"Goddamn it," I whisper underneath my breath. The silence that follows is deafening as Blake works silently at my bedside. He has barely made a sound for the past half-hour. Honestly, It's quite eerie, but at least he is not easily distracted.
"Just one more stitch, and then I'm done with this," His strong voice ceases the silence while he continues concentrating on the deep cut in my thigh.
I swiftly look away, squeamish at the sight of my blood rushing from the wound.
Urgently, I feel the need to vomit, repulsed by the deathly stench filling the room,
How much longer? I think to myself.
"Try and stick through it. Just a couple more seconds," Blake announces as if he read my thoughts. He swiftly moves his fingers in unison, as nimble as a cat. Despite his attempted gentleness, the pain is overwhelming. I purse my lips together and withhold myself from yelling at the top of my lungs. Every ounce of strength I possess is going to keep me awake.
But, my head hurts, and the humidity of this basement doesn't help one bit. Buckets of sweat fall from my face and onto the dirty white sheets of the bed. With all their drug money, can't they at least afford some air conditioning down here?
Sorry.
I shouldn't be so snappy, but I can't help it. This procedure hurts like hell, especially since he didn't offer me any sedatives. That's ironic. We are practically surrounded by drugs down here in his 'mafia base.'
So, Blake's in the mafia,
What else is new?
In all honesty, I did not see this coming. Out of all the explanations that ran through my head as I was being tortured, this was definitely not one of them. I'm trying to understand, I really am, but I can't fathom Blake being a part of something this elaborate. He doesn't seem like the type of person to do drugs, let alone sell them for business. Maybe, I don't know him as well as I thought I did.
My leg twitches uncontrollably as he threads the needle through my skin for the last time. I hold my breath and arch my back in an attempt to hold myself still. He presses his palm into my hip to stretch my skin for better visibility. His cold hands send a rush of chill throughout my entire body.
"Finished," He exclaims as he throws the bloody scalpel on the metal table, causing a loud clank.
I look at the scrappy job on my thigh and wonder if it will leave a scar. But, that's the least of my concerns. As I lay on this hospital bed, a million thoughts run through my head,
What am I going to tell my parents when I get home?
Will Mathias come after me again?
Am I now involved in Blake's mafia?
Where is Grant, and why hasn't he texted me?
A feeling of guilt rushes over me. My family doesn't deserve to be left worrying about my whereabouts. They already have enough on their plates with my cancer.
Frantically, my eyes dart around the room, searching for my phone that somehow magically disappeared from my pocket. Where could it be?
"If you're looking for your phone, It's not here. I sent it to the tech department to make sure that Mathias didn't bug it," Blake says hastily, as he throws away all of the bloodied napkins and dirty instruments.
For no specific reason, this angers me beyond words.
"You just took it without asking me?" I snap. He gives me a side-eye after he applies hand sanitizer.
"Brynne," He starts, "I don't think you understand how much danger you are in right now."
Really? How much danger? I was tortured for three hours straight. I think I know how much 'danger' I can handle.
"No, but I know who put me in this danger in the first place." Maybe that was a bit too harsh, but it's true.
Blake scrunches his eyebrows and walks toward me. He attempts to place his hand on my arm, but I instinctively move away and breathe harshly. His defeated blue eyes stare into my soul. Sensing his regret, I look away and rest my head back.
"Okay, I'll let you get some rest," He sighs as he walks towards the door. His broad back tightens to appear unaffected by my rejection. I can see right through his facade. He doesn't want to leave.
Part of me wants him to stay. Tell me everything that's happened over the past four years. Tell me about school and running this 'business.' Every little milestone and memory. I want to know everything about him. And more.
The other part of me wants him to leave. To leave and never come back. It would save us both loads of heartbreak, especially since we've gotten too close over the past few days. The more time I spend with him, the stronger my feelings will become. And that's the last thing that I need right now, more complications. Plus, he's not good for me. He's dangerous to be around.
Why does that make me want him more?
The door shuts behind him, and I am left drowning in my thoughts. What if I wasn't sick? Would I let myself go for Blake? Our relationship is anything but easy. But I think that's what would make it special. Feelings of regret take over my soul as I think about what could be if I wasn't dying. I let myself dream about our make-believe future together.
