Page 53 of Ravaged Bride

I don’t believe it but I try to convince myself. That way, I can derive some comfort from the misery that is threatening to overwhelm me.

All men are assholes. Especially him. He’s no different to Alessandro. I don’t want to be with him. I’m happy with the idea of raising this baby alone.

It’s over. I’m alone. I’m fine with that.

I’ll wait for him to call. I won’t go back. I could be in danger. He’ll call me. I have faith. I believe in him. I know he’ll call.

I tell myself more lies until I’m finally able to drift off into a restless, haunted sleep.

SEVENTEEN

RICARDO

* * *

Two months later…

I’ve got a beard when I wake up. That’s not a good sign. Before I open my eyes, I scratch my face. My hand doesn’t hit skin. It hits a beard. I open my eyes, waiting for the world to come into focus.

The first thing I see is light. Bright light. Am I dying? Am I already dead? My parents are here. That’s not possible. They’re both dead.

I can’t see them clearly, just two outlines. They’re talking to me. The words are nonsense.

I drift away again. All I hear is the word, “Baby.” Why that word? Why does that matter?

Nothing. Just emptiness.

I wake up again. The same light but clearer this time. What I thought was my parents was just the overhead bulbs, strip lights running the length of the ceiling. A high white ceiling. Plain other than the lights.

I move my eyes downward, blinking as the blurred blobs start to coalesce into recognizable shapes. An armchair. Plain blue with wooden armrests. A clock on the wall. White background, black numbers. A cabinet beside my bed, steel, easy to clean.

The sheets are plain white. I look underneath. I’m naked and there’s a bandage wrapped around my stomach, another on my thigh.

I feel the back of my head. A patch of hair is missing about two inches square. I feel the exposed skin. Scarred flesh, still tender.

“Ah,” a voice says. “So you’re awake. You cost me a fifty.”

I look at the source of the sound. A door. I didn’t see it before. It’s open and Edward is standing there in his white coat. He’s got his standard pursed lips but there’s concern in his eyes. “How you feeling?”

I try to sit up, shifting backward slightly, a wave of dizziness nearly making me vomit. The figure of Edward fades and I go back down again.

I don’t know how long I’m out but when I open my eyes again, he’s next to the bed.

“Take it easy,” he says. “Coming out of a coma is not easy. I’ve told the nurses you’re awake. We’ll transport you home soon.”

“A coma?” I ask, my voice raspy like sandpaper on an old table. “I was in a coma?”

“Don’t worry. Your memory will come back to you soon enough. How’s your head? You see me clearly?”

“I see an asshole who bet I wouldn’t wake up.”

“So you are on the mend. That’s good. You’re welcome by the way.”

“What for?”

“You had three separate bullet wounds and I not only managed to get you patched up, I also prevented sepsis from taking you out. Kept you alive while you were in the coma. You know, nothing much.”

“How long was I out?”

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