FIXING WOUNDS

SICK

Ivy didn’t know how long she’d been lying there. Hours? Days? The room felt like it was spinning, and the walls were closing in.

Her chest felt heavy, like someone was sitting on it. Her phone was cold in her hand, the screen cracked from the last time she dropped it. She stared at it, thumb hovering over Zara’s contact.

She didn’t call. She couldn’t. What would she even say? _“Hey, I think I’m dying and you’re the only person I want to see”?_ That sounded desperate. And Ivy wasn’t desperate.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

A knock came at the door. Soft. Not her mom’s hard, impatient knock. Not her step-siblings’ loud banging.

The door creaked open.

Zara stood there, hoodie pulled over her head, holding a plastic bag from the pharmacy. Rain dripped off her jacket onto Ivy’s carpet.

“I saw you weren’t in class,” Zara said simply. “And you weren’t answering my texts.”

Ivy sat up too fast and the room tilted. “How did you—”

“You put your address in the group project chat last week,” Zara said, like it was obvious. “And I’m not dumb, Ivy.”

Ivy wanted to tell her to leave. She wanted to hide under the blanket and pretend she wasn’t a mess. But she couldn’t. Because seeing Zara standing there made the weight on her chest lift just a little.

Zara walked in and set the bag on the bedside table. Panadol. Ginger tea. A small chocolate bar.

“I don’t know if chocolate helps panic attacks,” Zara said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But it helps everything else.”

Ivy let out a shaky laugh. The first real sound she’d made in two days.

“You didn’t have to come,” Ivy whispered.

“I know.” Zara nodded. “I wanted to.”

That hit Ivy harder than anything. _I wanted to._ Not _I had to_. Not _I felt sorry for you_. Just _I wanted to_.

Zara didn’t ask a hundred questions. She didn’t say “you’re being dramatic” or “you just need to pray it away” like Ivy’s mom did. She just sat there. Quiet. Present.

For the first time, Ivy didn’t feel alone in the quiet.

“I’m scared,” Ivy admitted, the words coming out before she could stop them. “I’m scared I’m broken. Scared I’ll always be like this.”

Zara reached out and squeezed her hand. “You’re not broken, Ivy. You’re just tired. And tired people rest. They don’t quit.”

Ivy’s eyes burned. She didn’t cry. Not yet. But something inside her cracked open, just a little. Like a door that had been locked for years.

They sat there for an hour. No talking. Just breathing.

When Zara finally stood up to leave, she said, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’re going to the lake. You need air.”

Ivy nodded. “Okay.”

After Zara left, Ivy looked at the chocolate bar on the table. She didn’t eat it. Not yet.

She just held it. Like it was proof that someone cared enough to buy it for her.