Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Fuck.
And then, as if my mind is protecting me, it shuts down.
And all I see is darkness.
49
My eyelids twitch, the muscles coming to life, and light blinds me, forcing me to slam them shut again. Fuck, did I just open my eyes? I breathe in, hope crashing into me. I squeeze my lids shut and release them, cautiously peeling one open. My eyes hurt. My face muscles hurt. Suddenly everything fucking hurts. I look around the room, still as can be, not only because I’m incapacitated, but because if my whole head is in agony by just opening my eyes, I can’t begin to imagine the level of pain waiting for me if I actually move.
I drop my eyes, and I’m greeted by a mass of messy brown hair. I exhale lightly, wary, and suddenly all I can feel is my heart beating. Ava. I’m mesmerized as I stare down at her sleeping, her head resting on the bed, her body hunched over.
“How old are you?” she mumbles. I’m unable to stop my small smile. I sustain the pain, swallowing too, trying to push some words past my lips.
“Thirty-eight,” I whisper groggily, amazed when I hear my own voice. “I’m thirty . . . eight, baby.”
I hear her hum and mumble, her head moving as she rubs her face into the sheets.
“My beautiful . . . girl is . . . dreaming.”
And that’s me done for the day, my eyes closing again, the effort to keep them open way too much. Christ, will I ever be able to move again? I’m fucking drained. Heavy. Hurting.
I feel the bed move. She’s woken up? God damn it, I missed her. I focus, concentrating on moving my finger again, anything to tell her I’m here. Anything to stop her worrying. Fuck.
An unbearable, screechy sound attacks my ears. God, make it stop.
“Jesse?”
I still, not that I’m actually moving, and listen. Did she say my name? Ava?
There’s suddenly a pressure on my shoulders, and my upper body is moving. Fuck, that’s agony, the pain starting at my neck and radiating down to my toes.
“Jesse?” Ava cries.
Beep!
“Jesse?”
Beep!
My whole body starts shaking involuntarily, and I can’t fucking stop it. What the hell is she doing, trying to kill me? Stop, Ava. The pain is excruciating. As is the noise.
“Too . . . loud.”
“Jesse?” she gasps.
“What?” My arm suddenly has life, moving up, my body going into protection mode, trying to block the pain and noise. I hold my head, feeling like it could fall off.
“Open your eyes,” she shouts. Fuck, why all the shouting? She’s panicking. I don’t need panic, I need calm.
“No,” I grunt. “It fucking . . . hurts.”
“Oh God.” Her words are a desperate gasp. “Try.” A plea.
If it will quieten her down, I’ll do anything. My face bunches, my eyes squeezed so tightly shut, that’s causing pain too. Relax. I let the tiniest bit of light past my lids, trying to get used to the invasion again. “Fucking hell,” I mumble, not only because I’m in fucking agony here. The sight of her through my grainy vision shocks me. Her face is blotchy, her hair matted, her eyes sunken. Jesus Christ, she’s not been looking after herself. Why has no one force-fed her? She’s wasting away. God damn it, I want to enforce some rules, but I can’t fucking move.
On a wracked sob, Ava comes at me, and I don’t have the time or capacity to stop her. My eyes are suddenly wide open as she smothers my face with her lips. Pain. Shit, aren’t they giving me anything to help with that?
“Sorry,” she screeches, breaking away.
“Fucking hell, Ava.” I don’t recognize my voice. I try swallowing, the scratch painful too. Everything’s painful. I succumb to it and let my heavy lids fall again.
“Open your eyes.”
Fuck me.
I drag them open. “Then stop inflicting fucking . . . pain on me, woman.”
Her lip wobbles, her red nose sniveling. “I thought I’d lost you.” She hides her face in her hands, her body quaking with the force of her sobs, and there’s nothing I can do to comfort her.
“Baby,” I breathe, damning my broken body to hell and back. “Please don’t cry . . . when there’s . . . fuck all I can do about . . . it.” I try to turn my torso a little so I can reach for her. “Fucking hell,” I gasp, holding my breath, tensing. “Fuck.” No, not happening.
“Stop moving,” she says, stern.
Fine by me. God, what day is it? How long have I been here? I fight past the fog, trying to recall . . . anything. I feel like I’ve been pulsing in and out of an alternate universe, reliving each day, forgetting it, starting again. Right now, I can’t remember a damn thing.
I lift my arm and look down at the line into it. Glance around the room. That’s right. I’m in hospital. Half dead because—