Section One
We held our breath, side by side, our issues forgotten as we watched Jacob for some sort of clue that Mia was alright.
Naturally, he gave nothing away.
"I'm assuming if the girl was dead it would be all over the place," Natasha murmured with a shrug.
For someone that walked around like they knew everything, Natasha clearly didn't know squat about being human.
She mouthed a ‘what?’ to Missy and rolled her marble blue eyes at me as I let out a scoff of disgust and turned back to Jacob. I didn’t have the time or patience to get into it with her again. Not when it was getting harder and harder to breathe, waiting for information about Mia.
Overdose.
That word brought back a chilling memory. Freshman year--everyone buzzing with their first taste of adulthood. Life without parents. The dizzying power of responsibility. Staying up as late as you want. No one forcing homework and sports down your throat. No wonder so many people packed on the Freshman 15 or in my case, 30, when you could have pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Still, I’d be lying if I said sometimes I didn’t wake up and forget. Ache for home. Expect to hear the low drone of Mom watching some terrible soap opera or the mechanical buzz of Dad at work in the shed. But my first college roommate was ten times worse. She'd cry herself to sleep, always on the phone with her parents, texting the boyfriend that she left back home.
I tried to involve her in things, inviting her to the cafeteria, offering to walk with her to class, but she turned me down. I knew she had to be lonely. She was miserable when she couldn't reach them and only smiled when she spoke to them.
And then something changed.
She started opening up to me. Telling me about her past and what she wanted for her future. She even started coming down to the dining hall instead of eating in the room alone.
All her progress halted when her boyfriend broke up with her. She stopped going to class altogether. She stopped using words, communicating through grunts and eye rolls. She didn’t even leave her bed, curled up in her comforter like the world outside was just too painful.
It was horrible of me, but I kind of thought she was just being ridiculous. That she needed to grow up instead of dealing with a rough breakup in the worst possible way. I had no idea there was something much darker going on.
About a week later, I came back from my morning classes and realized she hadn’t moved in hours. Usually she'd shift to a different side of the bed or her body would curl in a different version of the fetal position. When I saw that all of the pill bottles in the bathroom were empty, I freaked out.
I could still remember dashing to my desk to call 911. The way the girls lined the halls, whispering as the medics wheeled my roommate out on a stretcher, trying to resuscitate her. Apparently if I hadn’t called when I did, she would have died.
She moved back home and I never heard from her again.
Did I miss something this time too? So caught up in being vindicated that Missy’s approach was too brutal that I missed how far gone Mia really was? Should I have gone after her instead of trying to figure out a way to convince Jacob that I deserved to be heard on her case? Because now there was only silence, a deafening, hollow quiet--and a worry that I could have done more.
That I could have saved her.
Jacob lowered his phone, his face unreadable as he ran a hand through his dark locks, waves swishing back in place. We were all antsy, waiting with bated breath. When his eyes settled on me, the knots that ground in my belly slackened.
“She’s still alive,” I said softly, relief crashing into me.
Missy moved forward, her dark ponytail slashing the air. She needed to hear it for herself. "Mia Kent's alive?"
"Yes," Jacob confirmed with a crisp nod. "She's at Mercy General. They pumped her stomach and she's under suicide watch."
"We have to--" I looked to my left and saw Missy and I had both taken a step forward. We both had spoken the same words and had the same urgency in our voices.
I was pretty sure I'd lost a good chunk of respect for Missy after she tore down a girl that was a walking cry for help during and after the meeting, but the remorse that blanched her features pooled together the scraps that were left.
I turned back to Jacob. "We should go talk to her. Let her know that she's not alone. And the press..." Locusts were more accurate. Snapshots of Mia's washed out, unconscious face were proof that the friend who called 911 made another call first.
"Of course." Jacob moved to where I stood, forgetting that we weren't the only two people in the room. I relaxed in his arms, breathing in the warmth. The safety. I knew what he was gonna say before he even said it.
"I've already arranged a car. If you want me to accompany you, I'm there."
I pulled back a little, hands against his chest as I looked up into his eyes. I knew he had a million other things to do, that he was going above and beyond. He was willing to draw those flashing lights on us, to sit beside me in the waiting room until we were allowed to see her. All because he loved me.
As much as I could use him by my side, I needed to do this. Missy and I had to make this right.
I brought a hand up, fingertips brushing the striking line of his jaw. “That’s alright. We’ve got this.”
I gave Missy a curt nod and we moved to the door. My eyebrow shot upward when I heard the tap of Natasha’s heels behind us. Five seconds ago she was talking so flippantly about the overdose, shrugging it off no less. Now she cared? Now she had a heart?
My glare nailed her in place and her cheeks reddened before she threw a glare back at me. “Mr. Whitmore was sending me home early anyway.”
“Then go home,” Jacob said sternly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “I’m sure they’re more than able to handle the situation without your assistance.”
She pursed her lips defiantly, but eked out a, "Yes sir" and brushed past us, feathers visibly ruffled. I was expecting some nonverbal show of solidarity from Missy, but she seemed just as relieved to be free of her as I was.
We moved to the elevator and I cleared my throat as I punched the button for the ground floor. I dropped my hands to my side, trying to prepare for whatever excuse she was bound to whip out to explain how she had nothing to do with any of this. How it wasn't her fault that Mia clearly had issues. She was just doing her job, after all--and passing the buck so her hands were clean and washed of any guilt. But Missy didn't say a word.
I looked over at her. Her expression was pure anguish and her skin was several shades paler than normal, eyes glittering with...tears?