Page 80 of His to Bedevil

Irma

My head feels like someone stomped on it. “Irma?” Wincing, I blink my eyes open. When I do, I groan and throw my arm over my eyes to block out the light, but immediately regret it when there’s tenderness across my entire forehead.

Hissing I remove my arm. “What the—”

“Lo siento.” I hear a click, then the light behind my eyelids goes out. “Is that better?”

Blinking my eyes more, I’m able to gain focus and look around. I’m in our room, and I’m in our bed, but have no clue how I got here. Looking to my left, I find Berto sitting there with a concerned look on his face. “What… what happened?” I croak, and try to sit up.

“Here.” Berto jumps up and props a pillow behind me, then he sits back down in his chair. “Let me call the doctor, and then I can explain.”

He puts his phone up to his ear, and I close my eyes, trying to get my head to stop spinning. I tune Berto’s voice out as I swallow down the bile that’s threatening to come up.

“Irma?” I squint one eye open. “How are you feeling?” Berto asks me in a soothing voice.

“Like absolute dog shit,” I say dryly, and manage to peel my other eye open without feeling like I’m going to hurl. Berto chuckles. The first time I’ve heard him do that around me. Hell, the first time I’ve ever seen him smile around me. He’s usually glaring at me like he hates my guts and watching me like a hawk. “So, what happened? Wait.” I look around the room. “Where’s Alejo?” I feel my heart begin to beat out of my chest as I look around and don’t find him. I don’t remember what happened, but I remember him being hurt. Like, really badly. He better not have died.

“He’s in surgery. He had severe second and third degree burns on his back, and he’s in surgery right now to have some skin grafting done.”

“So, he’s okay?”

He nods, and I release the breath I was holding. “Just battered and bruised. A couple broken ribs. A concussion.”

I nod my head mechanically. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that he’s okay until the words left Berto’s mouth. The thought of Alejo dead… I swipe at a lonely tear that manages to slip out. “Irma.”

“Yes?” My head snaps in his direction, and I wince at the sudden movement.

“Why did you save Alejo? You could have run. You could have just left him and ran. You could’ve even run after you dragged him away. But you didn’t,” he says, his voice laced with skepticism.

I look down at my hands and swallow the lump in my throat. “I almost did.” I fiddle with my rings.

“Yes, I know. We had a drone there before we were able to reach you all. I saw you thinking about running. You hesitated, and in the end, you didn’t go through with it.”

“He told me to,” I rush out. “I wasn’t even thinking about it until he told me to run.”

“So, why didn’t you?” His head cants to one side.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just couldn’t.” Truth is, leaving Alejo like that didn’t even seem like an option. Not to me.

We sit in silence for a moment while his eyes practically burn a hole in the side of my head. Then the doors suddenly fly open, and Benita comes rushing in. “Oh,mija!” she cries, and runs over to the side of the bed where Berto is. She sits on the edge and cups my cheek with her hand. “I am so thankful that you and Alejo are okay. God bless.” She picks up my hand and kisses it. “How are you feeling,mija?”

“I feel like I might be sick,” I mumble as I close my eyes and lay my head back. “And my head feels like it weighs a million pounds. Or that there’s a million pounds sitting on it.”

“The doctor is on his way up. He’ll give you some pain meds and something for your stomach,” she reassures me.

I lift my hand up and give her a thumbs-up. I can’t move my lips anymore because I’m fighting back the vomit that wants to come up, and my head is literally pounding. Like Lord of the Dance is putting on a show up there wearing steel-toed boots.

I faintly remember all the events that transpired after Alejo shoved me off the plane, with complete negligence for his men. Then my memory gets fuzzy from there. I remember Lucas in front of me, and looking down at myself to see a lot of blood all over me.

“Dr. Bernard,” I hear Benita say, but I’m afraid to open my eyes. She and the doctor both greet one another, and then Berto mutters something I don’t catch.

“How are you, Señora Martinez?” I hear the familiar voice of the doctor.

God, I hate that name sometimes. Call me Irma, people!“Just peachy,” I mutter.

“Can I check your eyes,señora?”

“Hey, doc? Can you please just call me Irma? ‘Señora’ makes me feel old. No offense.”

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