6 - Visitors

I woke up to the sound of banging on the door.

Gasping, I shot up from the wait, and my eyes popped wide open.

The drowsiness of just waking made my vision blurry, so I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as quickly as possible, and the blob in front of me came into focus. It Maria.

She was sitting on my bed, filling almost my entire vision. That was strange.

Although Maria and I were close, she usually gave me my space.

Uncomfortable in the bed, I shifted a bit, but it still didn't feel right. It was much firmer than I remembered.

"You're still here?"

"How could I leave?" Maria asked, confused. "You passed out!"

I paused, not understanding what had happened. The last thing I remembered was a stranger's voice, then falling asleep. I guess that counted as passing out, but when I associated those words with something dramatic rather than just lying down in bed.

"Passed out? What? When?"

Again, trying to get comfortable in the stiff bed, I pushed myself to sit, and more of the room came into view. Everything was bright, clean, and white. It was nothing like my room at all, which had posters from my favorite video games on the walls and collectible figurines on basically every flat surface.

My eyes shot open even wider than they had when I'd heard the banging on the door.

"Why am I in the hospital?" Nowhere else looked quite like a hospital.

Maria bit her bottom lip, then murmured, "Nothing I did could wake you up, so I went to get your mom, but she was gone. I found a note saying she was getting groceries for lunch, and your sisters weren't home, either. I couldn't just leave you, so I drove you here."

"How long's it been?"

"Only a couple of hours. They said you'll be okay."

"Okay." I stretched over the huge, plastic railing of the wheeled bed and picked up my phone from the rolling table. "I need to call my mom."

"Actually, they're already here," Maria said, standing from the bed and pulling the curtain on the track until I could see my parents standing in the doorway.

That must've been who'd knocked earlier, which was surprising. It had sounded more like angry police than worried parents.

"Thanks, Maria," my mom said with a friendly smile. "I appreciate your help."

Polite, as always, my friend assured her, "It's no problem."

My dad gave Maria a smile, too. "Such a good kid, and a wonderful friend. Mind if we have some time with Em?"

"Of course, you can!"

I noticed Maria's cheeks blushing red. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she had a crush on my dad, but Maria wasn't used to being praised. Her parents were strict, and they didn't seem impressed by anything.

Even when she'd given her valedictorian speech at graduation, they didn't beam with pride like most other people's parents might. Because of their cold nature, Maria was often at my house.

For the most part, my parents treated her like family, and Maria acted more like a dutiful daughter than my sisters or me.

Without wasting time, she patted her pocket while heading for the door. "Text you later, Em."

My parents waited until they heard the door click, then walked closer to the bed.

Before they could say anything, I asked what was on my mind. "Can I go home?"

Mom gave me a sympathetic smile. "Yes, sweetheart, but it'll take some time. They haven't brought the discharge paperwork yet."

While she grabbed a massive double-walled cup from the table and carried it out of the room, my dad sat at the foot of my bed and placed his hand on my blanketed leg.

"Em, I can't pretend to know what you're going through, but I don't want you to end up here again. Is there something we can do to help?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I feel… broken and empty. I just, I don't know."

He patted my knee and frowned while his eyes glazed over.

It was probably an answer he expected, but that didn't mean it was easier to hear that I was suffering. To be a father helpless to comfort his daughter must've been terrible for him.

While he stared into space, my mom returned with a cup full of water and a stack of papers.

After handing me the drink, she stared until I took a sip.

The cold liquid trickled down my parched throat, and I drank nearly half the cup before finally placing it on the table.

"Mhmm. I thought so," my mom said and clicked her tongue. "You need to take better care of yourself. Dehydration is one of the doctor's concerns."

"Sorry," I mumbled. Not feeling much other than my mental anguish meant not realizing I was thirsty. Before then, I'd never experienced something so profound that it could make me forget to survive.

"I know you're hurting, but you have to do better than sorry, okay?" my mom gently said as she sat on the edge of the bed next to my dad.

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"Let's start with the basics," my mom ruffled the papers in her hand into order. Her eyes quickly moved from side to side as she read whatever was there, then asked, "Do you remember anything before you fainted?"

