Chapter 4 Damage Control (Brynn POV)
The first thing I registered was pain.
Not the sharp, searing kind that demands immediate attention, but a deep, persistent ache that seemed to radiate from every bone in my body. My skull felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, and my mouth tasted like I'd been chewing on pennies.
I tried to open my eyes, but even my eyelids hurt.
"Easy." A woman's voice, clinical and calm. "Don't try to sit up yet."
My eyes finally cooperated, cracking open to reveal harsh fluorescent lights that sent fresh spikes of agony through my head. I was lying on a narrow bed with starched white sheets, surrounded by pale blue curtains. The antiseptic smell hit me next that distinctive hospital scent of bleach and fear.
"Where" My voice came out as a croak.
"The medical wing." Dr. Reeves appeared in my line of vision, her expression professionally concerned. "You're safe, Brynn. You had a severe episode during the assembly."
Episode. The word felt too small for what I remembered. Claws. Teeth. Eyes that glowed like fire. The auditorium erupting in screams.
I bolted upright despite the protest from my body, panic flooding my system. "Everyone saw"
"Shh, shh." Dr. Reeves placed a hand on my shoulder, gently but firmly pushing me back down. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Dean Whitmore is here. We need to discuss what happened."
As if summoned by his name, the Dean stepped through the curtain. He looked older than he had during the assembly, new lines etched around his eyes and mouth. He pulled up a chair and sat down with the heaviness of someone preparing for an unpleasant conversation.
"Brynn." His voice was measured, careful. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." I struggled to sit up again, this time succeeding in propping myself against the pillows. "What happened? After I... after..."
"After you had a severe panic attack with hallucinations," Dr. Reeves said smoothly. Too smoothly. "The stress of being used as a case study without warning triggered an acute psychological response."
I stared at her. "A panic attack."
"With hallucinations," Dean Whitmore added, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Several students reported seeing... unusual things. But given the circumstances the emotional intensity of the situation, the suggestibility of group settings we believe what occurred was a mass hysteria event."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Mass hysteria."
"It's more common than you might think," Dr. Reeves said, pulling out a tablet and swiping through screens. "When one person exhibits extreme distress, others can begin to perceive things that aren't really there. The mind is remarkably powerful, especially in adolescents whose prefrontal cortexes are still developing."
This was insane. I'd felt my bones shifting, my teeth elongating. That wasn't a hallucination. That was real.
Wasn't it?
"I don't understand," I said slowly, searching their faces for any sign of deception. "What exactly are you telling me?"
Dean Whitmore leaned forward, folding his hands on his knees. "We're telling you that what happened today was a mental health crisis, not a disciplinary issue. Dr. Reeves administered a mild sedative to help you calm down, and we've taken steps to ensure this incident doesn't spiral out of control."
"What steps?"
"We confiscated phones," he said matter-of-factly. "Any student who filmed or photographed the incident has had their device temporarily seized pending a review of their content. We've also spoken individually with witnesses and provided counseling to those who were most affected by what they perceived."
"You gave them sedatives too," I said, the pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. "You drugged the witnesses."
"We offered anxiety medication to students who were experiencing acute distress," Dr. Reeves corrected, her tone sharpening slightly. "Everything we've done has been in accordance with school policy and student welfare protocols."
"You're covering it up."
Silence hung in the air for a long moment. Dean Whitmore's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes acknowledgment, maybe, or warning.
"We're protecting you, Brynn," he said finally. "And we're protecting this institution. A second viral incident involving the same student would be catastrophic for everyone involved. Your future, our reputation, the wellbeing of your fellow students all of it would be compromised."
"So you're just going to pretend it didn't happen."
"We're going to treat it as what it was," Dr. Reeves said firmly. "A stress-induced episode that requires medical intervention and monitoring. The official record will show that you experienced a severe panic attack during an assembly. No disciplinary action will be taken."
"But?" I could hear the unspoken condition in their voices.
Dean Whitmore stood, smoothing down his jacket. "But you'll be placed on medical watch for the foreseeable future. Daily check-ins with health services. Continued therapy sessions with Dr. Reeves. Strict adherence to any medication protocols she recommends."
"And if I refuse?"
His expression hardened. "Then we'll have to reassess whether Ashford Heights is the right environment for you. Refusal to comply with medical watch would be grounds for immediate expulsion."
The threat landed like a physical blow. No other school will take someone with your kind of record. Dr. Reeves's words from earlier echoed in my mind, and I understood with perfect clarity that I was trapped.
"Fine," I whispered. "I'll comply."
"Good." Dean Whitmore headed toward the curtain, then paused. "For what it's worth, Brynn, I do believe you can overcome this. But you need help. Let us help you."
