Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Thirty-One. Just Glad You're Safe

THIRTY-ONE
— just glad you're safe

SHE GENUINELY HAD A difficult time comprehending the power of the Shadow Monster. A force so dark, so evil, it had been able to completely consume Will. Lucy couldn't even fathom what it must of been like for him— the boy had no control over his own mind. They had been cooped up at the hospital, waiting for Will to wake, waiting for answers. She calmed her thoughts, sank back into a chair, and let herself sleep.

Lucy nuzzled deeper into the cushion, desperate for comfort. Her heart rate was steady, chest heaving up and down, up and down. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Then, she couldn't breathe— her chest went stiff, lungs weighing down as she made a desperate attempt to breathe.

It was painfully impossible to tell if it was real, or a dream. Clawing at her chest, Lucy flung from the hospital chair. She stumbled around, small gasping noises pushing past her lips, one that displayed her desperation. In an attempt to steady herself, she sloppily placed a hand on one of the medical carts— supplies toppled from the surface, and the cart itself crashed to the ground. She fell to her knees, the sweaty palms of her hands pressed to the cold floor as she continued to choke.

It felt as if her eyes were going to pop out of her skull. She strained her neck, firm chest twitching as she begged for air. Darkness began to fill the room, reaching past all until it found Lucy. First, she felt her legs to weak. They lost strength, and then, her arms. Her body grew exhausted, and suddenly, it was like she was sinking into the floor. Lazily pulling at her shirt in an attempt to loosen the strangling feeling, she allowed the darkness to take over, and Lucy let herself go.

    Inhale, exhale.

A gasp was pushed from her lips. She shot from the chair, eyes deer-wide, and mouth painfully dry. Lucy clutched at the arms of the hospital chair, sporadic coughs ringing from her weak lungs. One hand pressed firm over her chest, Lucy took a deep, heavy breath in. Another nightmare— and, thank God it wasn't reality.

A quiet voice traveled through the air. "Are you okay?" Mike spoke, softly. He watched as Lucy gasped for air, his tired, brown eyes growing wider.

She nodded, quickly reassuring him. "Yeah," Lucy whispered, her chest heaving at a normal pace. "Yeah, Mike, I'm okay."

She was a mess. Lucy was dressed in a pair of itchy, blue, uncomfortable scrubs that made her look like a marshmallow. Her hair was up in a tangled ponytail, her mascara was smudged. If she could have had anything at that moment, anything, Lucy would've been selfish— she wanted a proper nights rest.

   "Mom?"

Will's voice. The voice they had been waiting for, the one that made them practically leap from their chairs. All heads snapped left, tired eyes falling upon the boy. He was paler, and the bags around his eyes were purple. Bob acted fast, and rushed from the room to alert a doctor. The rest gathered by his side.

    "Hey, sweetie," Joyce said softly, running a hand down her sons arm. "How are you feeling?"

Bob reentered the room. Stood at the doorway, he spoke. "They're on their way."

The boy backed up into his pillows. Pulling away from his mothers grasp, Will glued his eyes to Bob. "Who is that?" he spoke, suspicious.