ADRIAN’S POV
Beep. Beep. Beep.
:.
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The faint sound slipped slowly into my ears, tugging me back to consciousness. At first, it was only noise echoing in the background of a foggy dream, but the longer I listened, the clearer it became. That steady rhythm was too familiar. I didn’t even need to open my eyes to know where I was. A hospital.
My eyelids fluttered open, greeted by the harsh white of fluorescent lights above me. The ceiling was sterile, in, and suffocatingly quiet except for the machine monitoring my heartbeat. I tried shifting, just slightly, but the instant I moved, a sharp sting tore through my lower ribs like a de dragging across raw flesh.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, sucking in air between my teeth.
—
My right hand instinctively pressed down on the source of the pain. Instead of skin, I felt thickyers of rough fabric bandages wrapped tightly around my torso. My whole waist was covered. The sting beneath them told me all I needed to know: I’d been patched up, stitched, and bound, but the wound was still very real.
And then the memories came rushing back, almost like a cruel rey. That man. That gun. That trigger being pulled. He aimed for Olivia.
But it wasn’t her who had fallen.
It was me.
I could still feel the echo of that moment – the split second where instinct overruled logic. My legs had moved on their own, like I had no control over them. One second I was standing, and the next I was in front of her, a wall of flesh and bone between the bullet and her. The impact had ripped through me, knocking me to the ground. The shouting, the chaos, it all blurred into one painful memory.
Now, lying here in this hospital bed, the question gnawed at me: why?
Why did I throw myself in front of her?
It wasn’t like she cared. Not from the way she was behaving. Olivia carried a hatred for me so deep I could see it every time she looked my way. A hatred I still didn’t fully understand. And yet, when that gun was pointed at her, my body had acted before my mind could catch up.
It was reckless. Stupid. If that bullet had gone an inch higher, it would’ve been a headshot. I wouldn’t even be lying here. I’d be dead.
<b>12:14 </b><b>Wed</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>10 </b>
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I stared up at the ceiling, frowning at myself. Risking my life for someone who wanted nothing to do with me, it was the kind of thing only a fool would do.
And yet…
My chest tightened in a different way. I thought about Charlic. Her son. My son.
The image of his terrified face shed in my mind. His wide eyes, filled with confusion and fear, reminded me of myself years ago back when I was still young, powerless, watching the one person I loved most in the world die right in front of me. My mother.
That memory still wed at my soul like an open wound that never healed. Watching her die had broken me, shattered something inside that could never be put back together.
Maybe that’s why I jumped in front of Olivia. Maybe it wasn’t all for her. Maybe it was about him too – Charlie. I didn’t want him to live through the same nightmare I had. I didn’t want him to watch his mother die and carry that pain for the rest of his life. I didn’t want him to be what I became.
My throat tightened, and I forced a slow breath out, trying to steady the emotions twisting inside me.
I turned my head to the side and spotted a small clock hanging on the wall. The red digits glowed in the darkness. Almost midnight.
Crap.
That’s when another wave of reality hit me like a hammer.
Those bastards back at the g, when they attacked, they’d stripped me of everything. My wallet, my phone gone. Taken. And when the police stormed in, dragging them away in cuffs, I hadn’t been able to demand my things back. I’d been too weak, losing too much blood, barely conscious as they hauled me into an ambnce.
Now, lying here, I realized what that meant. I had nothing.
No phone to call James. No way to let him know what happened or where I was. And worse – no wallet. No money. Which meant when the hospital finally brought the bill, I’d be staring at it empty–handed.
What a mess. Shot, broke, stranded in a hospital bed with nothing but my thoughts and that damned beeping machine keeping mepany.
I closed my eyes as frustration built up inside me, a heaviness pressing on my chest that
she wasn’t just from the bandages wrapped around my ribs. The thought gnawed at me – wasn’t here. Dora. At the g, she had been the one screaming the loudest when I hit the
<b>12:14 </b><b>Wed</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>10 </b>
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ground, her voice carrying through the chaos. She always imed she loved me more than anything, that she’d never leave my side, but now… when I opened my eyes in this sterile hospital room, all I saw were white walls and the cold green glow of the monitors.
Not her.
The one time I wanted her here
no, the one time I needed her – she was nowhere to be found. I thought maybe she’d rush here, hold my hand, prove that her words weren’t just empty air. If nothing else, she could have helped with the bills, could have made sure I didn’t have to lie here wondering how I’d even pay for the bed I was upying.
Instead, I was alone, and the silence made me restless.
I turned my head toward the ceiling, trying to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment. The sound of the machine beside me kept reminding me that time was passing, that my thoughts were spinning in circles. I had survived, sure, but survival came with its own punishment: long hours stuck in my head.
Just as I was about to close my eyes again and force myself into sleep, I heard it.
Click.
The soft sound of the doortch. My gaze snapped to the doorway, expecting maybe a nurse or a doctor doing rounds. But it wasn’t.
It was her.
Olivia.
For a moment, I forgot the pain in my ribs. My body stiffened, then eased as my brain tried to process the sight of her. Of all the people I thought might walk through that door, she wasn’t at the top of the list. Not after the way she had treated me back at the g, not after the sharp words, the cold stares, the distance she had made sure to put between us.
Yet here she was.
She had changed clothes, no longer in the elegant outfit I remembered from a few hours ago. Something about her looked softer now, though her face carried the same guarded expression. She moved quietly, almost cautiously, as if unsure whether she belonged in the
same room as me.
Without saying a word, she pulled the chair closer to my bed and sat down.
The silence that followed was thick. The kind that made every second stretch out too long. The only sound was the steady beeping of the monitor beside me, a reminder that despite everything, I was still alive.
<b>12:14 </b>Wed<b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>10 </b>
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I didn’t know what to say. Did shee out of guilt? Out of pity? Or was it something <b>else</b><b>? </b>My mind raced with questions I couldn’t voice.
She kept her eyes on me, and I kept mine on her, and for a moment it felt like we were both trapped in some invisible cage, unable to move or speak.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I parted my lips, forcing the first word out.
“Am…”
But at the very same moment, her voice broke the silence too.
“Am…”
We both froze, caught in the awkward collision of words. Augh almost escaped me, but instead it formed into a small smile. For all the tension between us, the simple mistake made the moment feel strangely human.
“You go first,” I said, my voice rough but lighter than before.