He Said Mine So I Took Him Instead

CHAPTER 8

The scent hit me first, thick and overwhelming in a way that made my head feel a little fuzzy, like my brain didn’t know whether to calm down or panic.

Warm, woody, a little spicy… and very, very masculine.

Logan was the only person I could think of who smelled like that.

He always stayed too close, always finding excuses to pull me into his arms like personal space was just a suggestion, not a rule.

And somehow, my mind had started recognizing him by that scent alone. Which felt… concerning, honestly.

The memories from yesterday were messy in my head, like someone dumped them into a blender and hit go.

Some parts were sharp, like they were burned into me, while others were just blurry flashes I couldn’t fully piece together.

When I finally forced my eyes to focus, I realized I wasn’t in my room anymore.

The space around me was large, almost too large, filled with rows of beds that looked exactly like the one I was lying on.

The walls were painted in a pale white, somewhere between clean and clinical, like they were trying way too hard to feel safe.

It smelled like a hospital.

Looked like one too.

Sterile. Quiet. Too controlled.

My eyes drifted down and I noticed the machine beside me first, the steady rhythm of it tracking my heartbeat like I couldn’t even be trusted to do that properly on my own.

Then the IV line in my arm.

Yeah… I looked away fast.

My stomach twisted just seeing it, like my body remembered things my brain wasn’t ready to deal with yet.

"Esme?"

A soft voice called my name, and I slowly turned my head toward it.

My mom was sitting right next to me.

And for a second, I didn’t even recognize her properly.

She looked exhausted in a way that went deeper than just being tired.

Her blonde hair fell loosely around her face, dull and lifeless, like she hadn’t had the energy to fix it in days.

Dark circles sat under her eyes, and her oversized sweater swallowed her frame whole, hiding whatever shape she used to have.

I couldn’t tell how long she had been there, but my hand was still in hers.

She was holding it gently, like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go too hard.

Her thumb kept brushing over my skin in slow circles, almost like she was grounding herself more than me.

I tried to speak.

My mouth opened, but nothing really came out except a rough, broken sound.

My throat felt sore, tight, like even breathing the wrong way would hurt.

I instinctively touched it with my fingertips.

Still sensitive, just not as bad as before… which honestly made me nervous more than anything else.

I looked back at my mom just in time to see her releasing my hand, reaching for a cup of water instead and offering it to me carefully.

I grabbed the plastic cup from her like I hadn’t had water in days and drank it all in one go, not even pausing before handing it back so she could refill it again with the jug. I kept doing it over and over—drink, refill, drink—until the tight, desperate thirst in my chest finally eased and my stomach started to settle like it could finally breathe again.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, settling back into the chair while giving me this small, tired smile, her hand still holding mine like she wasn’t ready to let go.

I tried to answer her again, opening my mouth to speak—but nothing came out. I frowned and tried once more, slower this time, because it didn’t make sense. My throat wasn’t dry anymore, and even the pain felt like it had gone down a lot. But still… nothing. No voice. I kept trying again and again until my frustration turned into fear, because the idea that I might’ve lost my voice completely started sinking in. My mom noticed the change right away, her face tightening with worry as she suddenly stood up and rushed toward the door.

I wanted to call out to her, to ask where she was going, but I still couldn’t make a sound. My eyes started burning as tears gathered without me even meaning to. My hands shook as I lifted them to my throat, slowly rubbing it like maybe my voice was just “stuck” and needed to be woken up somehow.

“Doctor Davies!” my mom shouted from the doorway, turning back toward me with full panic written across her face.

I heard footsteps coming down the hall, fast and heavy, before the door suddenly swung open. Logan stood there in the doorway looking tense, his eyes scanning the room like he was trying to figure out what kind of situation he was walking into. The second his gaze landed on me sitting up in bed, something in his expression shifted.

His brown eyes looked stormy, like too many emotions were fighting for space at once, and his blond hair was a mess in every direction like he’d rushed over without even caring how he looked. In just a few long strides, he was already by my bedside, and I instinctively leaned back a little. I didn’t like the way he moved sometimes… like I was something he needed to reach instead of a person who could decide for herself. He looked worried though, really worried, as he reached out like he was about to take my hand. I reacted faster, tucking both hands under the blanket and folding them in my lap so he couldn’t.

“Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Do you need anything? What’s going on, Esme?” His words came out all rushed and messy, like he couldn’t decide which question mattered more. His hands hovered near the edge of the bed, way too close for comfort, and I could feel him hovering in my space. “Talk to me.”

I tried again to speak, to tell him I just needed a little distance, that I couldn’t deal with people crowding me right now—but my voice still didn’t come. Nothing. My throat tightened in frustration as tears started slipping down my face without permission. I kept trying anyway, letting out these broken little gasps like maybe sound would finally follow, but it never did. And every failed attempt made something in me sink a little lower, like hope was slowly getting drained out of me one try at a time.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his hands lifting like he wanted to touch my face.

I flinched hard and pulled away from him, instantly covering my face with my arms. The nightmare I had before waking up was still stuck in my head like it just happened, making me jumpy around every guy, every stranger, honestly anyone who came too close. Even if they weren’t doing anything wrong. It was like my body had its own survival mode, and I never really learned how to turn it off.

The door creaked wider and a tall older man stepped inside, wearing a white lab coat with glasses sitting low on his nose. I figured this had to be Doctor Davies, the same doctor my mom had been calling for. He held a clipboard in his hands and moved slowly into the room like he didn’t want to scare me more than I already was. My mom stayed close beside him, biting her lip like she was trying not to fall apart right there.