28. Gabriel
28
Gabriel
R aph calls me, telling me Inés–Little Killer has no major changes other than that her heart rate is rising like crazy. I know the feeling. I have been too busy preparing for what’s to come with her instead of being with her and helping her fight through this. I placed it all in the hands of Raph, and he is not the one who should be pulling most of the hours here with her. I don’t know… I just felt like I needed to be away, to breathe, I guess. Or that if I didn’t do things myself, I would be a failure, and if something else went wrong, it would be easier to take it out on myself instead of the others.
As soon as I touch her hand, I speak: “I know, I know, Little Killer…it’s dark, and every damn sound and touch is amplified to the point of driving you mad.” I pause. “Solo tienes que hacer lo que mejor haces: luchar contra mi hermosa.-Just do what you do best: fight it my beautiful.”
I can’t begin to explain how much I wish that I could take her pain and suffering away. The bandage wrapped around her head makes my stomach ache. She is in a world beyond hurt. Marklov nearly fucking killed her. Beat her so damn bad she was almost unrecognizable. This is going to be hard. I just know it is.
A small piece of her hair sits curled up near her neck. I reach for it, she is so delicate, like this—fragile, yet strong in ways I can’t begin to understand. My fingers hesitate before they graze the strand of hair, the warmth of her skin radiating beneath it. She doesn’t stir. She hasn’t moved in hours. The steady rise and fall of her chest is the only thing keeping me from completely losing my mind.
Marklov did this. That bastard. My jaw clenches so hard it aches. If she hadn’t been found in time, if I had been just a little later—No. I can’t think like that. She’s here. Breathing. Alive.
I lean back in the chair, scrubbing a hand down my face. The room is dim, the only light coming from the monitors beside her bed, their rhythmic beeping a reminder that she’s not okay. Not even close. And when she wakes up, when she finally opens those beautiful melted caramel eyes and sees the damage—she’s going to break.
And I’ll be here to catch every shattered piece.
I don’t care if she screams at me, if she pushes me away. I don’t care if she tells me to leave. She won’t get rid of me that easily. Not after this.
Carefully, I take her hand in mine. It’s cold compared to the rest of her body and so damn small in my grip. I rub my thumb over her knuckles, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
“You’re safe now,” I whisper, though I know she can’t respond to me. “And I swear to God, you will never leave my side again.”
A sharp, frantic beeping yanks me from the depths of sleep. My body jerks upright before my brain catches up, my heart hammering in my chest. The chair I’ve been slumped in for hours creaks beneath me as I blink against the harsh fluorescent light.
Then I see them.
Doctors. Nurses. Rushing in like a damn tidal wave, their voices clipped, urgent. My stomach drops.
Something’s wrong.
I’m on my feet before I even realize it, the chair scraping back with a harsh screech. My eyes dart to her, my breath stalling in my throat. She’s pale—paler than before. Too still. Her body jerks once, then twice, as one of the nurses barks orders.
“She’s seizing!”
The words barely register before I’m shoved back. Someone grips my arm, trying to move me away, but I shake them off.
“No—what the fuck is happening?” My voice is rough, hoarse from sleep and panic. I reach for her, but a nurse steps in front of me.
“Sir, you need to step back.”
I don’t want to step back. I don’t want to stand here useless while she fights for her life all over again. But I’m frozen, my feet rooted to the cold floor as the machines scream around me.
Her body trembles violently, and my stomach churns.
“Get 4 milligrams of Ativan now!” someone yells.
I clench my fists, and the nubs of what’s left of my nails dig into my palms. The helplessness is suffocating. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to stop any of this.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stops.
The beeping steadies. The urgency fades. Her body goes slack against the mattress.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until I let it out in a shuddering exhale.
A doctor turns to me, his expression grim. “She’s stable, but this might not be the last time it happens.” His gaze sharpens. “Are you family?”
I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. I don’t know what I am to her. Not officially. Not in the way that lets me stay. Hell, we barely even know each other, if I’m being completely honest.
But I can’t leave her.
I will not leave her.
“She doesn’t have anyone else,” I say, my voice firm. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’d like to see them try to make me.
The room is still buzzing with tension, but the urgency has died down. I force myself to unclench my fists, my fingers stiff and aching from how hard I had them balled. The machines beep in a steady rhythm now, but the sound doesn’t soothe me. Not when she’s still so damn still.
A nurse adjusts her IV, murmuring to another about monitoring her closely, but I barely hear them. My focus is locked on her—on the slow rise and fall of her chest. The tremors are gone. The worst is over.
But I need her to wake up.
I drag the chair closer to her bed and sink into it, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. My hands are shaking as I reach for hers. I don’t care if the doctors think I’m in the way. I don’t care if they tell me to leave. They can try but it will get ugly. Fast.
Her fingers are still cold. I wrap both of mine around them, trying to warm her, trying to ground myself.
“Come on, Little Killer,” I murmur, my voice rough. “You’ve been through hell, but you gotta wake up now. I need you to wake up.”
For a while, nothing happens. The room is too quiet. The air is too thick. I just sit here. Dwelling on everything that has happened in the last year. My life went from chaos that I adapted to, to completely fuckin haywire.
Then—
A small twitch.
Her fingers jerk against mine, weak but real. My breath catches, and I sit up straighter.
“Hey… hey, that’s it,” I whisper, my grip tightening just slightly. “Come back to me.”
Her eyelids flutter. Her breathing changes, growing more uneven. Another weak squeeze of her fingers—like she’s trying to hold onto something solid, something real.
I’m right here, baby. Hold on to me.
Her lips part, a shaky inhale slipping out. And then—those eyes I’ve been aching to see again finally, finally blink open.
For a second, she just stares, her gaze unfocused, hazy with confusion and pain. Then her brows knit together, and her breathing quickens. Panic flickers in her eyes.
“Shhh,” I soothe quickly, bringing my free hand up to cup her cheek, my thumb brushing against her skin. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Her lips tremble, her throat working as if she’s trying to speak. I can see it—the fear, the disorientation. The moment she realizes she doesn’t know what the hell is going on.
I lean in closer, letting her see me, really see me.
“I’ve got you,” I promise, my voice softer now. “You’re not alone.”
Her gaze locks onto mine, and for a split second, the panic dims. She’s still afraid, still hurting, but she sees me.
And I swear to God, I won’t let her go.