<b>Chapter </b><b>181 </b>


    Elena’s POV:


    I had heard it all. For what felt like an eternity, I had been trapped in the abyss, a silent, helpless


    observer in my own life. It had been so long, an endless, monotonous stretch of time, and yet it felt observer in my own life. It had been so long, an endless, m like it had passed in minutes, a fleeting moment of consciousness in a sea of darkness.


    Under a veil of darkness, I had tried so hard to lift, I spent days, if not weeks, listening to the people around me talk, and some cry. My body was a prisoner, my mind the only thing I had left..


    The first sense to return was hearing. A muffled, distant thing at first, like sounds filtered through


    water. I could hear the faint beeping of the machines that kept me alive. Then came the voices, a parade of loved ones who visited my bedside, their words a lifeline.


    Among them was Fiona, my best friend, who prattled on about finally listening to my advice and giving Roy a chance. She told me how she was trying to be less impulsive, less hot–headed, and how Roy had been surprisingly patient. While she spoke, she begged for me to wake up because if I didn’t then she wouldn’t be Roy’s girlfriend. She needed my permission, my push, my silent blessing. It was such an idiotically sweet thing to say, and I wanted to smile. I wanted to tell her to just go for it, that life was too short to wait for my permission.


    Then there was Aunt Rose. Her visits were always marked by the delicious smell of her baked goods, a sweet, sugary scent that filled the sterile, antiseptic–smelling room. She’d describe each one in agonizing detail. She’d say, “Elena, if you don’t wake up soon, I’m going to eat all these brownies myself. And you know how good I am at eating. So you better hurry.” Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wake up. The will was there, a desperate, burning fire inside me, but my body was a useless, broken thing. My tongue felt thick, my eyes sealed shut by a heavy, insurmountable weight.


    .answer because she answered herself. “I’m s


    Then came mom, who cried. She’d ask me why I had done such a thing, why I had risked my life so recklessly, so foolishly. But then I didn’t need to


    <i>for </i>not believing you. I know how hard it is to imagine losing your loved one. Or even worse, actually losing them. I’m sorry for being mad at you so much, darling. Please wake up soon. Haider needs you. Niki is falling apart without you.” Her words were a raw, honest admission of her own fear, her own pain. I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob and scream and tell her I was sorry for making her worry, for making her feel this pain, but with my eyes closed, how could I?


    Then came Sergei, who sat by my bed. His voice was a low, gravelly hum as he exined how Lazar had bribed a maid to drug my food. Which had caused his bronchitis and made him careless.


    He also exined how he’d taken care of Lazar after he’d managed to escape the construction site.


    1


    How for each bullet I’d taken, for each life he’d taken and ruined, he’d cut off one limb, slowly<b>, </b>one at a time. And he nned on doing it until I woke up. The day I woke up, Lazar would take his final breath and then go to hell to pay for his sins over there as well.


    The thought made me conflicted. Not because I felt bad for Lazar. No. At this point, the thought of him being tortured brought me nothing but a sick, twisted joy. He’d killed so many people. So many women. Priya. He’d shot Niki. He’d targeted my baby. He deserved a horrible death, didn’t he? But


    at the same time, the pure, unadulterated viciousness of Sergei’s n, the cold, brutal detail with which he described the torture, made my stomach clench. It was still sickening.


    Sergei had also told me how he’d finally divorced Svena and banned her from entering the premises again. As for the basement I’d found, he’d exined that it was a room that was built a very long time ago by his own father to keep drugs and stuff, which he’d locked away and never imagined would be used by Lazar in such a way. That would exin that. It made a horrifying, unsettling sense.


    Lastly came my own husband. Niki. Which made my heart ache the most. His visits were a daily, sacred thing. He’d only cried once in the beginning. Begging me to wake up and not leave him. But never after that. He never cried after that.


    No. He tried to lure me to wake up like giving candy to a toddler. His voice would be low and gentle as he’d tell me what he cooked today, how he’d fed Haider. He’d tell me every single milestone, every single moment of our son’s life that I was missing. How Haider had rolled over for the first time. How he’d started to sit without a backrest.


    It all hurt. Because his voice always cracked midway. Only after talking for so long, every single day, would he finish with a, “You’re missing out on a lot, you know? Please wake up soon.” he’d say, and my heart would break all over again.


    I wanted to wake up. How could I not? But it was hard. The will was there, but the body was so weak. No matter how much I tried, my senses only returned very slowly.


    First came the sense of hearing. Then came smell, a long whileter, the scent of antiseptic and flowers and the warm,forting smell of my son. Before I started feeling my skin and miniscule movements. Like lifting a finger. Which was noticed by Fiona once, and a nurse had called. But then I stopped trying to move in someone’s presence because doing that once had caused such an uproar. The doctors, the nurses, my family, they had all gathered around my bed, full of a desperate, fleeting hope. I didn’t want it to happen again and disappoint people when I was unable to open my eyes.


    However, only a little while passed. Maybe a couple of days, and I felt a new surge of energy, a small, tiny me in the darkness. I was finally able to blink open my eyes.


    The room was dark and I could barely shift my head. From the corner of my eyes though, I could tell it


    <b>07:34 </b><b>Sat</b><b>, </b><b>6 </b><b>Sept </b>


    K.81%


    was nighttime. The city lights were a faint, beautiful blur through the window. It waspletely <b>dark </b>in the hospital room, a silent, peaceful ce. I tried moving my fingers again. It was easier now, after trying for so long. Only then I heard the door connected to this one, the door to the patient’s lounge, open with a creak and light filtered in.


    This was the time. Niki was probably going to head to bed. That’s when he usually talked to me,


    didn’t he?


    Only this time his footsteps paused as he took in my form. His eyes, dark, deep pools of despair, met my own which were trying to squint, making out his shadow in the bright light.


    He went stiff for a minute, a silent, still thing, before he rushed forward, his movements frantic. “Elena?!” The name escaped from his lips, a disbelieving whisper, and I couldn’t help the curve of my lips as I took in oxygen through the nebulizer. My eyes crinkled and I looked at him, my heart full of a pure, unadulterated love.


    I would question it often, you know? If I’d actually be able to wake up. Would I ever see him again? See my son? Only mom seemed determined that I would. Almost like she knew I could hear her. She’d never once insinuated that I wouldn’t wake up. Only telling me to hurry up.


    Only now did I realize… ah, she knew I’d wake up, and she’d been right. Hadn’t she?