Aishveriya's POV
The air is still—machines beep, steady and merciless, counting seconds that feel like centuries. I sit beside Carter's bed, my fingers curled gently around his. Cold. Lifeless. But I refuse to let go.
Then, his hand twitches.
My breath stops.
I lean forward, eyes wide, afraid to hope. My heart pounds as I press the call button frantically. "Nurse! Doctor! Please, come quickly!"
Within moments, medical staff rush into the room. Dr. Martinez checks Carter's vitals, shines a light in his eyes, and examines his responses carefully.
"His neurological signs are improving," she tells me with cautious optimism. "The sedatives are wearing off. This is a very good sign, but he'll need time to fully regain consciousness. It could be a few hours."
I nod, tears already forming in my eyes. "He's going to be okay?"
"His body is responding well. We'll continue monitoring him closely, but yes—I believe he's going to wake up."
Two hours pass like an eternity. I never leave his side, watching for every small sign of movement, every flutter of his eyelashes.
Then, finally, his eyes crack open.
"Carter," I gasp, and tears immediately flood my eyes, spilling down my cheeks in hot, uncontrollable streams. My shoulders begin to shake with sobs I can no longer contain. "Oh my god. You're here. You're actually here."
I clutch his hand tighter, bringing it to my tear-soaked face, pressing it against my cheek. I'm crying so hard now, I can barely speak, my words coming out broken between gasps for air.
"I thought—I thought I'd lost you forever," I choke out, tears dripping onto our joined hands. "I've been sitting here for days, praying, begging for you to come back to me."
He looks at me like I'm a dream—hazy, uncertain. Like he's not sure if this is life or something softer. "Aish..." he croaks. His voice is cracked, dry, like the words had to dig their way out of his throat. "How long have I been..."
I nod, unable to stem the flow of tears. They're coming faster now, relief and pain mingling together. I wipe my face with trembling hands, but fresh tears immediately replace the ones I've cleared away.
"Three days," I manage, voice breaking. "The longest three days of my life. I never left. Not for a minute." My shoulders heave with another sob. "Don't you dare leave me again, Carter. I didn't come this far just to lose you. I couldn't bear it."
His fingers shift in mine, weak but trying. He swallows hard. "I didn't... I don't want to. I didn't mean to disappear on you like that. I just couldn't see through the darkness anymore."
I brush his hair back gently, careful not to jostle the IV taped to his wrist, tears still streaming down my face. I don't even try to stop them anymore. Each tear feels like a release, like the pain of the last three days finding its escape.
"You came back," I whisper, voice raw from crying. "That's all that matters now. We'll face everything else together."
My body shudders with another sob, and I press my forehead against our joined hands. "I was so scared, Carter. So damn scared." The tears drop onto the hospital sheets, creating small dark circles. "I kept talking to you, even when you couldn't hear me. Begging you to fight. To stay."
But something flickers in his eyes—shame. A memory that hurts too much to hold in.
"She said..." he begins, voice trembling. "Emily... she told me things. She said you were getting back with Aaron. That you only stayed out of pity. That I was—" His voice breaks. "A liability. A weight dragging you under."
I blink, momentarily stunned into silence. "She told you what?"
He looks away, the weight of it too much to bear. "She said you called me a mistake. That everyone was leaving you because of me. That I was destroying your life day by day." His eyes meet mine, full of pain. "And the worst part is, I believed her."
I sit back for a second. It's not just heartbreak. It's fury. Fury so sharp it could cut steel. "Carter, look at me."
He does, reluctantly.
"Has there ever been—even for a single breath—a moment where I let you feel like a mistake? A second I didn't fight for you with everything I have? You remember that I was with you for 1 week when you were in withdrawal." My voice is steady despite the tears. "Have I ever, ever given you reason to believe I'd rather be anywhere else but by your side?"
He doesn't answer, but his eyes hold mine, desperate for truth.
"I lost clients, I lost my reputation. I even lost safety," I whisper, taking his face in my hands. "But I didn't walk away. I never even considered it. I chose you. And I'd do it again a thousand times, in a thousand different worlds. Because you're not a liability—you're my life. You're the reason I wake up fighting every day."
Carter breaks down then, tears leaking sideways down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I was so tired, Aish. So goddamn tired. I just... I didn't want to die. I just didn't want to be. The pain—it was too much to carry anymore."
I hold him, wrapping my arms around his shaking body. "I know. And I'm here. I'm here, Carter. You don't have to carry it alone. Not anymore. Not ever again."
And then the door opens.
