You had a bad feeling the moment you got the text. Just three words: “Need you. Now.” But the location… her apartment… it felt wrong. Something in your chest twisted, a gut instinct screaming that this wasn’t just another one of her reckless nights.

When you burst through the door, the scene hit you like a punch. Effy lay on the floor, pale and unmoving, a half-empty bottle rolling away from her hand. Your heart slammed in your chest.

“Effy! Effy, stay with me!” you shouted, shaking her gently, panic clawing at your throat. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, glassy and unfocused, and you caught her hand, gripping it tightly.

“I… I…” she whispered, voice barely audible. Then nothing.

You called for help, your voice trembling, keeping her awake and talking as best you could. You held her head in your lap, brushing hair from her face, murmuring everything you could think of—memories, inside jokes, even the quiet little truths she didn’t know you’d noticed. Anything to keep her tethered to the world.

Hours passed in a blur of sirens and bright lights and strangers’ hands doing what you couldn’t. Finally, paramedics stabilized her, and you followed them, never letting go, never letting your panic show.

When she finally woke in the hospital, fragile and scared, her eyes found yours immediately. No words—just a silent understanding, the unspoken weight of what had happened.

“I… scared me,” she finally said, voice small and shaky.