She's crazy but she's mine
The message burned into his vision, the words refusing to let him breathe.
It’s getting worse. You better come.
Marko didn’t think—he just moved. The phone slipped into his pocket as he bolted out the door, adrenaline surging through his veins like fire.
By the time he reached the car, the night air was biting cold, his chest already tight. It was 4 a.m. The streets lay in silence, the city still asleep, but his world had already cracked open. He drove like a man possessed, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed ahead, every red light another insult he couldn’t afford. His knuckles blanched against the steering wheel.
When the hospital finally appeared, its fluorescent glow cutting through the darkness, he didn’t remember how he got there. He only remembered running.
The doors slid open. His shoes struck the polished floor in rapid echoes, his heartbeat keeping pace. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his lungs, burning, but he didn’t slow. Nurses glanced at him as he tore past, but no one stopped him—he was a man on a mission, a man who belonged here.
And then he reached her floor. The closer he came, the heavier his body felt, like each step dragged him deeper into a nightmare.
Her room was just ahead.
Mark slowed, only for a heartbeat. His hand hovered over the handle, trembling. His sister—his baby sister. His everything. The only person he had left.
He pushed the door open.
Marko sat by her bedside, watching as Carmine’s chest rose and fell gently. Relief washed over him now that he could see her with his own eyes. He brushed a strand of her dark hair from her forehead, the gesture almost automatic—something he had done since she was little.
Carmine’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but playful.
“You again? Don’t you ever sleep?” she teased, her voice faint but laced with mischief.
She blinked at him, head tilted. “You look like you just ran a marathon.”
“I basically did,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, trying to look composed. “What were you doing, competing with the nurses in here to scare me to death?”
Carmine chuckled, her laugh light and unbothered. “Maybe. Worked, didn’t it?”
Marko narrowed his eyes at her, pretending to scowl. “Don’t joke like that, brat.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Don’t call me brat, old man.”
“Old man?” His brows shot up. “I’m twenty-seven, Carmine. That’s prime time.”
“That’s ancient.” She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You probably need glasses soon.”
Marko gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Glasses? Me? Do you realize who you’re talking to? I’m stylish. Timeless. Women still turn their heads when I walk by.”
DU LIEST GERADE
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝑳𝒊𝒆
SonstigesI was acting. When I laughed... When I said I loved him... When I held his hand in front of everyone, When I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes as if I were safe. He was acting too. When he whispered my name... When he held my waist in fro...