A woman I've never seen before steps in. She's in her late twenties, with shoulder-length brown hair and a face that might be pretty if it weren't twisted with what looks like rehearsed concern. Her mascara is smeared like she's spent hours crying, though something about it feels calculated, performed.
"Oh my god," she says softly. "He's awake."
I rise from my chair, body instantly tense. "Who the hell are you?" My voice is sharp enough to cut glass.
The woman looks momentarily startled, then composes herself. "I'm Emily. Carter's... friend." She says the last word with a possessiveness that makes my skin crawl. "We've known each other for years."
Carter's body goes rigid beside me. His hand suddenly grips mine with surprising strength.
"You," I whisper, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. "You're Emily." The name tastes like poison on my tongue.
I stand up completely now, my entire body shaking with rage. "Get. Out. NOW."
Emily flinches. "I just... I came to see if he's okay—"
"You almost killed him," I snarl, taking a step toward her. My voice has dropped to something dangerous, something feral.
Emily's eyes widen, mock-innocent. "What? No. I didn't— I was helping him. He was spiraling. I just... I thought he needed rest."
I laugh, the sound harsh and cutting. "Rest? Is that what you call slipping drugs into someone's drink while pretending to make tea? Is that your twisted version of care?" My hands are shaking with fury, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
She pales.
"Yeah. I know, I saw the tea there," I say, advancing another step. "And the doctors ran a toxicology panel. It's in his system. Unprescribed sedatives. Not even the mild kind. Did you think he wouldn't wake up? That I wouldn't find out? That I wouldn't tear this world apart looking for answers?"
Emily looks like she might bolt—but I step between her and the door, blocking her escape. My eyes never leave hers, burning with undisguised hatred.
"I should've known it was you," I say, voice low and vibrating with rage. "The moment those stories came out. The timing was too perfect. Aaron tried to crush me, but you—you tried to erase him. Like he was nothing. Like his life meant NOTHING to you!"
"He needed me," Emily says, voice rising in desperation. "I was trying to fix it! You made him worse! You made everything worse. You and your perfect act—"
I slap her. Hard. The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot.
It's loud. Startling. Carter flinches in the bed. Emily stumbles back, gasping, hand flying to her reddening cheek.
"Don't you DARE," I growl, voice shaking with a fury so intense it feels like it might consume me. "You drugged him, manipulated him, filled his head with lies when he was already broken. You could've killed him. Do you understand that? He could be GONE." My voice breaks on the last word, rage giving way momentarily to raw pain.
Tears stream down my face now, but these are hot, angry tears. "If he had died—if he had died, I would've made sure you never saw the light of day again. That's not a threat. That's a promise written in my bones. I would have hunted you to the ends of the earth."
The door opens again. Olivia.
Behind her—two police officers.
Emily stiffens as they enter, eyes flicking wildly. "What is this? What—"
"The hospital reported the toxicology results," Olivia says, voice calm and firm. "And I turned over the security footage. You were seen entering Carter's apartment just before the overdose."
"No," Emily backs away. "No, I didn't mean to—"
"You're being charged with administering drugs without consent, emotional abuse, and reckless endangerment," one of the officers says.
"Turn around," says the other.
Emily's arms are yanked behind her. The cuffs click into place.
She doesn't fight. Maybe she knows it's over.
As they lead her out, I look her dead in the eyes. "You didn't break him. And you sure as hell didn't break me."
She doesn't say a word.
The door shuts. Silence returns.
I go back to Carter's side, sitting down beside him. He's watching me, eyes wide.
Olivia's POV
The echo of the cuffs still lingers in the corridor, sharp and metallic—like truth finally uncoiling, unforgiving and loud.
Emily walks between two officers, pale but still holding onto that trademark defiance. Her shoulders are squared. Her chin, slightly lifted. She doesn't look like someone who lost. She looks like someone who still thinks she can win.
She's wrong.
I step out before they can turn the corner. My voice slices through the hallway like a blade honed on betrayal.
"Funny," I say, cool and measured, "I used to think it was a mistake that we drifted apart. I mean—it was only high school. You wanted fame, so I let it go. But now? I think the real mistake was ever calling you my best friend."
Emily's steps slow. She turns her head just enough to let me know she heard. Her eyes don't meet mine—but the tension in her jaw? That's enough.
"You were always like this, weren't you?" I step closer. "Always wanting what you want, no matter who you hurt. You could smile and tear people apart in the same breath."
Emily lets out a small, sharp breath of laughter. It's empty. Like she's run out of even pretending.
