Page 100 of Beautifully Broken
“Nova, this is Cali’s mom. She is at the hospital, and she lists you as her emergency contact and the person who can decide. She cut her wrists in her bathroom, and they need authorization to keep her in the psychiatric unit forevaluation. They won’t listen to me because she has documents that allow only you. I need you to come right away.”
“Oh my god, I’m in Jamaica, but I will be there in a few hours. I need to figure out a flight and all.” I look over at Van with tears rolling down my cheeks. He has his pants on and is moving to gather our suitcases.
We pack and arrange for a private flight to Cali with Jax getting his father’s jet to come get us. I am in leggings and Van’s button down. My hair is just in a messy bun and my face is red and splotchy from crying.
“Van, I am so sorry our night and trip was cut short.” I tell him as we land.
“No, it was the best night, even with the interruption. We can get back to it once we take care of Cali. Your love for her and me has always been one of the most beautiful things about you.” He caresses my face and leans down to kiss me gently.
Chapter 8
We make it to the hospital and the fluorescent lights buzz faintly above me, casting a harsh glow that makes the hospital waiting room feel even more impersonal. The smell of antiseptic clings to everything, my clothes, my hair, the back of my throat. I sit with my hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying to keep them from shaking.
A middle-aged doctor in navy scrubs finally steps into the room, clipboard in hand and an unreadable expression on his face. He glances at the paper, then at me.
“You’re Nova?”
I nod quickly and stand up, heart racing. “Yeah. That’s me. I’m here for Calliope. Her mom said you need me to make medical decisions.”
His tone is calm but clinical. Detached. “She’s stable. We stopped the bleeding, cleaned and stitched the wounds. Physically, she’ll recover.”
“Physically,” I echo quietly. “What else?”
He hesitates, and I hate how practiced it is, like he’s done this speech a thousand times and already knows what I’m going to ask. “Given the nature of her injuries, we want to place her under a 72-hour psychiatric evaluation. We need to determine if she’s a danger to herself or if inpatient care is needed longer term.”
I sink slowly back into the chair, nodding because it sounds reasonable, even though none of this feels real. “She told me things were bad. I tried to get her to talk. She kept brushing it off. I hoped she would seek help but I worried she would keep pretending everything was fine.”
“She’s been holding onto a lot of trauma,” he says gently. “And right now, she’s exhausted. Emotionally shut down. She didn’t want to say much when we spoke, but she said your name. She said you’re the only one she trusts.”
That nearly undoes me. My throat tightens, but I breathe through it. “Can I see her?”
The doctor sighs. “We’re limiting visits while she’s under evaluation, but I can let you talk to her for a few minutes. She’s sedated, but still conscious. It might help.”
“Please,” I whisper, standing again. “I don’t want her to think she’s going through this alone.”
He gives a small nod and gestures for me to follow. As we walk, I feel like I’m in a dream I can’t wake up from. The sterile walls, the quiet footsteps, the doors with locked keypads, it’s all so cold. So far from who she is. Who we are.
And all I can think is:She needed help for so long, and no one saw it but me. And now it might be too late to fix any of it.But I won’t give up on her. Not now. Not ever.
***
The room is sterile, plain, with bare walls, no sharp corners, a single bed, and a chair tucked into the corner. The light is dim, soft, and nothing like the harsh fluorescent buzz outside. Cali is lying on the bed, pale under a thin blanket, her arms outside of it, gauze wrapped neatly around her forearms. Her eyes are half-lidded, heavy from whatever sedative they gave her, but when she sees me, something flickers.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping closer, unsure of how much I’m allowed to touch or say in this strange, quiet space. “You look like you lost a bar fight with your own brain.”
Her lips twitch, almost a smile. “Still got a better hit rate than you ever did in soccer.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and sit in the chair beside her. I rest my head in my trembling hands. “You scared the hell out of me, Cali.”
“I didn’t mean for you to find out,” she whispers, voice gravelly, eyes drifting toward the window. “I’m just tired. Really tired. I finally decided to get out of it.”
I reach out, brushing her fingers gently. She doesn’t pull away. “You don’t have to explain it all right now. I just want you to know I’m here. You’re not alone. I mean it. We will get through this together, I will help you get out.”
Her jaw clenches, and for a second, she looks like she’s about to break. “They’re keeping me. For three days. Maybe longer.”
“I know,” I say gently. “They just want to make sure you’re safe. So do I.”
“I don’t want to be here, Jason will be mad if this gets out” she whispers, and it guts me.
