Page 23 of Blood Loss (The Obscura Saga #2)

K Y LO

The world comes back in a whirl of sounds.

They’re nonsensical, especially while cloaked in the darkness behind his eyelids. It’s as if he’s on a rocking ship, seasick and dizzy, despite laying down, with a throbbing headache.

Where am I? Kylo wonders in a panic before he can even will himself to open his eyes.

When he does, it only worsens.

Everything is bright and swirling and loud . The machine beside him starts to beep incessantly—a warning of his spiking heart rate—as he quickly pushes himself upright, eyes darting around the room.

His vision is blurry, almost lagged with his quick movements, making vertigo strike with a vengeance. The metal railing on the hospital bed is cold beneath his grasp, trying to stay upright as he sways.

“No,” Kylo gasps. “No, no, no.” It’s all he can get out as he realizes where he is—a panic attack ensuing with the overstimulation, the memories of what happened rushing back to him.

“Hi, Kylo,” a nurse says as she rushes to his side, setting a hand on his shoulder and urging him to lie back down as someone else grabs his IV line. “Welcome back. Just try to relax, okay? You’re at Flagstaff Medical Center. You overdosed, but you’re okay.”

The IV being touched tugs where it’s attached at his wrist, taped tightly in place. Another sensation to add to the pile. Her words are fuzzy and distorted in his ears, like she’s both miles away and right next to him at the same time. He can barely hold eye contact with her, fighting her careful direction while looking between her, the other nurse, the machines he’s attached to, and the door.

“No…no, I—” I just wanted him to shut up. I just wanted all the feelings to go away. “I didn’t mean to.” His eyes well up and his breaths come too fast as his stomach rolls and the throbbing in his skull grows.

“Okay, Kylo, deep breaths. We’re going to give you something to calm you down, okay? You’ll feel a little rubbery but you’re going to be just fine.”

The nurse monitoring his machines pushes something into his IV and nods in confirmation before slipping from the room.

“Good, just keep breathing. Your family’s here—I’ll go get them, alright?”

She offers him an oxygen mask, which he takes like a teddy bear—gripping onto it with desperate hands and stiff fingers. Pressing it to his face, his breaths are quick and stuttered. Though, the sedative is quick to work its magic, making the dreadful spike of anxiety melt away, leaving behind sorrow and emotional pain in its wake.

He tries his best to focus on breathing, but tears begin to build, slipping down his face and around the plastic mask.

I overdosed. Did I die? I don’t wanna die. D-did my parents find me? Did Lathan?

He remembers snapping at his mate. How he felt like he was losing himself—turning into the vampire that haunts him. He remembers the panic he felt before taking the stardust. The paranoid scribbles clawed onto torn pages.

The fear .

“You’re doing great,” the nurse encourages. She moves to collect a cup of water, bringing it back to Kylo now that his breathing is evening out. She sets it on the small tray table beside his bed, and then two figures loom at the door. She nods at them reassuringly, and Maria barrels into the room.

“Mijo,” she cries, and splays her arms across him, not knowing where to rest herself, but wanting to hold him regardless. She’s a mess, but David—he’s broken. He tries to smile, like the dad he is, but it’s strained, and his blotched, hollowed face is easy to read. He rounds to the other side of his son’s hospital bed and puts a hand in Kylo’s curls, patting his head, biting back the things he clearly wants to say.

The last thread holding Kylo together snaps.

“ Mamá ,” he hiccups, blubbering like a little boy as his mother’s arms wrap around him tightly—as if they’d been apart for years. His lungs shudder as he opens his mouth to speak but only a sob comes out.

Shame, guilt, sorrow, pain, fear.

His face scrunches with the throb in his skull—doubling over with his cries—and he swallows his excess saliva, sniffling. Looking back up at his dad, “I’m sorry,” is all he can manage to push out.

“We know,” David says, and clears his throat, startled by the strain of emotions constricting his voice. He ruffles his son’s hair and nods, mostly to himself.

“Oh, Kylo. Oh, my boy.” Maria cups her son’s cheeks in her cold fingers, forcing his eyes on her. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it. We’ll get you treated. This’ll never happen again.” She hiccups on her words, ending them more in a plea that they’re true, and then shuts herself up by leaning in and kissing Kylo’s forehead.

Kylo quakes against his mother, lungs spasming with the outpour of emotion. He doesn’t want it to happen again. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all, but here he is, in the hospital from his own actions. Unable to control himself. Unable to reconcile with what happened to him—what he did . Unable to stay away from the high that takes the pain away. So it nearly took away a lot more than just pain.

“I’m so tired, Mamá.” It’s taking everything within him to speak, to explain. “I-I was hurt i-in October…really bad. Then th-the Obscura attack, the man I fucking killed , th-then grandpa—”

Too much. It’s all too much.

He shuts his eyes as tight as he can and blows a lungful of air. Any attempt he can to slow down, to calm the crying, to stop the throbbing in his head from the pressure and the vertigo starting to make him nauseous—or maybe that’s the withdrawal already.

“I know, mijo,” she says, brushing his hair back over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know.” She sniffles as her bottom lip quivers, but she tries to smile through the involuntary movement. “You are strong , Kylo. You can do this.”

David nods solemnly, pulling up a chair to sit next to his son. The nurse finishes what she’s adjusting and steps out to give them privacy.

Kylo’s lips pull into a taut line as he stammers in a breath. He doesn’t know if he’s strong. He thought he was, and then he hit rock bottom. But before he kept it all to himself, and this time the secret’s out. No more hiding. No more pretending he’s okay when things couldn’t be farther from it. Now it’s nothing but honesty. And with their reactions—their loving support—it’s already alleviating a brick of guilt off his shoulders. Though, the burden is a brick house , and is only one of many needing to be excavated.

