Phoebe's knuckles were white against the steering wheel. The streets blurred past, horns blaring when she cut too close to red lights, but she didn't care. One hand gripped the wheel, the other refused to let go of Avery's blood-slicked fingers in the backseat.
"Ave, stay with me," Phoebe whispered, her voice cracking. "Don't close your eyes, not now. You're gonna make it. Just… just breathe, okay? With me."
Luke pressed a towel he found in Phoebe's car to his sister's head, trying to keep the blood from flowing faster.
"Drive faster, Phoebe. Please."
Phoebe's jaw clenched. She pressed harder on the gas.
The car screeched to a stop in front of the emergency entrance and gladly a security willing to help park the car. Nurses rushed forward, pulling open doors, sliding Avery out with practiced hands. They're asking what happened and how come she can be soaking in blood like this. Phoebe stumbled after them, her hands trembling so hard she nearly dropped her phone when a clipboard was shoved at her.
She forced herself to focus, handling the paperwork with shaking fingers, answering questions like name, age, and allergies, as if her voice didn't want to work. Behind her, Luke was with the nurses, helping to cut away Avery's ripped trousers and blood-soaked blouse, clearing the way so they could see how much damage had been done.
They rushed Avery into the ICU. Curtains closed. Lights overhead flared white. The sting of antiseptic filled the air.
Avery blinked against the brightness. She was conscious, barely, her voice groggy but dry with humor.
"Hey… Doc… do me a favor. When you put the bandages on my forehead… make it like a ninja, yeah?"
One of the nurses smiled despite herself. "She's still talking. That's a good sign."
Phoebe slipped inside the ward at last changing position with Luke, he is gonna wait outside.
The sight nearly knocked her breath away. Avery's forehead was split open, blood soaking her bandaids even though it is very thick and has just been applied, her clothes in tatters, her skin raw and glistening under the harsh light, she is looking at her eyes, Avery's seems so tired and hurting.
Phoebe froze. No words would come. Her stomach twisted. She hated blood, hated hospitals—but here she was, sitting down behind the bed, clutching Avery's hand so tight her knuckles whitened. Avery's eyes, heavy but aware, flicked toward her. She saw it, the tears Phoebe was fighting back, the way she forced herself to stay when every instinct wanted her to run.
The doctor's voice cut through the moment, clinical but grim.
"Two open wounds on the forehead. Two of her front teeth are chipped. Right corner of the mouth is torn in half."
Avery's eyes widened. Her lips parted, but the right side of her mouth refused to move. The horror of it settled in her chest like lead.
Phoebe felt Avery's hand tremble in hers. She squeezed tighter, leaning closer, whispering,
"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone in this."
The doctors prepped instruments.
"The blood won't stop, We'll need a surgery to close the wounds immediately" one said
"After that, we do CT Scan, to ensure there are no internal injuries"
Phoebe nodded, her voice finally finding strength. "Do whatever you have to do. Just… save her."
Her words hung in the sterile air, heavy with all the things she hadn't said before tonight.
By the time they wheeled her into surgery, the adrenaline that had kept her body alert was long gone. Her skin was pale, her grip weaker, but she refused to let go of Luke's hand.
"Don't… let me slip, okay?" she whispered.
"I won't," he promised. His voice cracked, betraying him.
The doctors worked quickly, stitching the long gash across her forehead first. Luke flinched at every movement, but he held his ground, squeezing her hand tighter each time her body jerked under the touch of the needle.
Then came her mouth.
When the surgeon leaned in with the instruments, Luke's stomach lurched. The cut was deep, jagged, the corner of her lip torn nearly in two. Avery's eyes fluttered open, catching the panic in his. She tightened her grip around his fingers, whispering through broken breath, "It's okay, Luke. Just… stay. I need you."
He bit down on his own fear, nodding, though tears slipped past his lashes as he watched them work.
Outside, Phoebe sat hunched in the waiting area. The antiseptic smell clung to her clothes, her throat raw from holding back sobs. When the sound of a drill whirred faintly down the hall, her stomach gave in—she bolted to the restroom and vomited, shaking.
Leaning against the cold tile wall, she pulled out her phone and dialed her mom.
"Mom?" her voice cracked. "It's Phoebe… I'm at the hospital. Avery, mom, she was in a motorcycle accident. She's in surgery now. It's bad… but the doctors are with her. I just needed you to know."
Her mom's voice steadied her on the other end, soft and worried, telling her to breathe, to stay strong. Phoebe nodded silently, gripping the phone until her knuckles turned white.
By the time the surgery and CT were done, the worst had passed. Avery was stitched, bandaged, her body weak but stable. Luke exhaled for the first time in hours.
The CT scan come in second, Avery's head cradled inside the machine, Luke standing stiff at her side, his eyes darting to every flicker of the screen as if he could read what it meant. Avery tried to joke, but the words came out slurred.
"Feels like… I'm in a spaceship."
Luke swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Then I'm your astronaut, Ave. Just… hold on."
When she was finally discharged at dusk, they brought her home. Phoebe insisted on staying, ignoring the quiet protests, ignoring the past. That night she lay beside Avery in her room, careful not to touch the wounds, but close enough that Avery could feel her steady breathing. For the first time since the crash, Avery slept.