— S T O R I E S

How hard can you fight? “You’re sick, Ms. Blake, but we’re doing everything for you we can.” The conversation seemed to come daily, each second passing into the next hour of being stuck in the hospital walls. Stir crazy was one thing, but the mere wish for fresh air was a whole other. Friends had visited, family trips had been cancelled, her father had sat at her bedside for more hours than ever before. Making up for lost time, she supposed. And she appreciated it, all of it, the visits, the flowers, the way the hospital were going out of their way to make her more comfortable. Yet it was still exhausting, knowing she wasn’t getting better. One step forwards just resulted in another ten backwards. Infection after infection, her body attempting to shut down organs that’d been internally damaged from smoke inhalation. Yet, somehow she managed to fight. To push a smile upon her face with each passing visitor. To play down her injuries, give me a couple of weeks, I’ll be running around again. Honestly, she didn’t even believe it anymore, but it broke her heart to see the looks on their faces when she told them she was really sick. 

But in the end, i’m going to be fine wasn’t enough. Fluid on the lung, they’d call it when they called her parents to tell them they needed to urgently get to the hospital. Aftermath damage from the fire at the masquerade. The terms had been technical but when she couldn’t breathe anymore she knew something was really wrong. It hurt, it more ways than it had before, her body feeling like it was shutting down and this time it felt different, her vision blurred, her body felt an agonising shake of pain. Her heart thud against her chest, as though attempting to burst out. But then, then it stopped. Stopped dead, and suddenly it didn’t hurt anymore. Cardiac arrest: It’d happened before, the night she’d been brought in. Though, this time she didn’t respond to the treatment, her lifeless body falling flat down against the bed with every chest compression going by, her body wasn’t even pleading for air this time, it wasn’t trying to wake up, instead it’d given in. Fully and completely. And it didn’t hurt anymore, her thoughts passing silently through everything she’d accomplished in life, how peaceful her body finally felt. Weeks of fighting were never going to be enough. 

Time of death... 17:53. 

ZOE: Fuck! This is such bullshit... [She hasn't really figured out to control her emotions after everything that happened, and she has to admit nothing makes sense at the moment. Why did this have to happen to Ivy of all people?]

ZOE: [She lets out a deep breath, trying to calm herself down] I'm sorry...

ZOE: I wish there was something more clever to say, but I don't know what that would be, I'm just really fucking sorry you have to go through this, Ivy. [She sighs and stays quiet for a beat]

ZOE: I can't wait till you're back home.

IVY: [She smiles weakly, even though Zoe cant see it, her breathe exhaling her lungs as slowly as possible. As though anything harder would cause them to give up working completely.]

ZOE: [She doesn't say anything for a long time, but simply listens to her own breathing and then Ivy's.] Fuck.

ZOE: What... the fuck?

ZOE: You're gonna promise you'll be okay, okay?! Because we have a lot of drinking to do in this life — together, alright?!

IVY: [She regrets her answer, the silences, people didn't know what to say. Cardiac arrest, twice — at twenty seven, an otherwise healthy adult.] I'm fine— [she murmurs quietly, because even she wasn't sure how she was really doing, doctors had such technical terms for things].

When he stopped by to see it was Ivy, he stopped dead halt. Turning the chair and coming in her room. He opened the door to see her on the bed. “Ivy, hi it’s Chase.. Chase Matthews?” He figured he could wheel closer to the bed to check and see how she was doing. “You doing okay?” That was always a dumb question when someone was in a hospital. 

ZOE: [She listens, nodding to herself] That's a good pop right there.

ZOE: I'm fine. [She pauses for a beat, inhaling] Are you really good though? They said you were hurt pretty bad...

Ivy: Yeah. [She agrees, exhaling as softly as she can muster, the burns on her lungs offering her nothing but pain].

