CHAPTER 279: WHAT’S GOING ON?

‎Isabella’s pov

‎

‎The first thing I registered was the dull, insistent throb behind my eyes, a relentless metronome against the soft hum in the background.

‎

‎Something cold brushed against my cheek.

‎

‎My eyelids felt heavy, glued shut, but a persistent prickle of light fought its way through the darkness. Slowly, agonizingly, I forced them open.

‎

‎A blurry shifting patterns of creamy whites and soft golds swam into focus. Not my familiar, slightly cluttered bedroom. Not even vaguely like it. This place... it was too pristine, too quiet. High ceilings stretched above me, adorned with intricate plasterwork that caught the light from an unseen window. The walls were panelled in what looked like polished mahogany, interrupted by sections of silken wallpaper in a subtle damask pattern. The sheets beneath me feelt impossibly soft, like spun cloud.

‎

‎My gaze drifted down to my arm. A thin, clear tube snaked from my inner elbow, disappearing beneath the pristine white sheets. I traced its path, my heart beginning a faint flutter, until it connected to a clear bag hanging from a metal stand beside the bed. A soft, rhythmic beeping caught my attention then – a small monitor on a stand, its green line dancing across a screen, displaying numbers I didn’t understand.

‎

‎An IV. A monitor. Hospital? No, this wasn’t any hospital room I’d ever seen. This was... opulent. Like a hotel , but with unsettling medical equipment superimposed onto it.

‎

‎Then I saw them.

‎

‎To my left, near a plush velvet armchair, my dad was slumped, his head resting awkwardly on his chest, a soft blanket draped over him. His salt-and-pepper hair was dishevelled, his usually neat clothes rumpled. He looked utterly exhausted, deep lines etched around his closed eyes, even in sleep.

‎

‎And closer still, perched on the edge of my bed, was Aria. My best friend. She was leaning over me, a soft, damp cloth in her hand, gently dabbing at my forehead. Her fiery orange hair, usually a vibrant explosion, was pulled back in a messy bun, and her face, always animated and expressive, was pale and drawn. Her queeny eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were dark and shadowed, rimmed with red.

‎

‎She froze as she noticed my eyes were open. The cloth fell from her grasp, landing with a soft plop on the pristine duvet. For a long moment, she just stared at me, her expression a complex mixture of relief, fear, and profound sorrow that made a chill run down my spine despite the warmth of the room. And then they filled with tears so fast it startled me.

‎

‎"Isa?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

‎

‎My mouth felt like sandpaper, but a question clawed its way out.

‎

‎"Aria?" My voice was a weak croak, barely audible. "Why do you look... so sad?" My gaze swept around the room again, landing on the IV, the monitor. Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the edges of my confusion. "Where am I? What... what happened?"

‎

‎The last coherent memory was the pulsating bass from the street, the scent of cheap perfume and the long line. Aria telling me not to worry about my short cloth. Laughter. And then... nothing.

‎

‎The question, so innocent, so laced with my own growing fear, was all it took. Aria’s carefully constructed composure shattered. A choked sob escaped her lips, and her eyes, already red, welled up instantly. She launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around me, burying her face against my shoulder as hot tears soaked through the thin fabric of my gown. Her body trembled against mine, a desperate, shuddering release, and the weight of her grief settled heavily, suffocatingly, on my chest.

‎

‎"Oh my God," she sobbed, pressing her face against my shoulder. "You’re awake... you’re finally awake."

‎

‎I stiffened, confused. My fingers hovered awkwardly above her back, unsure whether I should pet her down or not. "Arii... what’s going on?"

‎

‎Her shoulders shook harder. The sound tore through the sterile quiet of the room.

‎

‎I looked past her — my father, still in his scrubs. His glasses were askew, a file open on his lap, hadn’t woken up yet.

‎

‎"What is this place?" I whispered, my pulse starting to quicken. "Why am I hooked to—" My gaze dropped to the IV line again, panic blooming in my chest. "What happened? Did I faint? Didn’t we make it to the club?"

‎

‎"what do you mean club?" Aria pulled back, her face wet, her voice trembling. "Izzy, You’ve been...asleep. For a while. After you had a fight with Adrien. Cam was the one that brought me and your dad to visit like five hours ago."

The names hit me like a physical blow.

A sharp, electric pulse detonated behind my eyes.

