I hold the two syringes right in front of his face. Both hold a clear liquid and are not distinguishable from each other. “You pick one. I have no idea which one holds your salvation and which one your demise.”
Pauli stares at the two for a few seconds before slightly nodding to the left one.
“Left it is.” Carefully, I take out the one he picked and set the box back on the table. Not too gently, I plunge the needle into his arm and inject him with every last drop of liquid in the syringe. When I’m done, I dispose of the injection needle and turn to Pauli.
“Well, before we find out which one you picked. I have a confession to make… there is no morphine.”
5
ASPEN
Things are different today. I can feel it in my chest with every breath I take. There is still pain, more emotional than physical. I sit in Quinton’s bed. His scent surrounds me, comforting me, swirling deep in my lungs. Ella walks about the room, refilling my water cup and disposing of my barely touched breakfast.
I don’t feel like myself, and in many ways, that person I used to be is gone. The shell encasing me is the same, bruised and battered but still intact. It’s the deeper stuff, the stuff that I can’t even fathom thinking about because if I do, I’ll spiral into a place I’ll never return from.
My mind still attempts to fill the missing pieces with whatever horror it can muster up. I do my best not to think about what Quinton told me, but somehow, I can’t get the thoughts to leave, and I know why.
I know I need to digest that I was pregnant, that there was an innocent life growing inside me, but I just… I can’t. I look down at my flat stomach covered by one of Quinton’s oversized T-shirts.
I feel empty, completely empty, without a drop of use. The thought evaporates when Quinton’s sister, Scarlet, sits on the edge of the bed beside me. I watch her out of the corner of my eye.
I know she wants to comfort me because everyone does. Quinton, their mom, the doctor, and the nurse, but nothing can comfort me. Nothing can stop the gushing wound inside my heart.
“Are you in any pain?” Scarlet asks, her voice nearly a whisper.
I look up at her and shake my head. My throat is tight, emotions I’m not ready to face yet clog it.
She frowns, and her angelic face fills with sadness. Scarlet is beautiful, the perfect blend of Xander and Ella, with big blue eyes and blond hair framing her heart-shaped face. I don’t want to burden her with the knowledge of what happened.
I don’t even know everything that happened. My mind blocks out every thought the moment I think I might have latched onto something. Bitter cold encompasses my body, and I grip the blanket tightly, wanting to bury myself beneath it.
“Quinton asked me to tell you everything will be okay and that he’ll return soon.”
All I can do is blink, letting her know that I heard her. Nothing is ever going to be fine again. I’m broken, shattered from the inside out. I might be alive, but a part of me died back in that warehouse.
The best parts of me, the parts that make me whole. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ella walking toward us.
Her blond hair is tied back into a ponytail, and the concerned look etched into her features makes my stomach tighten. I’m already tired of people worrying about me.
She stops at the edge of the bed, her eyes roaming over me. I can see the sadness in her eyes, the pity.
“Would you like to take a shower or even a sponge bath?” The idea of being clean, of taking a shower, never crossed my mind. It doesn’t matter to me. No amount of soap or water will clean away the filth that coats my skin. I’m forever damaged.
“Not right now,” I respond, my voice cracking. I’m thankful for Quinton’s family, that they’re here to take care of me and help, but all I feel like is a burden. A weak burden who couldn’t protect herself.
Ella frowns, but then the look of sadness slips from her face. “Maybe instead of a shower or bath, I bring you a cell phone, so you can call someone? Maybe a friend or your parents? Anyone that might be worried about your whereabouts?”
She stares at me, waiting for my answer. The thought of talking to Brittney, or even my mother, lightens my mood, but I don’t have Brittney’s number, and I have no idea where my mother is.
“Whenever I get down, I always call my sister, Violet. Talking to her always helps.” I know she’s just being kind, but I want to tell her it’s nice that she has someone to talk to, but that’s not the case for me. Instead, I just shake my head.