Broken Loop

Chapter Twenty‐Five: Loop #11 - Overdose Craft

The second EMT climbed onto the bed with her equipment bag and strapped an oxygen mask to Jade's face. The first measured vitals, scribbled on his pad. The officer—a young woman with a steady voice—placed a calming hand on Aiden's shoulder.

"You alright?" she asked.

He nodded, voice choked. "She... I didn't see it coming."

"You did your best," the officer said. "Sometimes these things aren't visible until they are."

Aiden shut his eyes—a confession and a relief.

• • •

They wheeled Jade onto a stretcher and out to the ambulance. Aiden followed, drawn by raw need to stay by her side. The EMT lifted her into the back and slid the doors closed. Aiden climbed in.

In the tight, humming space, he seized her elbow. "Jade," he said, voice urgent but soft. "Stay with me."

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed but flickering with recognition. She reached for his hand.

"Please," he whispered. "I need you."

She exhaled, her voice a whisper. "I know."

He pressed his cheek to hers, breathing her battered scent. The ambulance lurched into motion—wheels drumming a tense rhythm as lights flashed on the dark streets.

Behind the mask, she coughed and her eyelids quivered. The EMT administered a saline drip.

"Hang on," Aiden muttered.

She forced a nod. "Don't... let go."

He gripped her hand harder. "Never."

• • •

They sped through the night until the hospital loomed—bright windows against the black sky. The paramedics unloaded her onto the gurney, rolled her in past double doors, then turned back.

"Do what you need," Aiden said, voice trembling. "I'll be right there."

They ushered him down the corridor toward the ER. Doors swung open into a fluorescent world of monitors and white tile. A doctor—a tall man with soft eyes—came forward.

"Mr. Hartman?"

Aiden swallowed. "Yes."

"She's stable. We'll admit her for observation. Carbon levels are dropping, vitals are steady. We'll keep her for twenty‐four hours."

A gasp of relief torn from Aiden's chest. "Can I see her?"

The doctor nodded. "After we move her to a room. Please wait in the family lounge."

Aiden exhaled, fear and gratitude flooding together. He nodded, turning to find the lounge—a small room with chairs and a vending machine. He sank into a plastic seat, pulling out his phone. He dialed Ramirez.

No answer. He texted Dr. Patel: Jade turned up unconscious from an overdose. She's stable in the ER. Please come.

His hands shook so badly he set the phone aside. He exhaled, head lolling back.

All the loops. All the rewinds. All the near misses. And still she'd circled back to this. He pressed his forehead against the wall.

• • •

Two hours later, Professor Ramirez and Dr. Patel arrived together. They found him slumped in the same chair. He stood, blinking.

"Thank God," Ramirez whispered, wrapping him in a hug.

He held her for a moment, too raw for words. Then felt Meera Patel's hand on his arm—steady, warm.

"You did the right thing," Meera said. "You got her help."

He closed his eyes, tears coursing down. "Will she be okay?"

Ramirez met his gaze. "She's tough. And she's not alone."

He nodded, breath hitching.

• • •

They waited in silence until the ER doors opened and an orderly guided him to Jade's room. She lay on the bed, oxygen mask removed, IV in her arm. Frosted glass blocked the view of the corridor, cocooning them in muted light.

Aiden stepped to her side. She looked smaller—so fragile beneath the crisp white sheets. He grasped her hand.

"Hey," he whispered.

Her eyes opened slowly. They were clear but filled with pain and shame. She squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry I wasn't louder."

She shook her head. "It... felt easier."

He exhaled. "I know."

Ramirez and Dr. Patel lingered by the door, their presence gentle but insistent.

Meera spoke first. "Jade, we need to talk about what brought you here."

Jade swallowed. "I... forget."

Ramirez stepped forward. "You didn't fail. You just—lost your way."

Jade's gaze flicked between them, then returned to Aiden. "Why keep fighting?"

Aiden's voice broke. "Because I love you."

She closed her eyes, tears slipping. Ramirez took a seat in the corner; Meera pulled another chair beside her.

• • •

They stayed late into the night. Jade lay in bed while Aiden listened—first to the doctors explaining detox protocols, then to Ramirez and Meera talking about therapy, medication adjustments, support groups. She apologized between tears; he told her she was brave.

Near midnight, they asked Aiden to step out so nurses could check Jade's vitals. He lingered at the door, framed by the corridor's dim light, watching his sister breathe—steady now, alive.

He felt the old watch in his pocket, inert but weighty. He resisted the urge to press. This time, there would be no loop. No reset. Only forward.

He left the watch where it lay: a relic of desperation.

• • •

Back in the hallway, he found Ramirez pacing. She paused. "She's asleep."

He nodded. "I'll stay."

She pressed his shoulder. "Get some rest. I'll sit with her."

He shook his head. "No."

She exhaled. "Give yourself an hour. You'll need strength."

He met her gaze. She was right. He closed his eyes. "Thank you."

She smiled and slipped inside the room. He pulled his phone from his pocket, checked the time—2:14 AM—and sent one more text to Dr. Patel: She's stable. I'll be there in the morning.

He slipped into a chair opposite Ramirez's, head bowed. In the hush broken only by Jade's soft breathing, Aiden allowed himself to weep—tears of relief, of fear, of love too deep for words.

In that silent vigil, he realized loops had been a means to cheat death. But tonight, death had almost come anyway. And only real presence—real love—had pulled her back.

He wiped his cheeks, drew a steadying breath, and looked toward the bed. Through the glass, he saw Jade's eyelashes flutter. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing her to stay.

When he opened them again, she was still there—his sister, his heart's anchor. No more loops. No more second chances. Only this fragile, precious moment: two siblings bound by scars and survival, ready to face whatever came next—together.