Page 20 of Dead Set on You
To my left, Violet whimpers. I want to tell her I’ve got this handled, but she rushes forward, like a linebacker locked on a target. Me.
Instinct takes over—and I brace for impact, hands covering my head and my chest. I suck in a breath, ready.
The impact never comes.
Because she runs rightthroughme.
A sharp gasp tears from my throat. I feel like I’ve slipped beneath the surface of a frozen lake, and I’m struggling to breathe. To stand. To grasp for the surface.
Shivering, I double over, taking in deep, deep breaths.
I can’t pass out. Not again.
Arms coiled around my middle, like they can keep me together, I drop to the floor. “Ohmammamia,” I whisper. I’m not so sure it’s Rafael’s meds making me loopy.
Pressure builds inside my chest, compressing my lungs, making breathing painful. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, burning my throat and threatening to spill.
Oh God.
“Hey.” Rafael’s rough voice draws my attention to him. He’s hovering near me, his face a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. But something else is there too (something that could be confused for genuine concern). I can’t process him when I’m barely handling myself.
“What’s happening?” I whisper, hating the plea in my voice. Nothing makes sense—waking up here, my hands doing crazy things, and Violet goingthroughme.
What is happening? What is happening?
Cold burns through me. A beeping noise sharpens and intensifies, burrowing into my head.
I press my hands around my ears, close my eyes, and gasp for air.
Full-blown panic attack mode.
In front of Rafael.
Breathe,I command myself.
I can’t faint again. I can’t let him see me at my worst.
One Mamma Mia.
A traitorous tear slips out.
Two Mamma Mia.
I don’t know how many breaths it takes for me to finally inhale without feeling like I’m drowning. But I feel steady enough to open my eyes and face Rafael.
Only it’s not him I’m looking at.
It’s me. And I’m lying in a hospital bed.
CHAPTER FIVESEVEN DAYS LATER
I wheeze in shock.
The body in the hospital bed is connected to so many wires and monitors it looks like a science experiment gone wrong, but worse—because that’s undeniablyme.
My face is a couple of shades darker than white, cheeks slightly flushed. My hair, usually styled into glossy brown waves, lies limp and dull against the pillow. I could pass for a corpse—would pass for one if not for the machines saying otherwise. The beeping monitors. The almost imperceptible rise and fall of my chest—herchest. Because that … can’t be me.
You’ve been in a coma for a week.Rafael’s voice is in my head.