            Today was a brighter day, feeling a bit of a pep in her step. Feeling this way was something unexpected, knowing she couldn’t complain about this. Liliana had wanted to go out of her way and visit Ivy in the hospital. The female didn’t get a chance to see her at the Masquerade Ball, figuring this would make up from their last encounter long before today. It would only feel right to bring a warming gift, not knowing everything she had been through because half of the hospital terminology was straight confusion to her. All she demanded what a room number and double checking if she was allowing to have guest. Nothing more before hearing their final words and hanging up. 

            Slowly wandering around the uncomfortable hospital walls, Liliana  had known she was getting closer toward Ivy’s room. Pausing, she took a breath in before knocking, proceeding in. “Hi there, stranger,” said Liliana, with a force smile. “I brought you some flowers, chocolates and a teddy bear. I couldn’t decide on what to get so I figured.. you’d like them all.” Finishing off her thought, Liliana had set down the roses near before lightly dragging a chair closer towards Ivy. Setting down the chocolate and bear off toward the side of the bed. “How are you?”

Bored. Ivy was bored, though the bedridden and constant pain sensation kept her exhausted, like there was absolutely nothing else to do but sleep away the days — and honestly, the pain killers were somewhat helping her do just that. Sleep. 

It’d been difficult, knowing a whole two weeks had passed. Two weeks, her friends needed her, her students needed her, what with colleges relying on exams, and graduation just around the corner (something she was determined to be on her feet for). She’d had students visit, tell her they missed her and although it should have filled her heart, it just made her sad. Like she’d let them down. 

Having just begin his walk home when it happened, Caiden was lucky enough not to get injured in the fire. He’d hurried back when he saw the flames and helped people where he could. Needless to say, he went into work late the next day. The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of things. He didn’t even know the few who passed away, but he had attended their services along with the other people who had helped out with injuries.

He had been visiting Jenny in his spare time, though he had to lie to the staff and tell him he was her brother so they would let him in since he isn’t family, and he decided today to also visit Ivy, who he heard was doing a bit better. He got her room number and made his way down to her room, knocking on the door lightly. Peeking in, he smiled lightly and waved to her. “Hey, Ives. How are you feeling?” He asked, knowing it was probably a stupid question and the answer was ‘shit.’

Pain. Ivy had promised herself that if she’d gotten out of the fire alive she’d never take pain for granted again because nothing could add up to the burning in her lungs, the trapping sensation that took over every fibre of her being, and the pure smell of burning. At least, thats what she thought. And then recovery was around the corner. 

And it was hard. 

Much harder than she’d imagined it would be. She couldn’t leave the bed, the pot on her lower leg making any movement difficult, along with all of the other injuries she’d managed to get. Besides, she figured that doing anything that required any real effort would just cause her lungs to really give up. And well, that wasn’t an ideal situation to be in.

It was quiet, the ward, her room. Her bed, the light beeping of machinery scattered around her bed had become the normal, her mind managing to faze it out, ignore it. All she heard was silence, day in, day out. She couldn’t even be bothered to read — she couldn’t be bothered for anything. Her mind playing the night again, over and over. 

So a visitor would be a welcomed distraction. 

ZOE: Hey. You finally have a phone again... How're you feeling?

The heroes, because that’s what their mother had said on the phone when she was finally able to get a hold of her child, shared a shattered leg, damage to lungs, and a broken rib or five. God knows whatever else they shared- Temple still felt like there was glass in their skin. They found comfort in not being alone when the lights went off and the thoughts got dark and all Temple could smell was fire and burning in their nose. All they could see was the one beside them who didn’t make it out alive. Those moments Temple wanted nothing more than to reach out ad to be able to touch Ivy, to make sure they were real, but their beds were too far apart so Temple had to take comfort in just seeing her.

In that moment though, they were being wheeled in, dinner trays coming in behind them. “They gave you pudding, and me jello. Wanna trade?” Temple asks instead of a greeting. The nurse drops off the trays, helps a stubborn Temple back in to bed, and leaves after a moment. 

