Backstory WHO: Leila Blake and Andrea Fletcher WHEN: December 28, 2018 around 11:30 PM WHERE: Emergency Room, NYC SUMMARY: "Now that I'm without your kisses, I'll be needing stitches…" (AKA: Leila gets hurt and runs into Andrea for the nth time at the ER) WARNINGS: injury, implication of reckless behavior, possible suspicion of previous self-harm, drinking
When she'd been younger and dreaming about moving out on her own, Leila had always thought it would be fun to find that special place where she belonged. A place where she'd walk through the doors with her arm looped around Jude's waist and his hand slipped into the back pocket of her jeans, and Jeremiah and Wesley would follow close behind. In this fantasy, everyone smiled at her and nodded, called out her name and waved, because she was a regular, and they were her people.
"Blake."
It was a very Friends-esque fantasy. The kind of fantasy that required all friends to be present. The same way a reboot or a reunion couldn't work without Joey or Ross. But half of her friends were gone, so the fantasy was off the table.
"Blake!" A hand waved in front of her face. Leila struggled to focus her eyes on the face in front of her. It was too close. Or maybe it was too far away. She was having trouble determining the difference.
"I know you." There was a dreamy quality to Leila's voice as she spoke. "You know me too." The nurse's face was familiar. She smiled and nodded, or Leila thought she smiled, but the sound that came from that smile sounded more like a snort.
"Yeah, I know you. You're becoming one of our Saturday Night Specials."
Leila wasn't sure what that meant. It wasn't Saturday night, was it? Had she skipped a whole day?
Hands grabbed her arms and lifted her from where she was sitting, only to guide her into another chair. And then they were moving. It reminded her of the kiddie rides at Disney World: slow and steady, not too much excitement, but still able to make her nauseous.
"Put her in 8. I'll let the doctor know."
A door swung open in front of her and revealed a small room that looked a lot like the other small rooms she'd seen here before. Same decorator, probably. Overhead light. Bed with rails. Privacy curtain. No imagination.
The hands lifted her again, this time helping her turn and sit down on the bed, before guiding her onto her back to lie down. The position felt better, but the lights above were too bright. They hurt her entire head. If she just closed her eyes….