This cannot be happening.
The words run over and over in Sam's mind. A mantra that she cannot seem to escape or comprehend. Everything had seemed so very—normal—when she'd fallen asleep. Or, if not normal, then as close to it as she could ever manage to get.
She'd been in her old bedroom at her father's cabin in the woods. Admittedly not the best place for her, all things considered, but it had been closer than her own apartment, or Holden's place, especially with him being too out of it to drive. With her own license temporarily revoked until she got the money for the tickets stacking up, it hadn't seemed wise for her to be behind the wheel, either, but then her father had offered Holden a drink. Whiskey, like always.
One drink had turned into more, just as it always did, and by the time Sam had come to again, it had been too late.
Her throat still burns from the screaming. From the sounds that tore free of her from the moment she'd realized Holden was no longer breathing. The moment she'd realized he had been slumped haphazardly over the edge of the bed, vomit crusted on the carpet, for who knew how long.
At some point during her frantic attempts to wake him—to drag him back from damage that was, at that point, irreversible—her father had come into the room, roused by her screams. Sam could barely recall what he'd said, but he'd left not long after, and in the interminable amount of time that followed, she'd done everything she could think of to revive Holden. Absolutely everything.
How was she to know that it never would have been enough?
Holden was gone.
The thought brings the stinging burn of bile to the back of Sam's throat, and she only has seconds to dart over to the small trash can near the desk before her stomach upends itself. Before its meager contents splash against the lining of the can as soon as she falls to her knees beside it.
A groan escapes as she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, her shoulders slumping as the familiar wave of vertigo that always hits after a spell of nausea causes the room to spin on its axis, and that is when she hears it. The squeak of the office door on its hinges, indicating that she is no longer alone.
"I'm—I'm sorry about this—"
"Don't be," The newcomer assures, shutting the door carefully behind her, and almost immediately heading to Sam's side to help her to stand on wobbling limbs, "You really should consider letting me admit you, at least for overnight—"
"No."
"Ms. Larabee, I—"
"Sam. Call me Sam."
"Sam," The other woman corrects, a hand resting on Sam's shoulder as she guides her to the chair she had so hastily vacated mere moments before, "I'd feel more comfortable if I could at least get an ultrasound."
"I'll get one eventually."
"And when is eventually?"
The look Sam gives the other woman—Dr. Emma Baker—is intended to be discouraging. It is meant to come with enough force to sway her from her current course of action, but given the way Emma simply lifts a skeptical brow, it is clearly falling short.
Slumping in the seat once again, Sam watches as Emma walks to the opposite side of the desk to take a seat, as well. She focuses on exhaling slowly, the tension that has been her near constant companion since waking barely easing up no matter how hard she tries.
It would be a lie for her to pretend she hasn't wanted to leave this place from the moment the woman sitting across from her brought her into her office, but the longer she remains in one place, the more Sam is starting to realize she is likely far too exhausted to manage more than a few steps, before fatigue, and grief, and a weariness that eats through to her very bones would bring her to her knees.
All of this would have been so much easier if she'd never allowed Emma to notice her placing her hand over her stomach…
"I could order one right now, if you'd let me," Emma persists, her stubborn insistence on trying to wheedle Sam into an ultrasound—something she is hardly certain she is ready for—provoking a snort of what might pass for amusement, in response, "Something funny?"
"No, you just—"
"I just what?"
"You remind me of my brother. Stubborn," Sam admits, the words soft—almost a whisper—because even after all these years, the mere mention of Chris is more painful than she cares to admit, "It's—it's stupid, I'm sorry."
"I can still call him for you, if you'd like."
Shaking her head, Sam tries what she can to rid herself of the sudden stinging at the corners of her eyes. She bites down on the inside of her cheek, and averts her gaze to where her fingers have started to twist together in her lap, the idea of Chris even knowing that she was still in town far too daunting for her to face.
Her silence only seems to spark understanding from the woman sitting across from her, whether or not Sam truly believes that is a thing that she deserves. And when she finally persuades herself to look Emma in the eyes again, the feeble lurch that her heart gives is nearly enough to send her back to her knees beside the trash can, while bile once again burns at the back of her throat.
"Are you sure there's no one else you'd like me to call?"
"There's—there's no one."
Emma's answering frown has Sam averting her gaze once again, her skin seeming to prickle beneath the weight of pity that she had neither asked for, nor earned. Where before, she'd felt utterly spent—weak—now, she feels completely incapable of resisting the sudden urge to move.
On her feet in seconds, even with Emma's surprised exclamation, Sam is halfway to the door, whether or not she can hear the other woman moving to follow in her wake. Moving to stop her, most likely, given her obvious concern she seems to feel over the idea of Sam remaining on her own.
With her hand already on the doorknob, the freedom she seems to need so fiercely only inches away, Sam is not fully aware, at first, of what gives her pause. What has her turning back to the interior of the office, rather than bolting out of the door.
It isn't until she realizes Emma has taken a phone out of the pocket of her lab coat—that she is now holding that phone as though she's just been frozen in place by some unseen force—that Sam is aware she might not be the only one that found herself suddenly thrust into the middle of a nightmare, tonight.
"What's wrong?"
"I need to—I need to go. I'm sorry, but I just-I need to-go-"
Brow furrowing as Emma slips past her without sparing a backward glance, her steps picking up in pace the farther she gets from the office door, Sam spends a moment watching the other woman disappear. She wonders if Emma will expect her to stay put in the office, still, or if she is finally free to leave.
Unable to fully commit to the act of pretending she did not feel at least some manner of concern for a woman who had been nothing but kind—a woman whose evening had clearly gone sideways, given the expression on her face as she left—Sam only wavers for a moment before leaving the room, herself. She shuts the door with a soft snap behind her, and heads off the same way she'd come, keeping close to the wall as a means of steadying her steps.
It would be a lie for her to pretend she knows where she is going. Arriving with Holden in the ambulance left her rather predictably without a ride back home.
Preferring to walk the entire way from the hospital to her apartment, rather than calling her father for that ride, though, Sam shoves her hands inside her jacket pockets, pulling the thin fabric more tightly about her frame whether or not it will do her much good against the chill she knows she will face, outside. But before her stuttering steps can get her to the door of the emergency department, and the freedom offered beyond, even if it is a freedom she is not entirely certain she wants, a voice stops her in her tracks.
"Sammy-girl? That really you?"
It is a voice that is familiar enough to make her blood freeze to ice inside her veins.
…
Hello, hello, darlings! And welcome to the end-result of yet another feral plot bunny that was all but clamoring to get itself free of my brain. I know, I know, I have other WIPs, and I promise that they are going to be getting their fair share of attention, soon! I just had to get this out of my brain, and onto the page, before it consumed me, entirely, so hopefully there are at least some of you out there that will enjoy what you've found, here?
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to give this first chapter a shot! (And special thanks to ChiTown4ever, for encouraging me to roll with this, despite my misgivings!) I truly do appreciate the support, so much more than any of you know, and I sincerely hope you enjoy where this new story goes, from here!
~permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88