Page 8 of The Arrogant's Surrender

Moses stepped in front of me, intercepting one of the bullets. I saw him fall, his eyes on me, just as I felt a sharp pain in my knee and the sound of sirens filled the air.

My legs, as if made of jelly, gave out beneath me. I remember trying to grab hold of something, but I couldn’t.

I fell and hit my head.

And then, the pain and fear were gone.

I don’t know how long it’s been since it all happened. The first voice I heard again was that of the man who comes to see me every day, calling my name.

His tone was cold, and he told me I had to wake up because the tumor was gone.

Tumor? What tumor? Wasn’t it the gunshot that put me here?

After I heard him, I began to hear my sister Madison as well, and someone else, whom I now know is her husband, Zeus. He comes to visit me and talks to me—or maybe it’s more accurate to say he talksatme.

Madison told me my babies are fine, and in that moment, I desperately wanted to open my eyes, but I couldn’t.

She said she’s pregnant and that she got married. I wish I could’ve seen my sister in her wedding dress. Given the way we were raised, I never imagined Madison would trust anyone enough to get married. Neither of us has ever been good at trusting.

I only moved in with Moses because I got pregnant and wanted my children to have the right to grow up with both a mother and a father, as a complete family.

But shortly after Soraya and Silas were born, I realized I’d made a mistake. Madison and I were raised without a mother’s presence. We carry many scars, but our love for each other knows no bounds.

Moses was never home with us, even before the babies were born, always involved in activities I’d begun to suspect had nothing to do with managing port logistics, as he’d told me his job did when we met.

"I'm starting to think you’re just lazy, Brooklyn Foster. You fooled me well. At first glance, I thought you were a fighter, but staying asleep while your life passes you by doesn’t seem like putting up much of a fight from where I’m standing."

He’s here again. The arrogant man who’s starting to irritate me. This isn’t the first time he’s provoked me like this, and everytime, I feel an overwhelming urge to open my eyes and give him a piece of my mind.

Who is he? A doctor? His voice is unfamiliar, as are the voices of most of the other people around me. The only ones I recognize are my sister’s and Eleanor’s.

But I’ve memorized his scent by now. And his footsteps too. I always know when it’s the man with the cold, hard voice here with me.

"No reaction yet? Maybe I should just give up on you. Don’t you want to see your children? Kids can hold on to memories, but if you keep this up, they’ll end up calling Madison ‘Mom.’"

"No!"I shout angrily, but I think it was only in my head because I don’t hear any sound.

I’m ready to say it again when I feel him take my hand. Not like he’s checking my pulse—he doesn’t grasp my wrist. He presses his palm against mine.

"I’m challenging you to wake up, Brooklyn. Show the world I was right and everyone else was wrong. I believed in you, girl. I know a winner when I see one, and I know you want to raise your children."

I hate this man. Does he think it’s that easy to just open my eyes?

At the same time, I love the confidence in his voice. I want to prove to him that believing in me wasn’t a mistake. For some reason I don’t understand, I don’t want to disappoint him.

The effort it takes to pull myself out of the darkness makes tears spill from my eyes.

"Wake up, Brooklyn." There’s no arrogance in his voice this time. It’s a plea, and I finally obey.

"No one else . . . is going to raise my children," I say slowly as I look at him for the first time, though my vision is still blurry. "Those babies are mine."

Athanasios

CHAPTER FIVE

“No one else. . . is going to raise my children,” she says, opening eyes as blue and clear as the sky on a spring day. “Those babies are mine.”

Her voice is hoarse from months of silence. She’s thin, having lost even more weight—a natural consequence of her condition. Her lips are dry. Brooklyn looks so fragile that I feel like if I were to grip her wrist with just a little too much pressure, it might break. Yet, there’s something about her that draws me in like never before.

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