"Oh, Liv," she says, dripping mockery. "Still acting like you're the saint in the story. You always thought everything should land at your feet—the praise, the attention, the boys—"
"I never drugged anyone," I snap, my voice rising. "I never lied to someone so they'd fall apart just to crawl back to me."
She shrugs—cold, callous. "Carter was mine before he was anyone's. You think I was going to stand there while some broken fairytale romance unfolded? Please."
I can't breathe for a second. The rage chokes me.
"You tried to destroy someone barely surviving," I say, trembling. "You looked at Carter—someone you claimed to love—and chose to become his worst nightmare. You left him whenever you felt like it. Then you told everyone about his past. And now, seven years later, you come back and call that love?"
Emily turns fully now. The handcuffs clink with the movement. Her eyes finally lock on mine, bitter and unrepentant.
"Maybe he was always going to break," she says, voice flat. "I just gave him the final push. At least I was honest about who I am. You—" she flicks her head toward me—"You're just another jealous bitch watching the world love someone else more."
The officer grips her arm tightly. "Keep walking."
But she digs in one last verbal dagger before they haul her away.
"Tell Aishwariya good luck keeping him clean. Spoiler alert—he always comes back to the needle. I mean once a druggie always a druggie.
That does it.
I lurch forward, my hand twitching—ready to strike her for everything. But I stop myself. Not because she doesn't deserve it, but because I refuse to give her the power of a reaction.
She's already lost.
And for the first time since high school, I see her without the filter of friendship or nostalgia.
Not as the girl I laughed with in the classrooms.
Not as a friend, I stayed up late consoling after breakups or when her parents were divorcing.
But as the storm I never saw forming behind her smile.
I watch her disappear down the corridor. And this time, I let her go for good.
Carter's POV
The door closes behind Emily. The click of the latch feels louder than it should—final, like the end of a chapter I never wanted to write. My body is still weak, weighed down by the sedatives and days I lost, but the storm inside me is sharper than ever. I can't stop shaking.
Aishwariya comes back to my side like she never left it. Like she always will.
And that breaks me more than anything.
She brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead, and I close my eyes for a moment. It's not the touch that hurts—it's that I still deserve it less than anyone.
"You okay?" she whispers, the question hanging between us like a fragile thread.
I want to nod. I want to lie and make her feel safe. But I owe her more than that.
"No," I whisper back, the honesty raw in my throat. "But I will be. Somehow."
Her fingers tighten around mine. "You will," she says, with the kind of conviction I wish I had in myself. "We're going to rebuild, piece by piece if we have to."
But all I can think about is that bottle. That cold, bone-deep nothingness. The way my fingers curled around the pills without hesitation. Not in pain. Not in rage. Just emptiness.
It terrifies me how easy it was.
"I should've fought harder," I murmur, voice catching. "I should've told you what Emily said, I let it fester. I let it get into my head. I believed her, Aish... I believed I was dragging you down. That you'd be better off once I was gone."
Her eyes well up again, but she stays strong. "You were hurting. That's not weakness, Carter. That's survival. You thought I'd walk away, but I never even stepped back. Not for a second."
And she didn't.
Not when the press tore me apart.
Not when I tried to vanish.
Not when I almost died.
"How can you still look at me like this?" I ask, voice breaking. "After everything? After I nearly threw away everything we built? How can you not hate me for being so weak?"
"Because I see you," she says, eyes fierce with love. "Not the headlines. Not the past. You. And you're not broken—you're rebuilding. That takes strength most people can't even understand. Strength, I've watched you summon day after day, even when it feels impossible."
Her words hit deep. They strip away everything I've been hiding behind—shame, fear, self-loathing—and leave me with something I barely recognize.
Hope.
For the first time in years, maybe ever, I let myself think about a future that doesn't end in destruction.
"I want to change," I say, my voice hoarse but steady. "Really change. Not just survive the next bad day, not just hold on by a thread. I want to get better. For real. I want to be the version of me that you already see. The one worth fighting for."
Her forehead touches mine. "Then you will. We'll find a way."
I let out a trembling breath. "Therapy. Group. Whatever it takes. I'll do it. I'm done drowning, Aish. I want to learn how to breathe again."
Her lips press against the side of my head, warm and steady. "I'll be beside you. Every step. Every breath. Every heartbeat."
I squeeze her hand. It's all I have the strength for. But it feels like a promise.
This time, I won't run.
This time, I'll fight.
Not just for her. For me too.
Because the moment she walked into that hospital room, I remembered something I'd forgotten in the haze of relapse and regret—
I'm still here.
And I still have something worth living for.