Chapter 64: "Awake, But Not Alive"
Zariah opened her eyes fully for the first time in hours. The ceiling was unfamiliar — pale, square-tiled, glowing under the fluorescent lights. Her body felt heavy, her throat dry, and her arm ached in a dull, dragging way.
But worse than any physical pain was the emptiness inside her.
She turned her head slowly and saw Jasmine — curled up in a stiff chair, asleep with tear stains on her cheeks and her hand still holding hers. Zariah blinked. She didn't deserve that hand. She didn't deserve her.
The monitor beeped steadily. Too steadily.
She was still here.
Why?
She barely noticed the nurse come in. She barely flinched when her vitals were checked. She answered questions in short, lifeless words: her name, the date, the pain scale.
But inside, nothing had changed.
Jasmine stirred a little later and sat up, eyes red and swollen. Their eyes met. No words. Just a shared ache between them.
"You're still here," Zariah murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah," Jasmine said, softly. "I told you I would be."
Zariah looked away. "You should've left me."
"No," Jasmine said firmly. "Don't say that. Not after everything."
"I meant to do it this time," Zariah whispered. "I really did."
Jasmine didn't look surprised. She just leaned in closer and squeezed her hand.
"I know," she said quietly.
A counselor came in later, asking if she felt safe, if she understood what happened. Zariah nodded and gave all the answers they wanted. Jasmine sat silently, her presence the only reason Zariah didn't walk out of the room then and there.
By evening, they told her she could go home the next day — under watch. Her mother had been called, and was "on her way soon."
Zariah flinched at that.
"She can't know everything," she said, her voice shaking. "Please. She can't handle it."
Jasmine frowned but nodded. "We'll figure it out."
But they both knew the truth: things were spiraling faster than either of them could stop.
That night, Jasmine refused to leave the room, even after visiting hours. One of the nurses bent the rules.
They lay side by side in the small hospital bed — Jasmine on top of the covers, Zariah beneath them. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Zariah finally broke the silence.
"I don't think I can do this anymore."
"You don't have to do it alone," Jasmine whispered.
"I'm tired."
"I know."
"I don't feel anything."
Jasmine blinked back fresh tears.
"I'll feel it for you. Until you can again."
The night was long. Nurses came and went. Monitors beeped. Rain tapped against the windows, soft and steady.
Zariah didn't sleep much.
She stared at the ceiling and counted every reason she still wanted to leave this world — but she could no longer ignore the one reason she might stay.
Jasmine.