Page 4 of Created in Chaos

“Splint?” Rory frowns.

“She fell. Our family physician X-rayed it and wrapped it for her,” I explain.

“Did you witness the fall? I would hate to think it was a precursor to this attack and she didn’t tell anyone.” The doctor is off base, but I can’t really blame him for his line of thinking.

“We were there. She tripped on the sand at the beach,” Nox informs him, leaving out my part in her fall.

Rory’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as if the information surprises him. I’m tempted to rub in just how much he doesn’t know about his granddaughter, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Well, that’s good to hear. I was worried there was a pattern of abuse. I see it all the time in young girls.”

“When will she wake up? Will there be any lasting effects?” Astrid dismisses his concern, and it rubs me wrong. It’s like she doesn’t even care what happened as long as her heir will heal.

“There’s no telling. It could be an hour, or it could be two days from now. There’s brain activity, and she’s responsive to stimuli. We’re doing all we can for her medically, so we have to wait and see.”

Realizing I’ve learned everything I’m going to from him, I peer into the room they are standing in front of, finding my lamb in the bed of a private room walled off in glass, but I don’t let that stop me from going in.

NOVA

I can’t seem to wake up. Every time I try to open my eyes, I feel them roll back in my head, and then a heavy sleep pulls me under. The dreams are bad, filled with hooded figures, darkness, and pain, but fighting against it feels impossible, so I just sink lower, hoping to find the abyss that seems to consume me when I’m out of it.

Sometime later, my leg jerks, retreating from a sharp pain, then before I can register what’s happening, a blinding light fills my vision. I try to squint and turn my head away, but the slight movement makes my stomach roll with nausea while my head pounds.

“You’re hurting her,” a deep voice snaps, and then the light is gone from my eyes, along with some pressure from my face. I try to move my tongue, but my mouth is so dry, I nearly gag.

“If you’re not going to allow me to do what I need to, you’ll have to leave.” The female voice rings out too loudly, and the ache in my head returns. Scratch that, everything hurts, not just my head.

“Fuck off!” the deep voice says quietly, but it doesn’t abate the harshness in his tone. Warm, gentle fingers brush along my forehead, and I try to blink my eyes open again. “That’s it, open your eyes, lamb.”

A jolt of awareness fills every fiber of my being. I know that voice, know that name, but I have no idea how or why. As my splintered mind tries to put jagged pieces together, I become mindful of a hand over mine, a thumb stroking my wrist soothingly.

Flashes of the accident, of the car flipping and rolling while glass breaks and metal crunches, flare in my mind. I try to call for my dad, but it comes out as a pathetic moan and nothing more.

“Give her something so she’ll stop hurting,” the voice says, their hand still touching my face.

“We need to see if she can wake up,” the woman responds, and the steady beeping I wasn’t even aware of until this moment grows faster.

“Lucian, chill out,” a guy orders calmly, and the name tugs at something, but so does the voice. My head hurts too badly when I try to think too hard, or maybe it just hurts all the time. I pray for the void to swallow me up again, even though I know I shouldn’t, because there’s something in that darkness that scares me more than the pain. “Nova, can you hear me, sweetheart? Squeeze my hand,” he instructs while patting my fingers to curl around his. It takes more effort than I can imagine, but my fingers twitch, and my arm is pulled up abruptly.

“Good job, baby, good job.” Something warm and wet brushes my knuckles. A full mouth flashes in my mind, but it’s too hard to hold onto the image.

“Nova, can you hear me?” the woman speaks again. She’s too loud, and I shrink back into the bed. “Can you open your eyes?” She’s talking to me like I’m deaf or stupid. I want to tell her to shush, but it’s just a puff of air that passes my lips instead.

“Stop talking to her like she’s fucking brain-dead,” the harsh voice speaks again. It sounds just like the other, but different. I try to blink again, and I get my first peek of something other than the back of my eyelids.

A face leans over me, and it’s too close to focus on, but he smells warm and rich, so different than the icy air around me. My teeth start to chatter, and I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.

“She’s freezing,” he accuses, putting his face next to mine. I let my eyes fall closed when my nose is nestled into his neck, absorbing his warmth.

Nova

I wake from a nightmare, but my body refuses to move, as if I’m still caught in a dream where I’m trying to run but not getting anywhere. The room is dark, and unfamiliar sounds fill the emptiness around me. Is that me breathing so heavily? Why is my mind so foggy, and where the heck am I?

Memories slowly shift into place—driving home in the rain, Dad shouting Mom’s name, then chaos—but as my mind catches up, other thoughts break in. I remember the long hospital stay, my apartment, and working—life after my parents’ deaths.

I pull in a harsh breath, because the realization stings. They are dead and have been for a while. Why the hell am I back in the hospital?

Squinting my eyes makes my jaw ache. I try to lift my arm, but it’s too heavy, so I just look down. There’s a bandage on my wrist. I wiggle my fingers, then aim farther down for my toes. The blanket shifts just a little, and I drop my head back to the too flat pillow. The resulting ache throbs with my heartbeat, making it hard to think for a long moment.

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