Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I wait until the bustle in the hallways grows quiet before I crumple the empty cup in my fist and chuck it in the trashcan. Pushing the door open, I look around the doorframe. The visitors are gone. People are no longer walking up and down the corridors with flowers and fruit baskets.
I’m not particularly cautious as I leave my hiding place, but the nurses’ station is empty. I open the door of Sabella’s room and step inside before closing it behind me. She lies small and pale in the bed, machines beeping around her. I’ve never seen her looking so vulnerable. So small. Frail.
Taking the chart from the file pocket at the foot-end of her bed, I read the doctor’s observations. I recognize Ryan’s signature at the bottom, authorizing the treatment.
Motherfucker.
I clench my teeth and return the chart. Then I round the bed and take her hand. Her skin is cold. I bend down and brush my lips over her forehead.
My promise is sweet. Ominous. “I’m here.”
I kick off my shoes and lift the covers. I’m careful not to disturb the IV tube, the nasal prongs, or the heart rate monitor when I get in next to her and pull her into my arms.
“I’m going to take good care of you, cara.”
Chapter
Seven
Sabella
* * *
The darkness of water is bliss. It’s weightless.
Freedom.
This darkness is different. It’s heavy. A prison. It pins me down and glues my eyelids shut while dunking my head under the surface. All I want is to come up for a breath. I’m fighting, but it’s stronger than me.
It takes every ounce of energy I possess to swim up from that bottomless pit of inky black liquid. Every movement is a battle against the density of the mass that keeps sucking me down. How can anything be so tiring?
Celeste’s voice reaches me from the top of the well. “I don’t think keeping her drugged is a good idea.”
My brother replies. “It’s a radical treatment but no different than one used for depression.”
Mattie surfaces somewhere. “…think she has depression?”
Ryan again. “She’s suffered severe trauma, that’s for sure.”
A woman cries softly. My mom. “It doesn’t help that we can’t give the doctor the full details. How is he supposed to treat her properly? And bribing him to do this to her?”
Something stirs in my memory, something that compels me to fight harder.
“Shh.” Ryan’s voice is hushed. “Not here.”
“But two days?” Celeste’s voice drifts back to me. “Two days in an induced coma sounds severe.”
“It’s for the best. At least it delays the police interrogation.”
“…shock treatment. It gives the body and brain time to recover from an overload of…”
“Wait.” My mom. Alarmed. “She stirred. I think she’s waking up.”
“…too soon. Get the nurse to…”
I’m reaching for the voices, trying to grip the edge of the well, but I’m sinking deeper again.
No.
Don’t leave me here.
I swim harder, using all my might, but invisible fingers wrap around my ankle and pull me back into a dark hell from which I can’t escape.
The fog lifts a little. I’m dreaming. I’m on the bottom of the ocean. It’s dark around me, but I’m not alone. I sense his presence. He comes closer. I sense this too, even before the smell of cedar and citrus pierces the water. This isn’t the cruel Angelo. This version of him is the one from before, the kind one who pretended to like me. The man who gave me a phone for no other reason than to get to know me is pulling me onto his lap and wrapping his arms around me.
He rocks me gently as I cry for that man, the one I lost. No, the one I never had, because he’s not real.
“Shh, cara.”
His lips are warm on my temple. It’s comfortable in the heat of his embrace. I burrow deeper, losing myself in the safety of his arms. It’s good not to swim so hard against the stream. I just want to rest here for a little while.
I drift closer to the surface. It’s unbearably hot. How can I be burning up in the water? No. The fire comes from inside me.
The water smells like cedar and citrus. It doesn’t douse the flames, but it soothes me. I inhale deeply, wanting to drag that fragrance into my lungs, and choke on a mouthful of seawater.
I’m drowning.
Panic grips me until a soft, warm mouth presses on my parted lips and feeds me air. Soothing hands hold me as I grab that air greedily, violently fighting to breathe.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
Something cool and wet presses on my forehead. Calloused fingers caress my neck. Refreshing drops dribble down my chest and roll over my stomach. I’m a starfish on the surface of the sea. I’m five years old, laughing while Dad teaches me to float on my back in the pool. The sounds of sobs reach my ears. Why am I crying?