Page 64 of Ghost Of You

Laelia is trying to hold back tears of laughter, her eyes brimming with a mix of shock and amusement. Despite the disaster, her reaction is warm and endearing, a reminder of her incredible spirit.

My heart sinks as I look down at the ring box still clutched in my hand. I had envisioned this moment as perfect, but now it feels like a far-off dream. I want to make light of the situation, but the humour is overshadowed by my disappointment.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my composure amidst the chaos. “Well, this certainly wasn’t how I imagined the evening going,” I think, feeling the weight of the ruined proposal settle over me.

Laelia bursts into laughter, shaking her head with a grin. “Only you could turn a romantic meal into a five-star disaster.”

Despite the embarrassment and frustration, her laughter is a soothing the sting of failure. She takes my hand, still laughing, and I can’t help but join in. The situation may be a mess, but at least we’re facing it together.

As we sit down on an unscathed part of the floor, watching the restaurant staff clean up, I can’t help but think about how thisnight will become one of our most memorable stories. My grand proposal may have gone up in flames, but the love we share remains as strong as ever.

Chapter thirty-three

Present

Morning arrives, and for the first time this week, I wake up free from the clutches of a nightmare. The bed is noticeably empty beside me, Laelia’s side untouched as if she never lay there. This strikes me as odd because I distinctly remember us settling in together. I recall every detail of our night, especially her cries calling my name in ecstasy.

Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle into the bathroom and begin my morning routine. As I brush my teeth, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and find myself lost in thought, replaying the vivid memories of the night before. I can almost feel her again—the way she arched her back, the intensity of her bite on my neck leaving a mark, her fingers clawing at my back as I moved deeper into her. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, my name slipping from her lips as we exchanged our whispered declarations of love.

Losing myself in her completely is the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever known. It’s not just about the incredible physical connection we share, though that is undeniably intense. It’s the way her smile lights up my world, the depth of her gaze,the unique scent that lingers on my skin, and the gentle caress of her touch. All these elements combine to create a sense of completeness I never imagined possible.

When we first met, I assumed she would be shy, withdrawn, and perhaps too timid to engage with me. Instead, she surprised me with her boldness. She called me ‘cocky,’ gave me a hard time, and firmly stood her ground. From that moment, she changed my life for the better. Even during the times she seemed indifferent, I was captivated by her spirit. She made me feel truly alive in a way I had never experienced before.

Spitting out the toothpaste, I gurgle some water, rinsing my mouth and spitting it into the sink. As I move to tie up my hair, I secure it with a bobble, pulling it into a bun that exposes my neck.

Curious and slightly apprehensive, I crane my neck to examine it in the mirror, searching for any remnants of the mark from last night. To my surprise, my skin appears clear and unblemished. I inspect both sides, puzzled. She had bitten down with such intensity that I’d hissed from the pain, but rather than soothing, it had stoked a fire within me. Surely there should be some sign left behind?

My confusion deepens as I walk back into the bedroom. There, on the floor, lies the towel I had given her, the same one she’d passed to me afterwards. The towel bears evidence of our encounter, a stark reminder that it was no dream. But where is the mark?

Maybe she didn’t bite as hard as I thought?

Shaking my head, I pick up the towel and toss it into the washing basket. I quickly retrieve some clothes from the drawer, change, and head downstairs. The sight that greets me in the kitchen stops me in my tracks. Meatball, usually a whirlwind of energy, lies motionless on the cold tile floor. His chest risesand falls in a slow, rhythmic motion, but his eyes are closed, an unusual calmness enveloping him.

Concern tightens my chest. Meatball’s usual behavior is far from this lethargy. He’s always alert, always ready to pounce at the sound of footsteps or a crinkle of a food bag.

I walk over to his cupboard and fetch his food, then turn to see him stirring, his eyes opening slightly as if he’s aware of my presence. I place the food down but as soon as I touch him, he meows, a sound laced with discomfort.

Something is terribly wrong.

Without hesitation, I dash out of the kitchen, grabbing his cat basket and a blanket from under the stairs. Rushing back, I gently lift him into the basket, his body feeling alarmingly frail and limp. He’s barely more than skin and bones.

I pick up the basket, my heart pounding, and rush out the door. After a frantic drive, I pull up to the emergency vet clinic. I barely remember parking as I leap from the car, carefully placing the basket on the passenger seat to keep Meatball secure. I sprint inside, skidding to a stop at the reception desk where a young woman with blonde hair and glasses is absorbed in her work.

“I need your help!” I blurt out, breathless. “My cat, he’s not moving and he’s in pain.”

The receptionist glances up, her face shifting from concentration to concern. Without a word, she stands, swiftly taking the basket from me. “Follow me,” she instructs, her voice urgent.

I trail behind her as she leads me down a narrow hallway to an examination room. Inside, a veterinarian, dressed in a crisp white coat, stands beside a table covered in medical instruments and equipment.

“Please, help him,” I plead, my voice trembling.

The vet gently places Meatball on the table and starts an initial examination, his practiced hands moving with a steady,reassuring precision. I stand to the side, anxiety knotting in my stomach as the vet’s face remains focused and serious.

The room is filled with a tense silence, punctuated only by the soft beeps of the monitoring equipment and the occasional murmurs between the vet and the receptionist. Time seems to stretch infinitely as I watch, my mind racing with worry.

After what feels like an eternity, the vet looks up. “We’re going to need to run some tests,” she says, her tone a mix of professionalism and compassion. “It’s not clear yet what’s wrong, but we’ll do everything we can.”

I nod, feeling a mixture of relief and continued anxiety. “Thank you,” I manage to say, though my voice is barely above a whisper.

---