Page 127 of Irreversible

I ignore him. Indignation burns my blood as I drink in the eager faces. Microphones are shoved at me.

“A statement, please,” says a brunette with a prim bun, red lips, and black glasses.

I blink slowly. Processing.

My stomach cramps, my body weak. A fever threatens, but my fury is louder. “This wasn’t astunt.” Everyone goes silent, save for the clicking cameras. “I was held captive. Used and operated on by horrible people. Monsters.”

A slew of follow-up questions pour out.

“Who were they?”

“How did you survive?”

“Are there other victims?”

Before I can respond, Jasper is by my side, tugging me away from the overzealous crowd.

“Everly, let’s go. You look like you’re about to collapse.” He ushers me away, using his body to shield me from dizzying camera flashes. “It’s not the time for a statement.”

“They…they think I was faking it.”

“Let them. It doesn’t matter.”

I’m guided back to the wheelchair and pushed through the mechanical door. Jasper shoos away his own wheelchair and takes my hand, holding on to me as I’m wheeled through hallways, my heart in my throat.

He swipes a hand over his dirt-smudged face, then flicks his attention to me. “I'm sure you have questions, too.”

My eyes water as I squeeze his hand. “I saw you get shot. You weren’t moving, barely breathing. I was told you were dead.”

“Felt like I was. I barely survived.” Shaking his head, he stares down at his staggering feet, his throat rolling. “And for a long time, I wished the bullethadtaken my life because I couldn’t fathom living a life without you.”

Our eyes meet for a hollow beat as I’m trekked through the hallway. “How long was your recovery?”

His jaw ticks through the pain. “Eternal,” he says bleakly. “But now you’re back, so maybe there’s an end in sight.”

Our hands squeeze again, paralleling the feeling in my heart.

I can’t help but glance around as we approach my room, searching for a man with dark hair. I spot someone, late thirties, with inky black hair long enough to tease his shoulders. My eyes flare as I jolt upright, twisting my neck to get a better view.

He looks at me.

And I know it’s not him.

He’s too skinny, too short. His eyes aren’t brown.

I deflate.

Soon I’m pushed through a powder-blue curtain and deposited in a small room. My gown is replaced by a new gown made of itchy cotton and translucent buttons. Jasper pulls a chair over to my cot as I dive underneath the covers, my teeth chattering. The adrenaline peters out, leaving me boneless, and I feel the fever raging in my bloodstream. Pain commandeers my lower abdomen, causing me to hiss as I curl my knees to my chest.

“Everly.” My husband’s voice is soothing as the sound of my name pitches with a raspy hitch. He cradles my palm in two hands and leans over, pressing his chin to his clasped fist.

My eyelids flutter as I try to center myself, try to overcome the pain. A nurse floats over to my bedside, fiddling with machines and wires. I hardly feel the needle slide into the back of my hand. “I missed you…so much.” I feel myself fading. I don’t want to go. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Did you miss me, too?” Exhaustion waters down my words, carrying me away. I hold Jasper’s hand. My anchor.

“More than you know.”

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