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“Very bad. Bad for Rebel.”
“I’ll-” I start to reply when my phone buzzes again and Baxter interrupts from behind me.
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” He makes to head off in the opposite direction and I call him back, asking where he’s going. Doesn’t he want to see Raven? I need to. “Sort Charlie, the police, cover for Rebel, inform Cordelia, take care of Phoenix. You call me the second she wakes up, if not sooner. Any news, change, anything - you call. Got me?”
“Of course,” I promise. “Thank you, Baxter.” The words are surprisingly easy to get out. They don’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth because I genuinely mean them.
He nods once and disappears through double doors marked ‘Staff Only’. Doesn’t surprise me; he’s a law unto himself. Lucky for us, some things never change.
Once we arrive on the correct floor, Ace hurries us through to Raven’s bedside. I meet Rebel pacing outside her room. The fact that they’ve processed her through A and E so quickly, got her onto a ward and given her a side room, fills me with dread. Most people would be impressed by the efficiency of the NHS, but their sense of urgency alarms me.
“What’s going on?” I demand curtly.
“She won’t wake up! They still haven’t found out what’s in her system. I swear, it’s like they think she’s a junkie or suicidal or something! They keep asking so many questions!” As Rebel replies to me, his voice rises until he’s practically shouting, and people along the corridor are starting to stare.
“Thorn?” I call softly. His head pops out around the door frame and I raise an eyebrow in question at him. He gently shakes his head in the negative, which confirms what I suspected: that Rebel is exaggerating.
“Cool down, Reb,” I placate. “I’m sure that’s not true at all. The paramedics would have debriefed the team on their arrival.”
Rebel will know this; he’s just too worked up to be logical right now. It’s my job to tell him straight. I’m the only one he listens to.
“Be smart, mate. Think about it,” I tell him evenly. He grumbles at me, resumes pacing, but quiets. I’ll take that as a win for now.
My phone buzzes, again and again and again. I grit my teeth and send it to voicemail. Fucking Tilly; I don’t have the patience for her at the best of times, but I really can’t handle her right now.
I walk into the room, and the sight before me stops my heart. She looks so small in the bed, so fragile...broken. The starched white sheets bleach her skin, making her look pallid, and her long black hair is too dark against her chalky complexion. It doesn’t look like her at all.
Dark circles ring her closed eyes, a web of thin blue veins snaking across her eyelids, her cheekbones looking too high and sharp against her gaunt cheeks. The shining purple bruise that’s already developing on one makes rage bubble in my stomach. Even her lips have lost their fullness and rosy hue. I hate it.
I hate that she’s in a hospital gown once again. I hate that I wasn’t there to protect her once again. And as my eyes trail down to the bandages wrapped around her wrists, I realise that I hate the fucker that did this to her.
I wish I had followed Baxter, taken care of things like he is. Breathing in sharply through my nose, I close my eyes and imagine slipping into his room, assessing his condition, and then finding a way to make it worse. Permanent. I wouldn’t hesitate, the way I’m feeling right now, to kill him with my own bare hands.
And that’s when it hits me: this is how Raven felt the entire time she was at West Prep. The love she had for her sister and the love I have for her...they’re the same. To steal Rebel’s idea; I’d burn the entire world to the ground for her. I…
Fuck.
I’m saved from having to explore those feelings by the arrival of a doctor. I spring into action, asking questions, demanding answers, insisting on the best care possible. Should I pay to get her private care? Does she need it? Despite our combined wealth, none of us have ever gone private; we could never fault the NHS. But suddenly, in my desperation to ensure Raven is okay, nothing seems good enough.
I don’t even realise that I’m getting myself worked up until a calming hand rests on my shoulder. Ace. His presence instantly has a comforting effect and I feel like I can breathe again, even before he tells me to.
The doctor reassures us that Raven is ok: the lab results shouldn’t be long and then it will just be a waiting game until she’s ready to wake up. Rebel growls out a question, asking how long that will be, and although I shoot him a look, I completely agree with his desperate impatience. Even more so when the doctor is unable to answer him.
We wait, and it’s torture, pure torture. I lose track of how many times Tilly calls. My phone keeps notifying me that I have voicemails; Ugh, how fucking desperate can you be?
It’s hours before anything happens. Rebel paces and grumbles, unable to sit still. Thorn leaves the room in search of food and drink for all of us. Ace sits silently by Raven’s bedside, gently holding her hand. And I stand immobile, unable to do anything. Even when Thorn returns, even though I’m starving, I can’t move.
I finally snap out of it when Baxter arrives. He tells us that the prick who hurt Raven has been taken care of - I don’t know what he means, but knowing his history, I can guess - and that he has informed Cordelia and arranged to have Phoenix picked up and taken there. It’s a relief. I wouldn’t have known what to do with the kid, and I certainly don’t have a way to get in touch with Cordelia. I fleetingly wonder if we’ve done the right thing, sending Phoenix there, but then I remember that we don’t really have a huge amount of options right now and that it’s probably best that Phoenix doesn’t see her mum like this.
A phone rings - Baxter’s - and he pulls it hastily out of his pocket. He glances at the caller display, frowns and mutes the ring, apologising in a hushed tone.
“Bax,” a raspy voice pulls me from my thoughts. My head whips around to see Raven blinking slowly and frowning. Relief ignites in my stomach and sparks through my body like an electrical pulse - she’s okay! - and all at once everyone in the room swarms in around her, pressing closer like bees in a hive around their queen.
“Bax,” she croaks again, her tone tired and raspy. Baxter fights his way to her side and takes her free hand.
“Yes Charlotte?”
She cringes when he says her name and withdraws her hand from his embrace.
