"Peachy," I deadpan.
"Good to see your sense of humor is intact. Let's see what's what." She pushes a rolling trolley in front of her, stopping at the side of my bed. After checking my vitals, she asks, "Do you know where you are?"
"Obviously in the hospital."
"Correct. You're actually in the intensive care unit. Do you know why?"
"Yes," I whisper. "Yes, I know."
She gives me a sympathetic look. "Do you know what day it is?"
"Saturday, right?"
"Almost Sunday. What year is it?"
I huff and rattle off the four digits she wants to hear.
"Great. How's your pain?"
"Everything hurts."
"I can get you some Tylenol…"
"No, thank you. I just... can I have some water please?"
"Very small sips." She nods as she passes me a cup with a straw.
Sterling rushes to help me sit up and I flinch ever so slightly, shying away from him. "Please don't touch me.”
He looks crestfallen, and I don't understand why. He should be happy...
This is what he wanted, after all. Or maybe he's just upset that I pulled through.
He looks helplessly from me to the nurse, and she gives him a sad smile. "This is normal, sweetie. She'll come around."
"I want him to leave."
"Oh, hun, your husband hasn't left your side since you got here. Why don't you try and get some rest," she says, dismissing me. "The doctor will be in to see you shortly."
I lie back against the flimsy pillow, shifting in search of a comfortable position, but it's no use.
"Emmy, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"Sorry for what? Sorry I'm still here?"
"What? No!" He paces at the foot of my bed, tugging on the ends of his hair before turning to me. "God, when I found you on your bathroom floor, I thought…” He looks tortured, absolutely anguished, but how do I know he means it? Sterling's nothing if not a good liar, and my brain is far too foggy to make heads or tails of him right now.
" I didn't protect you! I'm sorry I didn't see what was coming. That I didn't prevent this. God, I could have fucking prevented this. I should have known when he came by—"
"When who came by?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Rob."
Those three letters, that single syllable, rob me of my breath. It takes me a minute to ask, "When? That night you called me and were acting weird?"
He nods, his cheeks burning with something akin to shame. "Yeah."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought I handled it. I thought I was keeping you safe." He laughs brokenly. "I fucked up. God, baby, I'm sorry."
I try to shrug, but my shoulder only lifts a fraction of an inch. It feels like someone beat me with a baseball bat and left me for dead. "You really expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?"
He pinches his eyes shut and tips his head back. "You have every reason to believe I’m guilty, but I wasn't, and I'm gonna do everything in my power to prove it to you. I'm going to make those responsible pay."
Sterling lowers his gaze, locking his eyes onto mine. "I'm calling every favor I'm owed. Rob will not get away with this. He won't."
He sounds so sincere, so broken, but still, I'm hesitant to believe him. I mean, he lied about Rob stopping by, how do I know he isn’t lying to me now as well?
"Why do they think you're my husband?"
He offers a sheepish smile. "Only immediate family can come back here."
I try to nod, but the motion makes my head swim. "Do you want some more water?"
"Sure."
He crosses the room, and picks up my cup, guiding the straw to my lips. "I know you don't believe me, but I love you, and I'm gonna fix this."
He truly is distraught looking, with his rumpled clothes, pale face, and tired eyes. My heart wants so badly to believe him, but my brain knows I'm not ready to make those kinds of decisions.
I swallow and turn my head, looking away from him. A lone tear falls as I ask, "Why is it every time you try to fix things, they seem to get worse?”
I can tell Sterling wants to say something, to defend himself, to plead his case. The pulsing of his clenched jaw is a dead giveaway. But he doesn’t. Instead, he retreats back to his chair beside my bed.
The silence between us is thick and awkward, but before either of us can make a move, there’s a knock.
“Come in,” I say, bringing a hand to my throat; even speaking hurts.
"Mrs. Price, it's so nice to see you awake and alert. How are you feeling?"
"Like I tried to die."
The doctor hums thoughtfully under her breath. "Indeed you did." She checks something on the stationary computer in the corner of the room before coming to stand beside my bed. "Is this the first time you've tried to take your own life?"