A few beats later he looks up at them both to finally ask about the one person he’s most ashamed to confront. “Is Lathan here?”

David’s jaw flexes. There’s something aggressive in his stare, something Alpha-driven and protective that very rarely ever makes its way to the surface. Maria hesitates, looking over at her husband who’s starting to open his mouth to speak.

“Yes,” she blurts, holding her mate’s eyes for another moment before softening back onto Kylo. “He went to get coffee downstairs. I’ll text him.”

The way his father’s body language shifts causes Kylo to start to shrink in on himself with scared eyes. He nearly thought Lathan left. And he wouldn’t blame him for what he’s put him through, but the ache of his mate leaving him would be too great to bear—especially now.

Kylo just nods at his mother and looks away, wiping the wetness from his face using the short papery sleeve of his hospital gown.

It’s only about five minutes later, of the Garcias being just the Garcias, when a figure lingers in the doorway.

Maria glances at Lathan, then carefully pulls away from Kylo to allow him space. Kylo’s eyes blur again with tears immediately upon seeing him, and his chest pounds as he holds his breath.

He’s here. He didn’t leave me.

Their bond pulses within the space between them. But that only pains him more, because he hasn’t felt it in almost a month—while he’s been using stardust again.

Looking down at his lap, nervous fingers pick at the plastic edges of the oxygen masks.

“I…,” he starts, but his voice gets stuck at the back of his throat. The last time they spoke, Kylo wasn’t himself, and he deeply regrets what he had said .

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Tears fall, darkening his blanket in scattered dots. “Gods, Lathan, I’m so fucking sorry for all of this.” His knees slide up to his chest as the sobs begin to bubble back up for another round. “You’re my mate, and I lied. I-I did this again . I fucking failed you.”

Lathan enters the room, silent on his feet, as Kylo talks. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he places a hand on the sheets covering Kylo’s foot, staring down at it. “I’m not mad”—his voice is small, quiet—“I just want you to be okay.”

Kylo springs forward—the hospital blanket falling from him, his gown wrinkling—and wraps his arms around him. His brain swirls with the movement, making him dizzy, but he clings to his mate nonetheless. Hands balling fists of fabric on Lathan’s back, his head is nestled into his shoulder—his mark—while his body shakes as he tries his best to force the tsunami of tears behind a mental wall.

The abrupt hug takes Lathan aback. It takes him a few seconds before folding a strong arm around Kylo and sighing out a breath. Relaxing into the embrace, his other hand snakes into his favourite chocolate curls, gently holding his mate’s head into his body.

“I wanna go home,” Kylo whimpers into Lathan.

All he wants is to curl up in his mate’s arms and be carried away. Carried somewhere warm and calm and quiet. The hospital is so cold and bright and loud. Unfortunately, he knows that’s not where he’s going. He knows what happened is too big, that he’s likely not leaving the hospital for a few days, but that doesn’t make the desire simmer.

“You will, hon. You will. Once you’re ready.” Maria rubs his knee. “We talked to the doctor. He found a spot for you at a centre…a rehab program.”

Kylo presses further into Lathan and a sob escapes his lips. “Okay.”

I don’t wanna go. I wanna go home. I wanna go to bed— our bed. I want this all to go away.

He swallows and takes a shaky deep breath in and out, heating the wet fibres of Lathan’s shirt. “Where is it?”

“Uhm”—Maria contemplates, pausing as if expecting approval before citing the details—“it’s about two hours from here. Not too far. We can come see you on weekends!”

“What?” Kylo lifts and looks over to his mom with stinging eyes, hands resting on Lathan’s sides. “Weekend s ? How long am I going to be there?”

She stops rubbing his knee, but doesn’t move her hand, looking at him sympathetically. “It’s a program, mijo. It’s thirty days or longer, if you need it.”

“A month?!” He pulls away from her touch, leaning closer to Lathan. The panic begins seeping back to him, making him fidget and his heart race—indicated by his monitor. “No, no, no. School starts in a few weeks. That’s too long.” Mindless fingers pick at the sticky leads attached to him.

“Honey,” Maria says, thin brows dipping with worry, “school isn’t as important as your health.”

“I think it’d be a good idea for you to take a break, anyway,” David says, his voice hoarse, and Lathan seems to shift because of it.

“No, I-I wanna go home. I can’t miss any more school, a-and the apartment. We’re moving into our first apartment.” Kylo continues to ramble, yanking off a node as he turns on the bed with the intention of hopping off.

“Ky.”

Lathan’s voice is stern, and somehow soft, too. He stops Kylo from getting up with a firm hand on his stomach—a comforting barrier. His dark eyes are serious, pleading, and something Kylo can’t read, something that’s never been caged within them before.

“I need you to be okay.”

A few more streaks of salty brine flow over his cheeks. “I’m scared,” he utters to him. Scared of himself. Scared of rehab. Scared of missing school. Scared of the horrors that come with withdrawal.

But mostly scared of being alone—without Lathan.

A careful thumb wipes away his tears before Lathan leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I know. But home isn’t going anywhere. It’ll be here, waiting for you. School will be here. I’ll be here.”

Kylo doesn’t say another word, bathing in the intimacy they haven’t shared in gods only know how long.

He gives Lathan a kiss—a short and delicate thank you—and places his head back on his shoulder, soaking up his warmth, his touch, for as long as he can. The rollercoaster of emotions have taken a massive toll on him, especially after the medicinal havoc wrecked on his body.

Like he said to his mother, he’s tired.

So unbelievably tired.