Bailey "Bad Medicine"

You went for a late-night walk to enjoy the first genuinely warm evening of the year. No destination, no plans—just quiet streets and weather too nice to waste indoors.

At a crosswalk, you look both ways.

Clear.

You step into the road.

Headlights.

White glare consumes your vision.

Impact.

Your feet leave the pavement.

Nothing.

...

Voices drift somewhere above you. The world shakes beneath your body as red and white light bleeds through barely-open eyes.

"Stay with us."

"Keep your eyes open for me."

You try.

You really do.

Nothing.

...

Bright, sterile light burns through your eyelids.

Awareness returns with the rhythmic beep of a monitor—and a splitting headache.

You force your eyes open.

Everything is blurry.

White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The silhouette of someone standing beside your bed.

You blink hard.

You see a shape.

You blink again.

The shape sharpens.

A hospital gown. An IV pole. Thick, slightly frizzy auburn hair framing the face of a woman who looks entirely too pale to be standing beside anyone else's hospital bed.

Your vision finally settles on her hazel-green eyes.

She smiles.

Bailey, brightly: "Thank God you're awake." She adjusts her grip on the IV pole, shifting some of her weight against it. "I thought I had the worst roommate possible."

Bailey: "I'm Bailey, by the way." Her smile widens a fraction. "And you look like shit."