The string of static, unchanging letters blurred into each other as Estée stared blankly at the screen of her phone. With her head rested on her pillow, anyone would have thought she had just woken up, but the truth of the matter was that she hadn’t slept a wink.
The room wasn’t in its usual well-kept state either, with the boots she wore the previous night just strewn about the carpeted floor. The television was left on, volume set on low, while two empty beer bottles sat on top of the glass table in front of the couch. Said couch was also a mess, with her overcoat, her hat, and her scarf just scattered across the space as if a hurricane had just been through the place.
Looking away from her phone, Estée set the device down on her nightstand and focused her gaze on the pristine white ceiling of the room. She still couldn’t wrap her head around Adam’s texts, but more than that, she was bothered by the way she had reacted. The way she was still reacting.
Perhaps the relative calm she was feeling in the moment was a result of sleep deprivation, but she could recall the way her heart pounded upon seeing the messages laced with Adam’s extra brand of harshness. She remembered the shock towards the sudden change of tone and the wave of worry that followed once she realized that something was incredibly off. Then, her concern was met with hostility, and like a slap to the face, it stung.
The heavy weight in her chest was something she could have lived without, and it was something she said she was going to live without, after everything that had happened with Sebastian in the past. By then, she should have learned not to succumb to the pull – that it would do her more harm than good – and she thought she did learn, but Adam came along and fractured her defenses, and somehow, he made her forget. Somehow, that felt good. Well, not anymore.
Deciding that she needed a distraction from her thoughts, she felt around under the covers for the television remote. She needed some more noise to drown out the inner voices scolding and asking questions and saying who-knows-what in her frustrated and confused state.
The television was turned to the news, and as she upped the volume, she recognized the familiar report that was being broadcasted about the R.I.D. How could she not? Every news channel has been running the story again and again ever since it was announced. She threw a glance at the slightly open drawer on her nightstand. Her new prescriptions. She didn’t even want to think about the drugs right now. If she did, she’d be tempted to… She shook her head and flipped to the next channel.
They say the loudest shattering is the most silent of them all.
Her comprehension came in bits. Adam’s face on the upper right corner. Some other words on the screen. Overdose. Coma. And to think her previous thought was to… she couldn’t continue her line of thinking.
She tensed up, a strange concoction of heat and cold coming up her spine until she started to feel herself numb – but before she knew it, her eyes were scanning the screen for the name of the hospital Adam was at. Within seconds, she was out the door.
The whole cab ride all the way up to her arrival, she was running on instinct. Thinking was too difficult, focusing her vision took too much effort, and truth be told, she was scared as fuck to allow any and all thoughts to linger for fear of the emotions they may bring.
Storming in through the double doors, she was vaguely aware of the number of people staring at her as she walked straight to the reception, overtaking a few people in queue as she pushed her way to the front. Proper conduct was neglected, her publicist would complain – she didn’t care.
“Adam Driscoll.” Her voice cracked. “Where is he.”
The lady at the reception gaped at her with wide eyes, half shocked and half awe-struck, and for a moment, it was apparent that she had lost sense of what to do. But as the woman beside her tapped her shoulder, the receptionist quickly regained her composure and looked up apologetically at Estée. She looked a little hesitant before she spoke.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but no one is allowed to see him right now besides family. He is– “
“Jesus Christ, just – which ICU is he at.”
“Mr. Driscoll is admitted into the ninth floor– “
Before the receptionist could finish her sentence, Estée had already moved towards the elevators.
The security on the ninth floor was tight, she could tell, but she continued walking across the hall, eyes searching the room signs and name inserts. Then she saw it.
She ran towards the ICU as soon as she did and peered through the glass window, eyes searching for his face. It wasn’t so hard. He was the only one in there. It felt like something had caught in her throat as she stared, and a familiar burning sensation behind her eyes indicated the welling up of tears that she couldn’t quite control anymore.
Estée turned away, not being able to look at him any longer without feeling the need to enter the room and stay beside him. With both hands raking through her hair as she took a deep breath to contain herself, she walked across to the waiting area and took a seat, the gravity of the situation weighing down on her.
The overdose had happened the previous night. They’d been texting the previous night. She should have done something. She knew something was odd. Why didn’t she do anything? As she stared hard at the door of the ICU from her seat, she was overcome with a mixture of guilt, anger, frustration, and dread. How long was he going to stay that way? She closed her eyes, trying to calm the impending panic down. Wake up, Adam. Please wake up.
The thought repeated itself in her head before she relented. Things didn’t work that way. As she looked hard at the door in front of her, the silence she experienced was even more apparent despite the beeping machines, hurried footsteps, and the murmuring voices all around her.
Na Na Na Na Na Na Naa, I Wanna Start A Fight! || Steve & Watsky
Steve was pissed. He knew he probably shouldn't listen to anons, he knew better. But the rumors he heard worried him. Apparently Kalel fucked another guy. Sure, that shouldn't bother Steve. They weren't a set thing, despite how he sort of wanted them to. But he had heard that the asshole had drugged her and that didn't sit right with him at all. So, he went to the front office and while Ms. Lee went to the bathroom, he hacked in to the computer (Easy password, something with YouTube and shipping) and found this kid's room. He walked down the hall and stopped at the room number, knocking on the wood hard.
