Chapter 41 Desperation looks different in different rooms

Chapter 41 Desperation looks different in different rooms
Lidia’s POV
“Hello?” I answered.
“Lidia, sweetheart,” a woman’s voice said warmly. Too warmly. “There you are.”

I closed my eyes. 
“Ms. Kessler,” I said carefully. “I took today off. I mentioned earlier that my daughter isn’t well.”
There was a soft hum on the other end, like she was considering something mildly inconvenient. “Oh, I remember,” she said gently. “You did say that.” 

My shoulders dropped in relief, then snapped back up when Ms. Kessler pivots. “But listen,” she continued, voice smooth and measured, “you know how this works. A client asked for you. Specifically. And you know how rare that is.”

“I really can’t leave her alone tonight,” I replied. “She had a fever. She needs me. I just－”
“Oh, of course she does,” Ms. Kessler said sympathetically. “You’re a good mother, Lidia. I’ve always said that.”

My grip on the phone tightened. “And that’s exactly why I called you myself,” she added. “I didn’t want to send someone else. I wanted to give you the chance.”
“The chance to what?” I asked quietly.
“To make tonight count,” she said. “You’ve mentioned money’s been tight lately. Groceries. Medication. Rent.” She sighed softly, as if she were the one burdened by it. “I’d hate for you to struggle when there’s such an easy solution.”

I swallowed.

“This client pays very well,” she continued. “Enough to take care of everything you’re worried about. Enough to give your daughter some comfort.”
The silence stretched. “And of course,” she added casually, “if you don’t come in, I’ll have to mark it down as refusal. Which affects scheduling. And bonuses. You understand.”. I did.
“So,” she said sweetly, “why don’t you put on something nice and come down here? Just for a little while. You’ll be home before you know it.”
I stared at the floor. “I’ll be there,” I said.
“Wonderful,” Ms. Kessler replied brightly. “I knew I could count on you.”

The line went dead. 

I lowered the phone slowly and sank onto the couch. It creaked beneath me. “Manipulative btch,” I muttered under my breath, rubbing my face. “At least have the decency to threaten me like a normal person.” I stared at the ceiling for a second longer than necessary before sitting up.
Hazel. I unlocked my phone and opened the messages.

Hi…
No. Too suspicious.
Hey
Too casual. She’d know something was wrong.
I deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. How do people start text conversations now? Was there a script? A greeting protocol? A secret handshake? After several minutes of typing, erasing, and swearing under my breath, I finally sent:
I’m out to handle some tasks. There’s pasta and sauce if you’re hungry.
Short. Safe.

I stood and walked into my room. The black dress hung on the back of the door. Simple. Tight in the right places.
Thin straps, low enough neckline to do its job without screaming desperation. Cheap, but not tacky; one of my better finds. I slipped it on and smoothed the fabric over my hips. Did a quick check in the mirror. 
Still got it. 

I added light makeup; mascara, a touch of liner, lip gloss. I didn’t really need much. I knew that. Confidence was cheaper than foundation anyway. The heels waited by the bed. I stepped into them with practiced ease, then grabbed my coat and shrugged it on, to cover what the dress revealed.
Keys. Wallet. Phone. I paused at the door, hand on the knob. I didn’t want to go. But the cupboards were empty. And love, unfortunately, didn’t pay for groceries. I locked the door behind me, then I walked away, already counting how much food I could buy it this all went well.



Evie’s POV- The hospital
I checked the time on my phone. 2:03 p.m.
I’d been sitting in the same hard plastic chair for two hours. The kind that made you hyperaware of every bone in your body. I shifted slighly, then stopped－movement only made it worse.

The hospital smelled like disinfectant, metal, and something faintly burnt, as if even the air had given up on trying to be clean.
I refreshed my notifications again. Still nothing from Principal Dane. My fingers tighten around my phone.
He wasn’t the type to disappear without a word, especially not when one of his problem child was bleeding behind an emergency room door. My leg bounced uncontrollably as my mind spiraled. What the hell was happening back at school?
Before I could overthink it further, the emergency room doors swung open. I stood up so fast the chair screeched loudly against the floor. I didn’t care. 
“How is he?”

The doctor looked tired. His white coat was cheap, wrinkled, and stained in places I didn’t want to think about.
He pulled his mask down and gave me a small smile. “He’s lucky,” he said. “Very lucky. The wound on his side was dangerously close to vital organs. A few centimeters and we’d be having a different conversation.” 
My chest loosened.

“But,” he added, “he pulled through. You can see him now.”
He gestured toward the door. Before I could step forward, a nurse burst down the hallway pushing a stretcher at full speed.
A man thrashed on it, screaming－raw, animal screams－blood soaking through the sheets, his arm was gone. Completely gone.
The doctor swore under his breath and ran after them. Silence returned like nothing happened. I stared at the floor for a second longer than necessary. Hollowbridge never changed.

This was brutal in the quietest ways. As I turned toward Kael’s room, something hit my nose out of nowhere. The smell. Grease. Salt. Something sweet underneath. 
I turned towards the hospital entrance and spotted a street vendor across the road, a dented cart steaming in the afternoon heat. Hot dogs－the cheap kind－split buns, sizzling sausages, onion caramelizing until they were almost burnt. I checked my pocket. Ten dollars. The hot dog cost four. I didn’t think twice.

The street outside the hospital was alive in its own chaotic way. A man argued with a stray dog like it owed him money. Two teenagers tried to sell bootleg phone chargers to a woman who clearly knew they were fake and was buying them anyway. I bought one hot dog and jogged back inside.
Back inside, Kael’s room door was slightly open. I pushed it wider. He was sitting halfway upright in the hospital bed, wrestling with the stiff adjustment lever like it had slapped his soul and called it ugly.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he muttered, yanking the controls. “I know you move. I felt you move.”
The bed beeped aggressively in response. He yanked it again, winced and froze. Only then did he seem to remember he was injured.
“Traitor,” he hissed.
A thick bandage covered his left eye, wrapped tight enough to pull slightly at the skin around it. Another was wound across his forehead, clean but already faintly pink at the edges.
His torso was bound in layers of gauze, disappearing beneath the open hospital gown. 
An IV line ran into his wrist, clear tubing taped down with practiced precision. Beside the bed, a small blood bag hung from the stand, swaying slightly every time he shifted. 
He still hadn’t noticed me. I cleared my throat. He sniffed. Once. Twice. Then his head turned slowly, his good eye locking onto the wax paper in my hand.
I didn’t look away. “You’re drooling.”