‎I blinked, trying to process. "Asleep? How long is ’a while’? And who is cam and Adrien?"

‎

‎The names felt so... foreign and jarring. Cam? Adrien? They meant nothing, hollow sounds that bounced around the empty vault of my memory. The confusion must have been stark on my face because Aria’s tears slowed, replaced by a dawning horror of a different kind.

‎

‎"Isa?" she said, her voice small and tentative. "Are you... are you messing with me?"

‎

‎"I don’t know those names," I croaked, the words tasting like dust. "The last thing I remember... it was us getting ready to go out. You made me wear that stupid short dress, remember? the line outside the club. The music was so loud. While I kept complaining of not having a jacket." I tried for a smile, but my face felt like cracked clay. "That’s it. That’s all there is."

‎

‎Aria’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with a terror that eclipsed her earlier sadness. The noise finally jostled my dad. He snorted, his head snapping up. His glasses slipped down his nose, and for a disoriented second, he blinked at the open file on his lap as if it were written in another language. Then his doctor’s instincts kicked in, his gaze snapping to the beeping monitor beside me, which was now chirping a little faster, tracking my rising anxiety.

‎

‎"Isa?" he said, his voice rough with sleep. He was on his feet in an instant, the file tumbling to the luxurious carpet. He came to my other side, his trained eyes scanning my face, taking in my clear, terrified focus, then shifting to Aria’s utterly shattered expression. "Honey, you’re awake. Thank God." He reached for my wrist, his fingers finding my pulse.

‎

‎"I blinked, confusion tightening in my chest. "Of course I’m awake. What’s wrong with you guys?"

‎

‎"What is going on? Where are we? Aria said I’ve been asleep. She said... she said a lot of things that don’t make sense."

‎

‎His relief visibly curdled into a profound, weary dread. He exchanged a long, loaded look with Aria, a silent conversation passing between them that I couldn’t decipher. Then Aria reached for a red button on the wall and pressed it.

‎

‎"Isa, I want to believe you’re just messing with us — that this is your way of avoiding everything that’s happened—that you’re not serious, and this is just your way of not having to think about the baby you lost and every other thing. So here’s what we’re going to do, okay? We’re just going to stay calm. When Dr. Kassel gets here, we’ll—"

‎

‎Baby?

What baby?

What does she mean by the baby I lost? I was about to ask when all of a sudden, the ringing in my head intensified. "arghhh" I let out a scream. Why am I having a big headache?

Dad and aria’s voice suddenly started becoming distant.

‎

‎The pain came out of nowhere.

A sharp, electric surge that split my skull in two.

"Isa! Isa, look at me!" My father’s voice was close but muffled, as though he were calling from the other end of a tunnel. The edges of my vision shimmered and pulsed with white.

The room tilted. I could feel Aria’s hand gripping mine, trembling, her voice breaking through the ringing in fragments.

"—doctor—hurry, she’s seizing—"

Someone’s footsteps thundered down the hall. The soft chime of the monitor turned into a violent alarm, and everything blurred — movement, color, light.

I wanted to ask what was happening. I wanted to breathe.

But the words stuck behind the panic clawing up my throat.

Then a familiar scent reached me — antiseptic and something faintly sweet. A hand pressed gently on my shoulder, a calm, steady voice cutting through the noise.

"Isabella, listen to me," the voice said — It carried a quiet authority, the kind that made you want to listen — female, calm, with the faintest lilt of recognition I couldn’t place. "You’re safe. I need you to focus on my voice, okay? Deep breaths. In... and out."

I tried to focus on the voice, to anchor myself. It was calm and gentle. It spoke to me, not over me.

"Just breathe, Isabella," it continued. "Deep breaths. You’re safe. We’re here."

A sharp hiss of air escaped me as another wave of pain rolled behind my eyes. My heart was hammering so fast it hurt.

"Her vitals are spiking," someone said.

"Prep 5 milligrams of diazepam," the lady’s voice said.

I felt the cold sting of something entering my vein. The world started to dull, the panic dissolving into a slow, heavy numbness.

"Good," the doctor murmured, her voice softening as everything dimmed. "That’s it. Let the world slow down."

Aria’s face hovered above me, blurred but close. Her lips moved — I couldn’t hear the words, only see the desperate tremor of them.

Then darkness pressed in again, warm and quiet.