𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎, 𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧

——

Music was playing softly from your speakers as you continued cooking. All your favorite artists had released new songs and albums during your time in prison. You also were introduced to some new musicians who had their breakthroughs while you were away. You felt yourself gravitate toward Phoebe Bridgers and SZA; their music seemed to touch the hurt part of you. Humming along to 'I Know The End,' your phone started to buzz on the counter, interrupting the song's bridge. It was an unknown number from your area code. You decline the call, lightly sighing and rolling your eyes. Throughout the past couple of weeks, Lou had texted and called you frequently, and when you finally blocked her number, she started using Debbie's. You had to block that number, too. As the song resumed, your phone rang again, vibrating on the countertop. You decline the call again, continuing to cook dinner. A notification from your voicemail pops up on the screen, then the number calls again. Now frustrated, you snatch the phone from the counter, placing it to your ear. "Hello?" Your irritation was tangible.

"Is this (y/n) (y/l/n)?" a woman asks. Background clatter fills your ear as you pause, eyebrows furrowing. "Hello?"

You clear your throat. "Yes, this is her. What can I help you with?" your body perks up with anxiety as you fiddle the buttons of your jacket.

"My name is Marcy Lewis, and I'm calling you to inform you that your fiancé, Lou Miller, was involved in a motorcycle crash..." the woman kept talking, but you couldn't hear what words she was saying; her voice faded into background noise. Sounds became muffled, and the lights suddenly became too bright. Your mind was racing. Then it stops. "(Y/n), are you there?"  her voice pulls you from you from your thoughts.

"I'm here," you meekly reply, your voice small and fragile. "W-.. can you say that again, please?"

"It's the protocol to call the emergency contact on a patient's form—"

"Is she okay? I mean, does she need surgery? Is someone else there that you can call—" You word vomit questions at the woman, without realizing the tears spilling from your eyes.

"I think it'd be easier if you come to see her yourself; she's at Liberty Memorial."

Your heart sunk in your chest as your breathing began to rigid. "Oh my god, is she—" your voice lowered as tears flooded your vision, "...is she alive?" you barely managed to say, your voice a small whisper.

"Yes, but she will need some surgery and some physical assistance. When you arrive, come to the front desk, and they'll give you the room number and her doctor's name. Everything will be alright, Ms. Miller. Just take some deep breaths. She's in good hands."

"A-Alright.. okay, thank you so much for your help," you mutter as the phone call ends. You hold your phone to your ear as you fall into more profound shock.

Suddenly, rushed footsteps come into the kitchen. "Something is burning!" Rose exclaims, and everything comes back into perspective. A small cloud of smoke covers the stove, and Rose is frantically waving her hands around, turning off the burner knobs and the oven. "Go, go, open the windows!"

You stumble to the windows, opening them, only to be met with the harsh cold winds and the infamous New York ambiance. You turn around, pressing your lower back to the dining table next to the window. In front of you, Rose is flailing around a rag, trying to clear the smoke from the kitchen. You zone out until you feel a warm touch on your shoulder. "(Y/n), what happened?" Rose asks, her voice and face full of unwavering concern. Her slender fingers gently wipe across your cheek. "You're crying, dear."

"I- L-," you stumble around your words incoherently before dropping your head into your hands.

Rose quickly wraps you in a warm embrace, gently comforting you and softly urging you to talk to her. "You're scaring me, (y/n). Talk to me, please."

You part from her embrace briefly, your teary eyes meeting with hers. "L-Lou was in an accident," you whisper with your lip quivering. "I- ... I-" Rose cups your head in her arms, pressing you against her chest, shushing you as you quietly cry. 

"Oh god," she whispers, combing her fingers through your hair. "Is she—"

You shake your head. "No. She's alive.. at Liberty Memorial. They want me to go see her. I-I... I have to go see her now.." you mutter. As if you suddenly remembered, you pull away from Rose and begin entering the living room.

"What?" Rose questions, fast on your tail. You grab your keys off the coffee table and approach the front door. "You have to go? Why can't Debbie go?"

"I'm Lou's emergency contact. I'm her fiancé. I need to go... I need to go see her." You go to open the door, but Rose's firm hand stops you— holding the door closed. 

"You are in no position to drive," Rose states, taking the keys from your hand. "I'll drive."

——

( a.n - TEEHEE, sorry for the cliffhanger! i've had this in drafts for a hot minute, slowly editing it to make it coherent. it has been so so so chaotic. my first semester is over; it took so much out of me. straight a's all across the board (if you don't count math) but my mental health was the price to pay. and when i was planning to finally upload this chapter, i got covid! FML. i'm trying to force myself back into a regular updating schedule but i don't want to promise anything because i'm inconsistent. also, i'm kind of projecting myself onto (y/n) so if she isn't your taste, i sincerely apologize. i usually don't give (y/n) many interests/hobbies/inner thoughts, so i'm trying something new. :^) i've already started working on part five, so i won't leave you all on this cliffhanger for much longer! much much love and i hope everyone had happy holidays. be safe & drink some water! <3 )