After a couple of minutes of imagining, the pain of my injuries sets in. Gruesome shocks of burning run down my arms and legs. Almost instantly after, a wave of exhaustion rushes over me, and my eyelids fall into their place. As I fall asleep, I hope that I can escape from this nightmare called reality.
———————————————————————
"Are you going to tell her?"
Faint familiar voices pull me out of my sweat-filled slumber. It sounds like they are talking right outside of the medical room. I listen in as they continue their conversation.
"No, she doesn't need to know."
I know that voice anywhere.
"But Mathias tortured her for three hours. Wouldn't she be happy that you killed him?"
What?
Mathias is dead?
Anger takes over me as Blake answers.
"I risked starting a mafia war with the Spanish when I killed him. I don't want to risk losing her either. She would never forgive me if she found out."
He killed Mathias after I begged him not to?
I quickly get out of the bed and ignore the sharp agony that runs through my right knee. As quick as I can limp, I make my way to the doorway.
I'm about to twist the doorknob when the metal door swings open, revealing a group of ten men. I feel tiny and inferior compared to all these strong and tall guys. I couldn't escape even if I tried. It appears that they are all standing in a circle facing a man in the middle.
A man that seems to be dead. The sight of his disheveled face sends a shiver down my spine.
It's Mathias.
I blink a couple of times to make sure that I'm not dreaming. The man who hurt me beyond repair is laying on the floor in front of me with his head bashed in. His suit is covered in blood and gunshot wounds. I can't distinguish what's blood and what's vomit, but I know that he died a slow and painful death. One that he no doubt deserved.
"What are you doing up?" Blake, who's standing by the door, mumbles embarrassedly. It's almost like he's surprised that I'm awake.
He's ditched his casual clothes for a black tuxedo and red tie. If I wasn't furious with him, I would even call him sexy.
But I am.
I am genuinely enraged.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I raise my voice and give him a look of angry confusion.
Blake shifts uncomfortably and clenches his jaw. He doesn't show any signs of remorse or regret. All he displays is his annoying pride that fills the humid room.
"I did what I had to do to keep you safe," He booms.
The bruises on my face heat up as I limp toward him. He reaches his arms out to help me, but I send him a death glare, and he puts them behind his back. Positioning myself a couple of feet away from him, I prepare myself for an argument.
"You promised," I rasp, my voice becoming weak.
He waves his men out of the room, leaving us two alone in the basement.
Blake immediately turns into a different person, allowing himself to relax and become vulnerable in front of me. I hate that he has to put up a strong wall in front of everyone. No one deserves to have to hide their feelings until they're alone.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. Every time I saw you in pain on that hospital bed, I thought of him and what he did to you," He explains softly.
I want to accept this, but an explanation isn't going to cut it.
"I asked you not to kill him for this exact reason. Who knows how much trouble you're in with his mafia. Imagine the extents they will go to for revenge. You put yourself in danger," I frustratedly voice.
"I would do it again."
Now he's just being stupid. Walking a fine line like this is most likely going to get him killed.
"Why? Why would you risk it all for revenge?" I grimace in pain from my knee. My chest moves up and down because I am out of breath from all this exertion. Feeling a headache coming on, I strategically put my hand on the wall closest to me.
"Brynne, can't you see it?" He gasps exasperatedly, "I first felt it after we sky-dived, and I kissed you. But since then, it's been so damn hard for me to hide my feelings. Every moment with you makes me want to burst. I want to touch you all the time, feel your body, every part of it. I want to run away with you and never look back. Forget all this mafia shit and finally be happy with the person I want. And I promised myself that I wouldn't fall for you. Especially since Grant specifically told me not to. But it's too late. I'm already too deep. I want you all to myself and will do anything to make that happen."
Wow. I'm at a loss for words. My jaw fights to open in astound for everything he's just told me. I've failed at the one thing I promised myself I wasn't going to do. I've fallen for him as well. This can't be happening. My head starts to pound, and I grab it, pressing my fingertips into the sides of my temple.