He left, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Dr. Reeves lingered, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"I know this feels unfair," she said quietly. "But we're trying to give you a second chance. Don't waste it."
She followed the Dean out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the persistent ache in my bones.
I didn't know how long I lay there, staring at the ceiling tiles and trying to reconcile what I remembered with what they'd told me. Maybe they were right. Maybe I'd just had a breakdown so severe that my mind had created false memories to explain it. Mass hysteria. Hallucinations. It made sense, in a horrible, clinical way.
But the alternative that I'd actually transformed into something inhuman in front of hundreds of witnesses was impossible. Wasn't it?
The curtain rustled, and I tensed, expecting another authority figure with another set of rules and restrictions.
Instead, Harper's face appeared, her dark eyes wide with concern.
"Oh my God." She rushed to my bedside, grabbing my hand. "Are you okay? They wouldn't let me see you until now."
"Harper." Relief washed over me. "What did you see? In the auditorium, what did you actually see?"
She blinked, confusion crossing her features. "I saw you have a panic attack. You were hyperventilating and then you just... collapsed. It was terrifying."
"That's all? Nothing else?"
"What else would there be?" Her grip on my hand tightened. "Brynn, you're scaring me. What do you remember?"
I searched her face for any hint that she was lying, that she was part of whatever cover-up the administration had orchestrated. But Harper had been my roommate and friend for over a year. She'd seen me at my worst and never judged me.
"I remember feeling like I was going crazy," I said carefully. "Like my whole body was coming apart."
"That must have been awful." She sat on the edge of the bed, her expression softening. "I'm so sorry Dr. Reeves ambushed you like that. Using your video without warning was completely unethical."
"Yeah." I looked away, my throat tight. "Guess I just couldn't handle it."
"Anyone would have broken down in that situation. You're not weak, B. You're human."
Human. The word felt like a question I couldn't answer.
Harper stayed for another twenty minutes, chattering about how Dean Whitmore had addressed the school after I'd been taken away, how everyone was talking about the assembly being cut short, how there were already rumors that someone had threatened legal action over the unauthorized use of my video.
Normal, mundane gossip that should have been comforting. Instead, it just made me feel more isolated, like I was watching the world through a window instead of participating in it.
Finally, a nurse appeared and told Harper visiting hours were over. She squeezed my hand one more time before leaving, promising to bring my homework assignments tomorrow.
I was alone again.
Until I wasn't.
The curtain moved, and I looked up expecting the nurse returning with medication.
Instead, Jaxon Hale stepped into the small space.
He looked different than he had in the hallway earlier more controlled, more guarded. His amber eyes swept over me in a quick assessment before he pulled up the chair Dean Whitmore had vacated.
"Hey," he said, his Southern drawl somehow more pronounced in the quiet of the medical wing.
"Hey." I struggled to sit up straighter, hyper-aware of how I must look hospital gown, tangled hair, no makeup. "What are you doing here?"
"Fulfilling my civic duty." A slight smile played at the corner of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I've been assigned as your student wellness buddy."
I stared at him. "My what?"
"Student wellness buddy. It's part of the academy's peer support program." He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. "Mandatory participation for students on medical watch."
I unfolded the paper, skimming the official letterhead and formal language. My name appeared multiple times, along with Jaxon's, and a schedule of required activities: daily check-ins, bi-weekly study sessions, weekly recreational activities.
"This is a joke, right?"
"Afraid not." He leaned back in the chair, looking entirely too comfortable in the uncomfortable medical wing furniture. "Dean Whitmore seems to think I'd be a good influence. Something about leadership skills and academic excellence."
"You're a lacrosse player." The words came out sharper than intended. "They assigned me a jock?"
His expression shifted, something dangerous flickering behind those amber eyes before his face smoothed back into neutrality. "I'm also ranked third in our class academically. I volunteer at the children's hospital on weekends. And I've completed extensive peer counseling training through my previous school's community service program."
Heat crept up my neck. "I didn't mean"
"Yes, you did." He stood, his movements fluid and controlled. "But that's fine. You don't know me. And given what you've been through today, I'm willing to give you a pass on the snap judgment."
He headed toward the curtain, then paused, looking back at me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"For the record, Brynn Calloway, I don't particularly want to be your wellness buddy either. But we're both stuck with this arrangement, so we might as well make the best of it." His gaze held mine for a beat too long. "I'll see you tomorrow. Nine AM, main lobby. Don't be late."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with a splitting headache, a thousand questions, and the uncomfortable certainty that my life had just become infinitely more complicated.
I looked down at the paper in my hands, at Jaxon Hale's name printed next to mine in official school letterhead, and felt something shift in my chest.
That same magnetic pull from earlier, that inexplicable awareness that had made my skin prickle and my breath stop.
What the hell was happening to me?