Loud beeps filled my ears. Pain swamped. Heaviness shackled. Agony battered from all directions.
Fuck, make it stop.
I didn’t like it here. I wanted to go back. Return to where the sunshine glowed and my wife carried my child.
More pain crescendoed. I gave up fighting.
Fuck, make it stop...make it stop!
My heart accelerated, shoving me head-first into my wish.
With a sigh, I let go of my body, ignored the summons trying to drag me back to life, and fell.
“You want a girl?”
I nodded. “More than anything.”
“And what if I want a son?”
“You’ll just have to wait.”
Nila giggled. “Wait?”
I pulled her close, inhaling her soft scent of wild-flowers and summer. “Until we have another one.”
“Mr. Ambrose. Come on.”
The warm illusion shattered again.
I tensed, preparing for pain to welcome me back. There was no pain. Only a fog. A metallic blanket blocked the fever and excruciating agony. For the first time in forever, I could think without being handicapped by suffering.
With the discomfort gone, it opened the gates for everything else to become known.
My body wastired.Beyond tired. Bone weary and sluggish.
I don’t want to be here.
I missed my dream world where everything was sunshine and smiles, away from whatever memories snarled on the outskirts of comprehension.
I want to forget...just for a little longer.
Sleep gripped my mind, tugging me backward, slipping me under the surface and delivering me back to Nila.
“Another one?” She swatted my chest, laughing in the bright afternoon. “Getting a bit greedy, don’t you think?”
I nuzzled her neck. “Greedy? I wouldn’t call it greedy.”
Her lips parted as I trailed kisses up her throat, skirting her chin, hovering over her mouth. Her breath cracked and shortened, waiting in anticipation of a kiss. “Oh? What would you call it?”
I paused over her lips. I wanted so badly to kiss her. To drink her taste and pour my love down her throat. I wanted so desperately to heal her. To forget about the past and remind both of us that it was over. That we were free.
“I call it building a better future.”
Nila’s head tipped back. I captured her nape, keeping her locked in my control. My mouth watered, still millimetres from kissing her.
“How many?” she whispered as my lips finally touched hers.
My tongue slipped into her mouth, tangoing with hers, dancing the same dance we knew by heart. I would recognise Nila even if all my senses were stolen. I would know her if I was blind, deaf, and mute. I would always know her because I couldfeelher. Her love had a certain flavour—a sparkling liquor that intoxicated me whenever I let down my walls and felt what she felt, lived what she lived.
