They mocked me then. Both of them. Their voices mixed together — little jabs, half-laughs, like I wasn’t even there. But I didn’t hear it for long. The edges of my vision went fuzzy, my head spun, and the world finally went dark.
When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed. The walls were clean. The sheets smelled like bleach. A nurse hovered over me, frowning as she checked the bruises blooming across my arms.
“You’re lucky,” she said quietly. “You went into shock from the allergy and the injuries. You need rest.”
I stared at the ceiling, tears pooling but never falling. “Do you need me to call your family?” the nurse asked gently.
Family. The word scraped against my ribs like broken glass. I turned my head away and whispered, “No. There is no family anymore. I’m all alone.”
The nurse squeezed my shoulder, pity in her eyes. She left me with my thoughts. The steady beep of the monitor filled the room. My phone vibrated in my pocket. For a moment I thought it was my father — maybe he’d finally come for me. But when I answered, the voice on the other end wasn’t his.
“Lauren.”