TOMA
Everything. Fucking. Hurts.
My tongue is heavy and dry as the desert as I try to lick my lips and bring back moisture into my mouth. Did I eat sand or something? My throat aches as I swallow over nothing.
I cough and it’s like someone used sandpaper on my vocal cords and a baby elephant sleeps on my chest. Groaning with pain and discomfort, I shift but find that it makes it worse.
“Try to move as little as you can, Mr Kovac. Your stitches are fresh and knife wounds can be unforgiving,” a voice I don’t recognise says.
My mind floats through cotton candy. I had no idea death would be a mix of soreness, aching limbs and an addled mind. It’s like my consciousness is pulling at threads of thoughts and memories but I’m too tired to piece them together.
My stomach growls and chuckles echo as if through a fishbowl. Of course demons are mocking me. With my luck, it was predictable. Except these demons don’t attack me, and I can’t really see them. Hunger yells inside me again and my heavy eyelids blink open a few times. Everything is blurry, the light harsh and the smell of lemon disinfectant used in hospitalsheavy in the air. A thumping headache going from the base of my skull to the back of my brows tops off my misery.
Then, she appears above me. The angel with the golden hair and the hazel eyes. Even though I can barely see, I know it’s her. I’ve memorised the round shape of her face and the soft high cheeks I loved to kiss. “Lucie.”
“Hi,piccolo.”
Soft hands take hold of one of mine and bring me back slowly into my body, into reality. Her thumb rubs back and forth on my skin and I close my eyes again, humming. It’s so nice.
She sits on the side of my bed and her perfume invades my senses.
“Anaïs Anaïs,” I say to myself. “I knew I’d smell it even in Hell.”
“You’re not in Hell,piccolo. You’re at the hospital. You’re safe.” My angel’s voice cracks on the last word and I frown, blinking my eyes open again. Silver lines hers. I want to wipe the tears away but lifting my arms requires too much effort.
“Lu,” I breathe her name again.
“I’m here.”
“I’m not dead?”
“No. You’re alive. You’re hurt and you’ll need a lot of care, but you’re alive.”
A rush of fear spreads through me. Because if I’m alive, it means the man I needed to destroy isn’t. I press up with adrenaline helping my movements but Lucie places a hand on my shoulder. I grimace.
“Sorry.”
She puts two fluffy pillows behind my back and lifts my bed to a sitting position, an electric wheezing sound making my teeth hurt. I blink a few more times to remove the sheen across my vision.
We’re alone in a soft beige room. I’m plugged with different machines and IVs, but my legs are intact, my arms heavy by my side. I look up at my beautiful girl. The edges of her face blur but in the middle, as if through a halo, I see her. And she’s so beautiful. Even marred with worry, she’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
Things are coming back to me. And they fill me with shame.
“My brother?”
“Dead. You strangled him to death with your chains. I found you. I was so scared, Toma.”
“I’m so sorry, Lucie.”
“Don’t be.”
With effort, I lift my hand and bring it on top of hers, holding her the one way I can without moaning in agony and distress, pulling at my stitches and broken ribs.
“Please,” I beg. “Please forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to understand.”
“I understand.”
Her voice is firm, her shoulders set. Her pink jumpsuit is stark against the sterile decor of the hospital room I’m in, and even more when I realise I’m in a hospital gown. It suits her so well. Makes her look bright and happy. Though her mouth is turned down, and a muscle ticks in her jaw. Her lips are a pale blue like she lacks nutrients. My girl always forgets to eat when she’s stressed.
