Calls Past Midnight

The room was cold. Freezing, actually. Esme doubted hospital rooms were permitted to be as cold as that one. Then again, maybe it was just her. She nervously drummed patterns against her knees.

Wet clothes clung to her skin. As it turned out, dragging a person out of a bathtub was harder than she'd thought, especially when they were knocked out. Her teeth grinding, she crossed her arms over her chest, curling up further into the tiny bedside chair. She considered touching Juliette's fingers to check if they were cold, guessing the pain meds were strong enough to keep her from waking up.
It took her a minute, a selfish one, because unassuming her position meant releasing whatever body heat she had gathered. Juliette's hand was warm. Those ugly beige blankets sure did their job. Esme slid her pointer across it, melting into soft and hot skin.

This Juliette felt alive, unlike the Juliette that was lying unmoving in the tub replaying in Esme's head. Over and over she watched her body sink, and the repetition didn't make the gut punch any easier.

Her fingers reached for her. They wrapped around her wrist, feeling her pulse thump against her palm. She wanted to cry. She had wanted to finally cry since she called Shelby, who she'd never heard be more frantic, yet she found her eyes wouldn't shed more than a single, miserable tear each time. She rested her forehead on the bed, breathing in and out until the feeling got abated by the silence of that room.

"Esme?" Juliette called after a while, voice hoarse but sweet. 

Esme eyes shot up as she straightened up. "Hey," she half smiled, resisting the urge to jump on the bed and hug her breathless. She didn't think they were close like that.

Juliette looked around, realization dawning, face twisting into a grimace. She avoided Esme's eye contact instead looking down at her hands—one of which was wrapped from Juliette punching the bathroom mirror—now fidgeting with the blanket. Esme knew what she was thinking, more than she'd like to admit she did. She understood that guilt, knowing that her attempt had failed, that someone had found her. She'd felt it too when she overdosed last year.

"Hey, relax," Esme told her, shuffling to the edge of her seat. "You're fine. okay? I uhm— I didn't know what to do... so I called Shelby. I didn't know how to reach your dad."

She wanted to try and comfort Juliette in any way, but she couldn't even find any words to say. Juliette barely reacted to that. She stared back at Esme, a tremble on her chin. Esme shot her some sort of smile. She didn't know what else she was supposed to do. And Juliette kept looking at her, not saying a word. She was lost in her thoughts.

"Juliette, hey," she said gently, tapping her arm to which Juliette's eyes finally met hers. "You hear me? You're fine. Shelby and Micheal are on their way."

Juliette still didn't say anything, and for a slight moment Esme thought it might've been wrong to call Shelby. No. No, Shelby was Juliette's best friend she had to know. She turned to the table on the opposite side of the bed, away from Esme. The nurse had left a cup of water. Esme knew they'd be back later to do a mental health evaluation and ask millions of questions.

"I know," Juliette finally murmured. She tucked her hands underneath her head, still not turning over and looking at Esme. Esme wanted to reach and tell her everything, all of her feelings, right then and there. The words were trapped in her throat, it's not the right time, it's going to overwhelm her. And maybe she was just saying that stuff at the moment. She probably didn't mean it... right?

Esme had spent the entire time Juliette had been out trying to figure out why Juliette would want to even try to kill herself. Everytime Esme had seen her at school, she was smiling—at least when she was with Shelby or Michael—other than that she looked like she didn't want to be there. Which was fair, Esme mirrored that sentiment.