“Actually, wanna help me get the hell out of here? I miss my bed, even though this nifty thing is neat, and my mom is threatening on getting my Aunt and Uncle up here to take care of me,” Temple says, already messing with the hospital bed, making her head go up and down as they spoke. “My aunts from the Philippines.. she wouldn’t leave me alone if she did.”

Getting a room with none other than Temple seemed to make the whole idea of recovery seem ever so slightly simpler, if only for a few minutes. Being stuck (and she held onto the term lightly — not seeing Temple as a burden to be a room mate) with somebody who understood fully what was happening. 

Lifting her dinner tray up a little, Ivys stomach grumbles. Of course, hunger filled her bones, tiredness fighting against every inch of her body whilst her need for food was increasingly low. An appetite that was nothing. The mere idea of eating anything made her chest ache, her body fight in a way she’d never known before. All she did know was that it didn’t taste like anything other than charcoal and that every mouthful would hurt more than the last on the way down. “Have whatever you want.” The blonde replies, tiredly. The familiar throbbing in her head returning. 

ZOE:[holds her breath and waits 'somewhat' patiently for Ivy to pick up.]

Ivy: [Almost lets it get to the last ring before answering, her voice quiet, sore.]

Two weeks.

Two weeks of staring at a celling, of having various tests, of having burns treated, stitches put in and removed, surgery to straighten out a shattered leg. Broken ribs, broken arm, broken something she couldn’t even pronounce, fucked lungs (or, as the doctor had said, internally burnt and full of soot). Memory loss, anxiety attacks, hot sweats, a heart working in overtime whilst threatening to go into cardiac arrest (which, it had, on the night she’d been brought in, twice.) waking up in the middle of the night gasping for air only to feel like your lungs aren’t working properly causing you to suffocate until somebody passes you air in the form of a breathing mask.

It was safe to say Ivy was still very much in the wars. Still very much stuck in hospital for the foreseeable future. And that in itself was enough to induce panic attacks. Her father wanted her moving elsewhere, send her to the best hospital in New York, and although part of her knew that made more sense, Lanford was her home, she had visitors, friends, other victims within the hospital walls. She found comfort in Lanford. 

She was alive, and thats what she needed to remind herself of on each and every day. With every second passing. And her day could only be brightened by the door opening, signifying either a doctor or a visitor. 

“I plan to give those nurses hell. I hope they’re cute,” she muses, passing the bottle over to Ivy. “Always dug someone in scrubs, never had a chance to be there.” She hurts all over, wants it to stop by she doesn’t want to die. Not today, not like this.  Time passes, she’s not sure how much, but it does. She talk about little things. Tells Ivy about her mom, about hockey, she never really met Ivy before this time when they ran in to the fire together. “I hope whoever finds us is hot,” she says with a laugh, “Even though we’re hot enough for them all right now.”

Ivy continues to breathe slowly, attempting to stop the fire fumes from entering her lungs to often, her sentences slowly making less sense as the minutes go by, yet, somehow, she still managed to make sense of things. Temple was a huge help, the motivation she mustered from the voice of the other, the lack of panic. The fact the we could die was mainly unspoken of. 

But Ivy makes her laugh a choking laugh, and grabs the bottle, thumb clearing the label of ash, not that it really would have mattered what brand or type it was, because Temple uses what strength she seems to currently have in her hands to pop it open to unceremoniously take a deep drink. It burns, but in a way her body seems to be used to. She lets it sink in to her bones, and basses it over, “Just don’t ask me to dance, thinkin’ we can’t do that.”

It seemed unspoken, but deep down she figured Temple was probably thinking the same thing she was — how long could they really keep fighting trapped inside a smoke filled tent. No air coming in, the screams were quietening down though, and she wasn’t sure if she’d just started zoning them out, or that everyone else had no energy to scream, just like she didn’t. Exhaling again, she finally reached up to touch her head, the dampness covering her fingers. Blood, of course it was blood. Removing her hand and wiping it against her already ruined dress, the blonde attempted to dampen her lower lip, though, her mouth was as dry as the desert. Comfort wasn’t going to be a thing, not whilst laid there, anyway.