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“Ma’am, can you hear me?” There’s a light being shone in my eyes, and I squint against it, murmuring to the person standing above me.
“I’m fine.”
“Do you remember what happened?” he asks. “Ma’am, did you take anything?”
Take anything? Who is this? It feels like I’ve been out for hours. My head is throbbing so badly that I can hear it hammering in my ears.
“Blood sugar,” I mumble, but my words are slurred, and moving my lips feels impossible.
“Blood sugar?” the man asks. “Are you diabetic?”
I shake my head, which makes it pound more. This is the worst I’ve ever felt after one of my fainting episodes. I must have hit my head pretty hard.
“I have…low…blood sugar,” I stammer. I’m so weak I can barely finish a sentence. My voice feels heavy.Everythingfeels heavy.
My eyes find Ronan standing behind the man in blue.I’m sorry, I try to say with just the expression on my face, but the way his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow, I can tell he’s mad.
I must have really scared him. Just thinking about him finding me like this makes my throat sting and my eyes water.
The paramedic rattles off some more questions while I lie there and hate myself. That pathetic feeling from earlier only intensifies, adding both shame and embarrassment to it. I’m so bad at taking care of myself; I can barely keep myself alive. Eating is the most basic of human needs, and I can’t even handle that.
“She needs to go to the hospital,” Ronan says angrily.
“No,” I force out from the floor, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Daisy.”
“I just need to…”
“Daisy.” His voice is stern, and he speaks my name with a bite to it. When I look up at him, I feel the tears brimming, and with one blink, they slide down the sides of my face and onto the floor.
Feeling defeated, I just nod.
A moment later, my limp body is being hoisted on a stretcher, and I have to drape my arm over my eyes to hide the fact that I can’t keep the tears in anymore.
I knew the dream ended in Paris. I just didn’t realize it would end this abruptly.
* * *
There are no billionaire connections or VIP treatment at the hospital. I’m wheeled into the overcrowded ER, shoved into a tiny curtained area, and situated with an IV that must be pumping glucose into my veins because, within minutes, I’m feeling human again.
The entire time, Ronan hovers, but he won’t speak to me.
I want to send him home, but part of me is terrified that if I let him out of my sight, then I’ll be living in my van again. No more weekends in Paris. No more poetry. No morehim.
I’m too young. Too irresponsible. Too sick and sad and broken for a man like him.
“Daisy,” he whispers, when he notices me silently crying on the hospital bed.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, without letting him finish.
“Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was? I found you on the floor. You looked—” His words stop as he turns away, and all I can see is the click of his jaw as he clenches his molars.
“I said I was sorry,” I reply with a quiver in my voice.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I want to take care of you, Daisy. But I need you to take care of yourself too. I need to know you can.”
“I’m not a child, Ronan,” I reply with force. “It was a mistake. It happens all the time.”
