I Heard Your Voice In A Dream

Chapter 19

A/N: Trigger warning for mentions of alcoholism, suicide, and death.

Lauren let out a puff of air as she slowly walked with her weight on the walker she'd been using for the past couple weeks. Her mobility only got worse; she could barely walk across the hallway without feeling incredibly worn out. So now she had to use a walker so she could kind of get around. And of course, there were the assholes that called her grandma and made fun of her for using a walker. But she was dying; there were worse things to think about than some douche making fun of her walker.

She stepped inside the music room, guitar playing filling her ears and she immediately recognized who it was.

"Shawn." Lauren spoke up as she pushed herself towards the piano bench and sat down, panting.

Shawn looked up from the stool he was sitting and smiled softly. "Hey." He greeted, taking the stool and sitting next to her. "Sorry I'm in here, I'm waiting for Ally. She's supposed to take me—me—me to therapy." Shawn explained as he internally counted every time Lauren breathed heavily.

Lauren shrugged. "It's cool. This isn't my room, you're welcome here." She pushed up her glasses. She always had a soft spot for Shawn. He understood her in some sense. Both of them were trapped. The only difference was that Lauren was trapped in her own body while Shawn was trapped in his own mind. "I like that..." Lauren took a deep breath, having been tired from the walk. "... fingerpicking you were doing. Sounds like a potential song."

Shawn nodded. "I've been working on something..." he trailed off as he tapped on his guitar exactly 15 times. "It's not done yet though."

Lauren hummed. "Let me know when you finish it." She smiled softly.

"I will—will—"Shawn groaned in frustration as he sighed. "will."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up for it." Lauren told him. "I don't mind it, you know that. Just like you don't mind when I'm such an asshole." She said, chuckling.

Shawn snorted. "Thanks."

The two were silent for a while and Lauren mindlessly played some notes on the piano before Shawn spoke up again.

"I'm worried about Ally." Shawn spoke up.

Lauren turned to where she heard him, facing him. "Why? I've been a little worried too if I'm being honest."

Shawn sighed. "She's not the same anymore. She's so...distant. I—I—I don't know. She barely takes me to therapy and she barely talks to me—me—me or takes me to buy vinyl records." Shawn paused. "I was having a panic attack the—the—the other day and you know what she told me? To get over it. She's—she's—she's never told me that. Ally always helps me when I needed her and comforted—comforted—comforted me when I had a bad day. Now, she's barely around. And when she—she—she is, she's just snapping at me and she's so angry and...sad." Shawn looked down. "I don't—don't—don't want her to be sad...I want her to be okay again..."

Lauren listened intently before pursing her lips. "Has she seemed...drunk or hung over to you?"

Shawn thought for a moment, tapping his fingers against his guitar exactly 15 times before replying. "A few—few—few times...like when she'd pick me up from therapy, she'd be wearing sunglasses and—and—and groaning saying she had a headache. And sometimes when we'd talk, she'd slur a—a—a little." Shawn looked at Lauren. "What does this mean? Why are you asking me this?"

Lauren nodded, gulping. "I think Ally may be an alcoholic Shawn..."

"Why are you—you—you assuming that? She can't be...she—"