"Are you alright?" Blake reaches out for my waist. I take a couple of steps back and mutter,
"What exactly is it that you feel for me, Blake?"
He pushes his hand through his hair and sighs. His suit suddenly becomes tight on him, so he unbuttons the first couple of buttons on his white shirt, revealing his sweat-glowing chest.
"What do you feel?"
He moves closer to me and brushes my hair out of my eyes. I close them, afraid that his eyes will trap mine like he's done countless times before.
"What do you feel," I whisper while pressing my eyelids together.
He shifts close to me, and I step back, opening my eyes.
"Love. I feel love," Blake admits.
And with that, I turn around and find an exit from this hellhole. My hearing becomes fuzzy as I run around the basement, looking for doors or elevators. I can faintly hear low shouts coming from behind me and assume it's Blake yelling for me to come back. I can't stay here. I can't hurt him as I've already managed to hurt everyone else.
He loves me. Why?
I find an elevator a couple of hundred feet away from the medical room and press the button continuously. Turning back to see if Blake has caught up to me, I find him standing in the same spot where I left him. Looking defeated and almost heartbroken, he makes eye contact with me and does not break it until the elevator doors open, and I step in. I press the lobby button, hoping it doesn't lead me into a crossfire between rival mafias. I don't think my body could handle a gunshot as well. After all, it's fighting cancer quietly. As the doors close, my last look at Blake reveals that he is running towards the elevator, shouting my name. His loud voice quickly becomes inaudible after the loud crash of the metal doors meeting.
I look down and notice that my stitches have split, and blood is running down my leg.
Fuck, I whisper underneath my breath.
After the doors open, I am met by two security guards that could be classified as giants. They hold guns in their hands and have two automatic rifles strapped across their bulky backs. One of the guards looks at the other with wide eyes. Then, he gets a phone call and walks away to answer it.
I would talk to the other guy if my head didn't hurt so bad. It feels like someone is hitting my head with a baseball bat.
Then again, they did.
Sighing, I lean against the marble wall in the lobby. Looking around, I notice that this whole place looks like a hotel. It's the perfect disguise. No one would ever suspect a thing. There is even a man dressed as a receptionist, no doubt just there to tell people that the hotel is "full".
The security guard comes back, "I have been instructed to take you home, miss," He proceeds.
I nod my head and follow him to the deck parking lot at the back of the building. There are rows and rows of sports cars like Blakes', and even some nicer than his. How much money do these people have?
I reluctantly follow him to a black suburban SUV. It looks very mysterious and dark inside. Once he opens the back door, it reveals the black leather interior. As I get in, I hear muffled voices coming from the guard's earpiece. I wonder what sort of trouble I have gotten these men into. I hope no one else dies because of me. Thinking of Mathias still on that concrete floor makes me sick.
Now, sitting down without ripping open more of these stitches is a task in itself. Finally, I manage to find a way to lay without stretching my thigh too much. The smell of cologne floats throughout the car after the guard slides into the driver's seat.
He pulls out of the parking lot and begins to speed down the city roads until we reach my neighborhood. The ride surprisingly goes by very fast, not leaving me anytime to think about what I am going to say to my parents. I guess I could tell them I needed to get away for a weekend and lost my phone. But that doesn't explain the bruises and cuts all over my body. I could say I got mugged, and that's how I lost my phone.
Yes, that's perfect.
As we turn into my driveway, I feel confident in my story. The guard stops the car and opens the door for me. What a fine service.
I try to hide my limp as I walk to the door. By the time I reach the front porch, the SUV is long gone, and any trace of it has disappeared forever. It's like this whole weekend never happened. That's why I have to forget about it. Forget about what Blake said. Forget about everything that happened between us. It's for his good. He'll understand one day. I know it'll hurt, it already does, but I'll get through it. I got through ending things with Elise, who was my best friend for sixteen years.
But for some reason, the pain that sits in my chest is something that I have never felt before.
Something has been ripped from inside of me. Underneath all of these superficial wounds and my cancer lies my greatest injury of all.
An injury to my heart.
And I don't think I'll ever be able to heal it.