring that it was cold and limp in my grasp.

"Nat," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Please come back. I need you. We need you."

For the first time in hours, I let myself feel something other than the gnawing fear. I allowed myself to hope that somehow, Nat would pull through. That somehow, we would get through this.