𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖉 (3)

❝🖤❞ ——

Voices spoke, muffled as if underwater. Glass-shattering whistles rang in her ears, but nothing came through. Tears caked her eyes, sore and blurry. Everything was white and formless, without sense. Her nose painfully breathed the dry, overly scentless air.

Everything was a mess.

She tried moving her arms and legs, but the pain that shot through her nerves settled her still. As she opened her mouth, air rushed in, scratching her throat. The strain on her vocal cords tightened them; she couldn’t get a word out.

She knew something was amiss, but she hadn’t yet realized what. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. She tried to recall the last thing that happened; the last thing she ed.

Last I .

She paused, concentrating. It was short-lived. Her vision nearly flashed white as a headache bashed her skull. It became too much for her to bear. She stopped short of a blank scene.

She couldn’t .

“Florence?”

She turned her head to the sound. It was a man.

A man.

Her head spiked with pain as pictures came rushing back. A party. A drink. A man. A fight. Something had happened. She panicked and her body worked automatically. She sat up, ignoring her muscles screaming in protest and held a bloody IV in defence. Her clumsy grip only made her more aware that something was horribly wrong with her.

“Put the needle down, Florence. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t relent. The man stood slowly and took a step back, waiting. “Florence, s’il te plaît. Je ne te veux aucun mal.”

Still, she held the drip with a whitening grip. But soon, it was too much for her body to handle. Her head grew light, and her breathing laboured. She felt her heart palpitating in her chest. It all hurt so much.

She collapsed.

Damien caught her as she fell forward and called for the nurses. They rushed in, placing Florence back to rest with a new IV in her arm. Anthony came in with them, asking him what had happened. The shadow settled on his friend’s face and made him nauseous with concern.

“Anthony.”

“Yes, chief?”

“Call him for me.” Venom laced each word. “It’s time I finished what I started.”

Anthony flinched. “Damien? What happened?”

Too much, the man thought.

It had been nearly a year since Florence was in a coma. With each month, he lost more and more hope that he would ever see her again. Now, by some miracle, she woke up, but…his fear had become a reality.

“She doesn’t recognize me, Anthony. Florence doesn’t know who I am,” he said, voice trembling. “My wife…”

My wife forgot me.

The words choked in his throat. It was taking him every shred of his being to control the mix of emotions violently stirring within him. Florence was there, but he had lost her regardless.

“Make the call,” he ordered. “I’m leaving tonight. You’ll be taking care of Florence during my absence.”

Anthony nodded. “Yes, chief.”

Phone in hand, he flinched when Damien dropped a hand on his shoulder. The air grew heavy around them, almost suffocating.

“If anything happens to her while I’m gone, don’t think I’ll hesitate to put a bullet in your head,” he said slowly. “You know well I can make it look like an accident.”

With that, Damien sent him away. Anthony had walked calmly until he turned the corner where he rushed to the nearest trash bin and threw up. He had been on missions with Damien before. They usually partnered on the most gruesome quests. And yet, that was never near as terrifying as his threats. Because he knew friendships meant nothing to Damien. His life was a slurry of business contracts.

He was no different.

“Florence, you’re one lucky girl.”