After the disaster with with the boys, I was back in the hospital.
The room smelled like bleach and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, never quite turning off even when I closed my eyes. My chart had grown thicker—more notes about blood counts dropping, another transfusion, a new line for pain meds that made everything feel distant and fuzzy.
The girls had visited every day, bringing magazines, playlists, even a tiny potted succulent they swore would "brighten the vibe." But the vibe was gone. I'd stopped pretending I could leave soon. The doctors had quietly adjusted their language: "comfort measures," "quality time," "whatever you need."
Three days has passed.
I'd spent the last three days mostly sleeping, staring at the ceiling, or crying into the thin pillow when no one was around.
The memory of Liam's trembling hands, his soft apology, his panicked eyes—it replayed on loop. Not desire. Just pity. Obligation. Fear. And every time I thought about it, the hollow place in my chest grew bigger, colder.
My body felt like a borrowed thing now, something that didn't belong to me anymore.
On the third afternoon, the door swung open with more force than usual.
Camila marched in first, black dress slung over her arm like a battle flag. Isabella, Ayla, and Aveline followed close behind, faces set in that same determined mix of love and desperation.
"We're getting you out of here," Camila said, no room for argument. "Right now. A few hours. Somewhere alive. No more staring at these walls."
I stared at her from the bed, IV line taped to the back of my hand. "I can barely sit up without the room spinning."
"You'll sit most of the time," Isabella said quickly, already lowering the bed rail. "We talked to the nurse. Short outings are okay if you're stable and we keep an eye on you. We've got your meds, your emergency kit, everything. We'll be right there."
Ayla crouched beside the bed, voice softer. "You've been in this room for days, Blossom. It's killing you. And watching it kill you is killing us. Let us take you somewhere with music and people. Just to feel normal for a little while. Please."
I looked at the window—curtains half-drawn, showing a sliver of gray sky. Then at the girls.
Their eyes were red-rimmed, hopeful, terrified. They weren't giving up on me. Even when I'd given up on myself.
I didn't have the strength to say no.
They helped me change—slowly, carefully—into the black dress: loose, soft, nothing tight around my chest.
They brushed my hair, dabbed concealer under my eyes, pinned it back with a clip so it wouldn't fall in my face if I got dizzy.
Aveline tucked my pill organizer and a small emergency kit into a crossbody bag.
Camila wheeled the IV stand out of the way so the nurse could disconnect the main line for the evening (with strict instructions to return by midnight). The nurse gave me a small, knowing smile. "Have fun. But listen to your body."
The club was louder than I remembered the world being.
Bass thumped through the walls before we even reached the door.
Neon bled pink and purple onto the wet sidewalk. A line curled around the block, but Aveline knew someone at the door; we slipped inside without waiting.
The air hit me like a wall—thick with sweat, perfume, spilled drinks, artificial fog.
Bodies pressed and pulsed on the dance floor.
Lights flashed in sharp, stabbing bursts that made my head throb.
Every few seconds someone bumped me—elbows, hips, careless hands—and each contact sent a jolt through my fragile nerves.
I clung to Camila's arm as they guided me toward a corner booth near the bar, far enough from the main speakers that the music was a dull roar instead of a hammer.
We slid in. A server brought water immediately (they'd texted ahead), plus colorful cocktails for the girls.
I sipped slowly, feeling the familiar tightness in my chest start to build.
That was when the three guys appeared.
They didn't ask. They just slid into the booth across from us like they owned the space—three of them, mid-20s, dressed in tight shirts and chains, drinks already in hand, grins wide and hungry.
One had a buzzcut and tattoos crawling up his neck; another wore a gold chain that caught the neon every time he moved; the third had that slicked-back hair and a smirk that never quite left his face.
"Hey ladies," Buzzcut said, leaning forward so his elbows took up half the table. "You look like you're celebrating something. Mind if we join?"
Camila glanced at me, then back at them. "We're just chilling."
Gold Chain ignored that, eyes sliding straight to me. "Especially you, gorgeous. You've got that quiet vibe. I like it. What's your name?"
I stared at my water glass. "Blossom."
"Blossom," he repeated, like he was tasting it.
"Cute. I'm Jace. This is Mike and Tyler. We were just saying how boring the night was until we saw you five."
Mike—the slicked-back one—leaned in, voice low but loud enough over the music. "Straight up, we're not here to waste time. You girls look fun. We're down for whatever tonight. One night, no strings. You in?"
My stomach turned over.
Isabella tried to laugh it off. "We're not really—"
But Camila cut in, voice bright but edged. "Actually… Blossom's been through a lot lately. She's looking to… feel something. Just once. If you're serious about being respectful."
The three of them exchanged looks—quick, knowing, predatory.
Jace's grin widened. "Respectful? Hell yeah. We can be real gentle. Especially for a first-timer." His eyes raked over me again, slow and deliberate, lingering on my chest, my legs, my mouth. "We'll take good care of you, Blossom. Make sure you remember it."
Tyler chuckled. "Yeah. We've got a place nearby. Big bed, privacy. You can call the shots… mostly." He winked, like it was a joke.
Mike added, "No pressure. But come on—look at you. You're hot. Why waste a night sitting here?"
They were all staring now. Not at my face—at my body.
The way Jace's tongue darted over his lower lip. The way Tyler's hand flexed on the table like he was already imagining touching me.
The way Mike's eyes narrowed, calculating, hungry. No questions about me. No interest in who I was, why I was here, what I was afraid of. Just lust. Raw, impatient, filthy lust. Like I was a thing to use up before sunrise.
My skin crawled. My chest squeezed tighter—not the tumor this time, just revulsion so strong it hurt to breathe.
I shook my head, voice barely above a whisper. "No."
Jace laughed. "Come on, don't be shy. We'll make it good."
"No," I said again, louder this time. My hands were shaking under the table. "I said no."
Ayla stood up fast. "You heard her. Leave."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Your loss, sweetheart. Plenty of girls here who actually want to have fun."
They slid out, muttering to each other, already scanning the crowd for the next target.
I pressed my palms to my thighs so hard my nails dug in. Tears burned behind my eyes. "Take me back," I whispered. "Please. Now."
Isabella nodded immediately. "We're going."
They formed a tight circle around me, guiding me through the crush.
Hands brushed me again—accidental, intentional, I couldn't tell—and each one made me flinch. By the time we reached the door, my legs were jelly, my breathing shallow and ragged.
Outside, the cold air slapped my face. I leaned against the brick wall, gulping air, tears sliding hot down my cheeks.
Camila rubbed slow circles on my back. "I'm so sorry. We thought… if we just put you in front of some guys who were interested, maybe one would be right."
"They weren't interested in me," I whispered. "They were interested in fucking something that won't complain. Something temporary. I could see it in their eyes. It made me feel… dirty. Like I was already nothing."
Ayla hugged me from the side. "We won't do that again. I swear."
But I could hear the quiet desperation in her voice—the clock ticking louder every day. The girls still wanted to give me this one thing before the end.
I didn't have the heart to tell them I was starting to believe it was impossible.
Not because no one wanted me.
But because the only touch I could imagine anymore was one that felt clean. Safe. Real.
And after tonight, I was more certain than ever that it didn't exist.