I nodded my head. There wasn't anything I'd forgotten until the moment I fell asleep, at least, not that I knew of.

"Did you have a fight with Emmet this morning?" she inquired.

My heart stopped beating at the mention of his name. "What kind of question is that?"

"Em, please answer. It's important."

Shaking my head, I clenched the blanket in my fingers. "I haven't spoken to him since last night."

"So, why did you faint?" she pressed.

"How could I know that?"

My mom had a blank look on her face while her eyes flashed amber, and then her expression soured. Sternly, she repeated, "Please don't lie to me. You really haven't spoken to Emmet? Not even messages?"

"Why would I ever speak to him again?! Stop asking me stupid questions!" I snapped, and the pain I felt rushed out of my mouth angrily.

"Emery Iris!" My father scolded in a thunderous voice, making me want to cover my ears with my hands.

Ducking my head, I murmured, "Sorry, Mom."

"Em, I know this is hard to talk about, but I'm just trying to help."

My mom lowered the papers for a moment and studied my face before asking, "Would you rather the nurses ask you these questions? They won't let you leave until they have answers, but I thought you'd find it more comfortable if we were the ones asking."

"No, please don't bring them in here. You can ask," I said quickly.

There was no way I wanted to see any of the nurses. It was already shameful enough that I was in the hospital. I couldn't handle listening to their false niceties while I knew they were talking gossiping about me on the other side of the door.

My mom nodded, as if knowing what I was worried about, and inquired, "So if you don't remember a trigger, do you remember what you felt like before you passed out?"

Again, I confirmed with a short nod of my head.

"Well, darling, spit it out!" My father urged in a soft but impatient tone.

"I felt like I couldn't breathe, and everything was blurry. Then, I laid down, and the next thing I knew, I was hearing-"

I stopped short before telling them about the voice. Ending up in the psych ward was the last thing I needed.

"Hearing what?" My mother asked.

The way she was looking at me, I wondered if I'd end up in a padded room even if I told them the truth, but a slip of the tongue had already happened.

"Someone told me to forgive her. She said something hadn't gone how it was meant to."

My parents exchanged a look, and hope glimmered in their eyes.

Their hope was contagious, and I answered the rest of the questions with more gusto than before.

It was a typical evaluation, and the doctor released me for discharge once the nurses had retaken my vitals and explained that I had been suffering from dehydration and acute emotional stress.

He advised that I see my regular physician and speak about getting a referral for mental healthcare, and, much to my horror, my parents agreed.

Since I was 18, I technically didn't have to listen, but if I wanted to live under their roof, I did

It probably wouldn't be too bad, anyway, and I was glad to be leaving the bright, overly clean hospital room.

Only half an hour after returning home, I heard a voice through the pack-link that I hadn't heard there since I was a little girl, undergoing evaluations to test the strength of — or lack of — my werewolf abilities.

"Open the door."

It was Alpha Callum, and I didn't want to see him. But if I didn't listen, there'd be a consequence.

Since I couldn't speak through the link, only hear, I raced down the stairs, hoping to make it to the door before he lost his temper.

"What's gotten into you?" My mom asked from in front of the stove. Whatever she was cooking smelled meaty, and even though my stomach begged me not to put anything else in it, I had to admit lunch smelled delicious.

It was almost enough to make me hungry, but like at breakfast, I knew I'd have to force myself to eat. There wasn't time to worry about it, though.

"We have a visitor," I squeaked.

It made no sense why the Alpha was speaking to me through the link instead of my parents, who could answer him… unless he also wanted to humiliate me.

Trying not to think about it, I yanked the front door open. The hot air from outside blasted my face for only a few seconds.

A certain dark-haired, blue-eyed jerk was standing on my porch next to Alpha Callum, whose intimidating glare was enough to make me quiver.

I slammed the door hard. For good measure, I clicked the lock.

Letting Emmet in my house wasn't happening, not if I had to be the one to do it.

"Open the blasted door!" Callum shouted.

A spoon clattered in the kitchen, and my mom stuttered, "D-did you slam the door in our Alpha's face?!"

As I trudged to the couch with an emotionless expression, my mom wiped her hands on her apron and skittered to let the Larsons in.