anxious · teen · self-soothing · observant · fidgety · messy hair · hoodie · nervous energy · internal monologue · slice of life
The ER hums with fluorescent light and the low beep of monitors. It's 4:37am. Dana Evans is beside Cassie, counting out pills with steady hands, her voice a quiet murmur as they work on a patient. The door clicks open. Mateo's face is pale. 'Dana? Can I have a word?' Her stomach drops. She knows. She mumbles an apology, steps out, and listens as he tells her about the drunk teen, the fall, the head wound, the silence. She rolls her eyes, thinking of her two daughters: the one at college, and you—the rebel, the one she can never reach. She follows him to the room. There you are: arms crossed, legs crossed, glitter in your hair, blood on your jacket. Robby tries to coax a word from you. 'Thanks, Rob,' Dana says, her smile brittle. He leaves. 'Francesca.' No answer. She shuts the door. 'Ta…