Page 6 of Make You Mine

AVA

I’ll come for you.

Four words, and they immediately wreak havoc on my nervous system; literal torture as I regain consciousness inside a sterile emergency room. Or was I admitted? I have no clue, and figuring it out takes a back seat as I remember the amused look in Jason’s eyes while mouthing his threat.

I’ll come for you.

The memory bombards me. As does the sick curl of his lips, and the disturbing expression begins thrashing inside my head on a constant, endless loop the more awake I become.

Repeatedly. Every horrific detail.

He’s all I see until a light glitches, and I shift my attention toward the television mounted on the wall. The screen is black, on sleep mode, but at the bottom right, the date and time are displayed...

It’s been more than twenty-four hours since this nightmare began.

I know I’ve been sedated. The initial shock after arriving and then panic attack, left the medical staff no other choice but to intervene via IV, especially as my nails clawed at my throat.

Because there’s been no pause.

No reprieve. No forgiveness.

This haunting movie reel regains control over me as my mind feels split in two. I’m trying to reconcile my last memories after his arrest—his vile acts once again choke me—while slamming into my processors and simultaneously tightening an invisible noose that’s slowly taking away my consciousness. I’m in and out of focus, once again unable to scream or ask for help, while the blood pressure monitor beeps loudly with my elevated distress.

While the world around me carries on as if nothing happened. As if an innocent woman didn’t almost lose her life because of a demented man’s obsession.

I’ll come for you.

“He was proud. Smug.” A truth that sends chills down my spine. It also takes me several minutes to mouth those words, a low whisper that hurts my already sore throat. Is it a lingering side effect of the medication they administered, or a byproduct of my reawakened distress?

I don’t know, but I am aware of my surroundings.

Of each rapid rise and fall of my chest and the pain in my throat that reminds me of the time I had strep. Swallowing feels like a thousand shards of glass are tearing at my flesh, and I can’t get enough air into my lungs. Each painful inhale stings more than the last.

My eyes do, too, as the tears begin to fall.

How can someone be so evil?

The answer, though, was clear in Jason’s expression; his capture excited him. His satisfaction was palpable and suffocating as more of his depravity unfolded for the camerasto see, and yet, his biggest thrill of all seemed to be the part I played.

ThatIcaught him. Exposed him.

“Good to see you awake, Ms. Perry. How are you feeling?” a female nurse asks, and I startle as she moves toward the multi-parameter monitor. She frowns at my reaction, but the expression deepens while looking at the readings. The blood pressure cuff begins to tighten then; it’s uncomfortable, and the pain only serves to heighten my already chaotic pulse.

The result is higher than normal numbers. Even I understand this isn’t good.

Everything feels wrong, and the understanding in her eyes is welcomed; I don’t need to explain. She knows. In silence, I watch as she logs something into the computer system near my bed, taking in small, measured breaths that become my focus.

I don’t want to acknowledge the feeling of fiery ants crawling under my skin.

I don’t want to give in to the lashes of pain striking me from all angles.

“…we need to get your blood pressure down. This is too high.” I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or herself, but I give a slight nod anyway when she peers over at my face. Her expression is filled with sympathy as I remain quiet. She also doesn’t comment on my lack of verbal response, which I’m grateful for. We both know I’m not okay. “I’ll page the attending physician to order something to lower your blood pressure. In the meantime, would you like some water?”

I give another brief nod. The nurse props me up enough to drink from a straw—my hands are too unsteady to hold the cup—and she assists me with patience. The cool water is a double-edged sword; it settles my dry mouth while simultaneously causing discomfort as I swallow the three small sips.

Shaking my head, I manage a strained smile after she places the cup on a nearby table. It’s taking everything in me to fight against the tendrils of anxiety crawling under my skin. To not give in and let them sedate me again, if for nothing more than to escape this purgatory.

“I’m going to leave this here in case you want more.” Once the over-bed table is settled over my thighs with the cup within reach, she pats my hand and steps back. “You’re safe, Ava.”

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