The first thing I registered was pain. It wasn’t a sharp stab or a sudden jolt—it was heavy, aching, like my whole body had been crushed under the weight of something I couldn’t name. My arms screamed, my back felt like it had been raked over fire, and breathing felt… difficult. But I was breathing. I was alive.
And then I opened my eyes. The hospital room was dim, lit only by a soft light above my head and the faint glow of machines beeping steadily beside me. Sterile. Cold. But quiet. Peaceful, even. For a moment, I just blinked up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had happened—until I turned my head.
He was there.
Cody. Lying motionless in the bed across from mine, pale and bandaged, bruises coloring his chest and arms like some twisted form of war paint. Dried blood stained the edges of his bandages, and there was an IV line in his arm. Machines beeped quietly around him, tracking his vitals. His face, usually so full of fire or focus or stubbornness, was still.
My heart clenched.
Did I reach him?
I couldn’t remember the end. I remembered pain, his eyes clouded with fury, my voice calling out to him again and again—until everything went black. I had to know. I had to see for myself. I had to be sure. Ignoring every screaming nerve in my body, I forced myself upright. My muscles spasmed, and I let out a soft gasp as my arms gave way, trembling under the effort. A sharp cry slipped through my teeth as fire lit up across my ribs and shoulders.
“Whoa, whoa, hey—Miss! Please, don’t move—”
The voice came fast and panicked. A nurse rushed into the room, her shoes squeaking against the tile floor. She hovered over me, trying to gently push me back onto the bed. “You just came out of a very serious match. You have to stay still, let your body—”
“I need to see him,” I croaked, my voice raw, throat dry as sandpaper. I pointed weakly to Cody. “Please. I need to know.”
She hesitated, torn between her training and the look I must’ve had in my eyes—desperate, stubborn, and not about to give up. She sighed. “…You’re just as bad as him,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “Fine. But you’re not walking. Wheelchair.”
I nodded. “Deal.”
It took her a few moments to maneuver me into a wheelchair, careful not to aggravate the worse injuries across my back and legs. I bit down on a groan as she gently helped lower me into the seat, my whole body shaking from the effort. Every movement felt like a hundred tiny knives digging in, but I didn’t care. She wheeled me across the room slowly, careful not to jostle me. As we reached his side, I looked up at her, voice trembling. “Is he… is he going to be okay?”
She knelt beside me, her eyes kind. “He’s stable. Vitals are strong, and he’s responsive to stimuli even though he hasn’t woken up yet. He just… he pushed himself too far. Same as you. It'll be a long recovery—for both of you.”
I nodded slowly, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you,” I whispered, my throat tightening.
She smiled gently. “Call if you need anything,” she said before slipping quietly from the room. I turned back to Cody. He looked so… different lying there. Not the American Nightmare. Not the fighter. Just the man. My friend. The person I knew before all this rage, all this pain, took hold of him. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I gently placed my hand over his. He didn’t stir. But his skin was warm. Alive.
I leaned forward, laying my head gently on the side of his bed, right next to his arm. The mattress smelled like antiseptic and faint traces of blood, but I didn’t care. I was here. We were here. Together. “I hope you heard me,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering closed, my body finally letting go. “I hope I pulled you back.”
The pain didn’t matter. The soreness, the bruises, the glass still embedded in parts of me… none of it mattered now. What mattered was him. What mattered was that I had tried. And with that thought—fading and warm—I let sleep take me again, curled beside the man I had fought to save.
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