The Thief Who Saved My Life

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 (Evie’s POV- the rest of the book will be from Evie's POV)

 

When I woke up in the hospital, I have to admit I was more than a little surprised. It wasn’t quite the pearly gates of heaven I had hoped for, nor was it the blazing fires of hell I had kind of been expecting. I didn’t even get a white light, unless you count the flickering fluorescent bulbs reflecting of sterile white walls.

I don’t know what my next emotion was upon realizing that I was indeed alive. Relief? Maybe. Disappointment? A little. Pure unadulterated fear? Totally.

If I’m still alive, that means I really fucked up and life is likely to get a lot more interesting- I mean that in the worst possible way.

“Oh good, you’re up,” a cheerful nurse says to me, but I don’t miss the pity in her eyes. She’s really pretty, with porcelain skin and blonde hair curled to such perfection that even Blake Lively would be jealous. Her scrubs aren’t the normal, blue, they’re pink and the top is patterned with cute flowers. I wonder if her scrubs are supposed to be cheerful considering the people she works with.

I let out a completely unladylike snort when she awkwardly attempts conversation. She’s obviously uncomfortable around me, but I don’t know if it’s because of what I did or who I am. 

“I’ll just get the doctor,” she says with a wavering smile and then disappears out the door of my hospital room.

My empty, cold, sterile hospital room. There’s not a single splash of color anywhere in the room, even the hospital blanket is a dingy gray color. The place is quite gloomy and if I were depressed this room’s lack of cheer would not help.

Maybe I’ll make a suggestion before I leave and they can spruce it up for the next patient.

I don’t love hospitals. Actually, we could go so far as to say that I downright hate them. I never intended to wake up in one. I never intended to wake up at all.

But now that leaves me unsure. Where do I go from here?

Before I can ponder any longer on the thought, the nurse strolls back into my room with a doctor only a couple steps behind her. He’s an older man with kind eyes that are scrunched up due to the mirth of his smile. He strikes me as one of those people who are just always happy. He must really love his job.

“I’m Dr. Farris, the attending physician on your case Miss Dupree,” he tells me and I find my self liking him already, probably because he doesn’t have the same pitying look in his eyes that the nurse does.

Seriously, can she please stop looking at me like that already?

“Hi.” I hold out a hand to meet his half way in greeting, but when he takes my hand in his I can’t help but notice out gentle he’s being as I’m some fragile creature that may shatter at the slightest bit of pressure.

He explains that he just needs to check my vitals and I shrug, letting the man do his job.

“Everything looks good,” he says after I successfully follow his finger with my eyes. “You’re very lucky, you know.”

Am I? I’m not so sure I agree with him. I’m alive, yes, but is that necessarily better than the alternative? I don’t know. I don’t say anything in response, opting to flash a tight-lipped smile instead.

“Now protocol in this type of situation,” Dr. Farris begins carefully choosing his words, “dictates that we’ll keep you under observation for the next 72 hours. Dr. Phillips will be coming down in the next hour to spend some time getting to know you.” He smiles kindly and lets me know to call if I need anything else and then excuses himself to check on other patients or make out with young interns in elevators. Whatever it is that doctors do in their free time.