Page 130 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
Someone’s talking, maybe more than one voice, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. Everything blends together.
I try to move, but nothing happens. My body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. It’s heavy and weightless.
Then I hear him.
His voice, low, rough, frayed at the edges, cuts through the noise. It reaches somewhere deep inside me. My chest tightens, and for a second, it almost feels like I can breathe again.
I want to reach for him. I try.
But I can’t.
Every attempt feels like being pulled under. The harder I fight to move, the more it feels like I’m sinking. My mind screams at me to wake up, to open my eyes, to answer him, but my body won’t listen.
I’m so tired.
Maybe it would be easier to stop trying, to rest.
But then he says my name.
His voice cracks on it… broken, and something inside me twists so hard it hurts. My heart stirs, aching and unsteady.
I want to tell him I’m here. That I’m trying.
But before I can, the sound fades. The faint light around me dulls until it’s gone completely.
And then there’s nothing.
Just black.
Chapter 47
Arlo
It’s been twenty-four hours.
To be exact, twenty-four hours, thirty-eight minutes, and forty-four seconds.
She’s in a coma.
A fucking coma.
The doctors said she sustained blunt force trauma to the head, multiple fractures, and internal bleeding.
They operated on her abdomen for over four hours. The surgery was successful, or so they claim, but her condition is still critical.
She’s stable enough to hold on, that’s what they keep saying. But she’s not awake. Her chest rises with every assisted breath, and yet it doesn’t feel like she’s really here.
Now she’s lying in a private room I had cleared for her, an entire wing, actually. No other patients, or noise except the machines.
Octavia’s curled up in a chair beside the bed, a crumpled tissue in her hand. She’s been crying for hours. Every few minutes, there’s another quiet sniffle, and every damn time, my jaw tightens.
I get it. She’s her sister. She’s terrified.
But the sound is driving me insane.
I’m barely holding it together as it is, and every sob, every shaky breath, reminds me that I can’t fix this.
The room feels crowded, too many bodies, too much noise for a place that should be silent.
