Page 66 of Borrowed Bride

The sharpness is suddenly Gianna as she wakes up beside me in bed and stretches out like a long cat enjoying the warmth of a sunbeam. Sleep calls to me, but the duties I face today force me to sit up with a groan. She grips my arm and her nails pierce into my flesh, drawing a gasp from my lips. Giana laughs and it’s a warm sound that makes my soul cry out for her.

I face her and she nestles into the pillows with her hair framing her head like a halo.

“Hi,” she grins.

“Hi.”

“Stay in bed,” she pouts softly. “It’s too early to get up.”

“I’m sorry. I have to. I have stuff to do.”

“What kind of stuff?” She walks her fingers slowly up the back of my arm.

“Stuff that you don’t need to worry about.”

“But I’ll get lonely.” Gianna pouts once more so I lean down and capture her perfect lips in a sweet morning kiss.

“I’ll treat you to lunch. That will cure your loneliness.”

She rolls her eyes and loops her hands around my neck, toying with my hair. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

The dream lurches suddenly and melts away from me, like sugar dissolving in water. My chest hurts so much, and I open my mouth to cry out, but no sound comes.

I want to go back.

I want to stay in bed with her.

But the dream is gone. Gianna is gone.

And I am still here.

Something jolts me, and I would roll to the side if not for the straps holding me in place. There’s distant gunfire, a squeal of brakes and yelling, but it’s all too far away for me to care. I just want to return to the dream with Gianna and spend the rest of my time there.

Warmth envelops my left hand, moving in slow circles. Then it moves up my forearm and something about that touch makes my heart break. It’s familiar in a way that makes my chest crack open and I beg for death in the darkness of my mind.

Opening my eyes, everything is bright and white. Am I still in the ambulance? I think so. The ceiling looks the same. The world is so blurry and the bottom half of my vision is obstructed by a mask over my face. I blink, wincing at how heavy my eyes feel, and then suddenly, like a ghost, Gianna is here.

Her face floats right above me with eyes filled with tears, and the brightness grows glaring.

“Heaven?” I whisper weakly. “What did I do to deserve heaven?”

Darkness consumes me not long after, and I sink into its cold embrace, safe in the knowledge that Gianna came to greet me at the pearly gates.

This is not heaven.

When I first open my eyes several days later, the first sight I’m struck with is a pale yellow lace curtain clinging to the frame of a gnarly old window. The curtain and the window clearly haven’t seen any love in years, and the sight of it immediately puts all thoughts of heaven to rest.

This is definitely still the real world.

Nothing else smells so musty and old than the mortal plane, and I groan softly then close my eyes.

Maybe I’ll be lucky and the next time I open them, I will be dead.

No such luck.

Grunting, I gaze around the room. There’s a worn wardrobe in the corner near the window and several shelves on my right-hand side piled high with books mostly covered in dust. A few show obvious signs of interaction, meaning someone has been in here since the last layover of dust. The bedside table holds several bottles of water and orange pill bottles.

Right. The explosion.

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