Page 46 of What Comes After

Devyn

Heavy.

Groggy.

Completely disoriented.

That was the best way to describe my current physical state as I allowed my senses to take stock of my situation.

I could hear voices, but they were so far away. The sound of the occasional beep surrounded me, but it was mostly quiet, giving me no indication as to where I was.

But the smell was different.

That was almost unmistakable. Overpowering antiseptic. There was only one place I knew of that smelled like this.

Needing confirmation, I peeled my eyes open.

A white blanket and white gauze covered parts of my body. Higher up on my chest, the familiar sight of a hospital gown. Glancing down at my arm, I saw the IV in my hand.

I attempted to take in a deep breath and was met with what I could only describe as a tight, achy feeling along my sides. And weak.

God, it felt like it’d take the strength of ten men to simply lift my one arm.

But here it was. I had the proof.

I hadn’t died.

My eyes remained focused on the IV as I foolishly allowed my last memories to filter through my mind. The blows. The pain. The truth. None of it had provided me with any comfort, and all I could do was recall the distinct feeling of fear when it was happening, believing I was going to die.

Maybe I didn’t know the full extent of my injuries or what day it was at this point, but at least I had survived.

Tearing my eyes away from my hand, I rolled my head to the opposite side. It felt like moving a lead weight.

But any of the physical symptoms I was experiencing were nothing compared to the emotional reaction I had the moment my eyes landed on the sight on the opposite side of the bed.

Maybe I was dead.

Maybe this wasn’t real at all.

Because sitting there in the chair, eyes closed with one hand wrapped firmly around mine, was Theo.

A figment.

He had to be nothing more than that.

Maybe the assault I’d experienced had done extensive damage to my brain, and for the rest of my life, I was going to have visions of Theo dancing in my head as a means of torture, as a reminder of how much I’d lost.

And torture is precisely what it would be.

A man like him, who looked the way he did and still had a piece of my heart that nobody else ever would, there was no doubt I’d be in agony forever.

He was the picture-perfect image of a movie star. Dark hair, blue eyes, cheekbones, and a square jawline. His body was built—tall, solid, and strong. It could only be described as the physique that conjured up thoughts of superheroes.

This wasn’t fair.

Because he was so much more than a handsome face and a beautiful body.

He was the first man I’d fallen in love with, my first kiss. He was kindness and compassion. He was confidence.

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