34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aurora
Asharp, stabbing pain rips through my shoulder. Instinctively, I clutch it, my fingers meeting warm, thick liquid. I’m fairly certain the limb is still attached, but the searing agony morphs into a deep, burning sensation as I stumble to keep my balance.
What just happened?
The burn melts into a numbness that’s oddly relieving, like a cool breeze on a scorching day.
I look down again, trying to gauge the extent of the bleeding, but my body feels uncharacteristically heavy.
Dizziness washes over me, and my legs give out as I search for something solid to steady myself.
I take one step, then another. My legs falter.
I brace for impact with the ground, but it never comes.
Acoldness unlike anything I’ve ever experienced wraps around me, terrorizing my very core. Every fiber of my being screams to fight, to move, but the encroaching numbness overpowers even my most basic instinct to survive.
I kick my legs, my jeans clinging to me like a second skin. The pool plastic sticks to my face as I desperately try to peel it away, but with only one functioning arm, it’s a losing battle.
Panic drowns my mind as I realize this might be my end.
God. Is this how I die? I guess none of my true crime shows have prepared me for this scenario.
I don’t want to die. There is so much I didn’t get the chance to do.
I never got to explain to Sergei—to tell him how sorry I am for betraying his trust. Now, he’ll forever think that what we had wasn’t real.
That everything that happened between us—every glance, every touch, every word was a lie.
He’ll always think of me and hate me. If he ever thinks of me at all…
My uninjured arm stretches toward him, Sergei’s form shimmering through the dark water like a mirage while my soul silently begs him to save me. But I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.
Just one breath would ease the compression on my chest. I resist, fighting the primal urge to inhale. My eyes widen in terror, growing accustomed to the chilling bite of the water. The claws of death are knocking violently on my lips, forcing themselves upon me.
I can’t fight it any longer. My lungs scream for relief. It’s easier to give in, to stop resisting the inevitable.
I open my mouth and let the water take me.
Loud beeping pulls me back to reality, though I’m not sure what is real anymore.
I’m acutely aware of body parts that usually pride themselves on simply existing without making their presence known.
My eyelids feel like heavy blankets on my eyes, while my right elbow brushes against a cold cord with every expansion of my lungs.
Plastic plugs violate my nostrils, eliciting an itch I know I can’t address.
I try to shift my body, but it refuses to cooperate, as if carefully bound with a tight, invisible rope.
Beep.
Why can’t I move?
Beep. Beep.
Terror spreads through me as the distant yet near sound quickens, its rhythm pounding against my temples.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Did I die? Is this hell? My heart rattles its cage, my chest throbbing violently. Have all my bad choices and decisions finally caught up with me? I wasn’t always kind to my mother. I was jealous of Javi. I judged Layla. I lied to Sergei. I… I…
Beep.
This can’t be it. This can’t be the end. Please. The word scratches up my throat like sandpaper, but it doesn’t manage to escape past my lips.
Come on, eyes. Open! Please!
I will my eyes to obey, and to my surprise, they do.
After four days in the hospital, I’m seriously considering staging a prison break.
Which is a bit ironic given that there’s a detective sitting across from me, jotting down notes about the events at Mount Charleston.
Mom alternates between doting on me and treating me like I’ve murdered a field of innocent kittens.
Her mood swings are like a split personality, shifting mid-sentence.
“Oh, you poor thing. Let me help,” she coos, fluffing my pillow.
“You shouldn’t put any weight on that side.
” Her voice fills with pity. “After all”—she gives me a pointed look—“you were shot in that shoulder.” And just like that, I’m at fault for the bullet that found me.
I want to remind her that blaming the victim isn’t going to solve anything, especially not her feeling betrayed by my lies.
But given that I do still feel guilty, I stay quiet.
“All right.” The detective coughs as he watches our exchange. “Thank you for answering my questions,” he says, flipping his brown notepad closed and clicking his pen before sliding it into the metal spiral.
“It’s not like I have a packed schedule,” I reply, smoothing the crinkles of the pillow on my lap with my uninjured hand, caressing it like a comforting pet. “Is…” I hesitate, heat rising to my cheeks. “What about… the others who were involved?” My gaze drops to the floor.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of my question hanging in the air. “Everyone is—”
A loud knock cuts him off, and I groan in frustration.
Mom rushes to the door and flings it open.
“Excellent timing,” she says, taking the food tray from the hospital staff member and turning to face the detective.
“You are done, right? She needs to rest.” Her tone is heavy with annoyance, as if he’s the one interrupting her day with a silly thing like taking my statement.
The detective rises from his seat, taking a hesitant step toward the door. “All done. The prosecutor will likely reach out to you, but it won’t be for a while.” He backs away, careful not to make any sudden movements that might provoke Mom further.
Smart man.
My mom sets the tray down beside my bed and begins adjusting my pillows again, pulling the one in my lap away like she’s stripping my makeshift armor.
“Mom, I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound reassuring.
But her relentless attention makes me feel like a little girl again, back when I was sick and stayed home from school.
Those were my favorite days, when she’d stay with me.
I remember the time I licked Danny Tenner’s cup because he claimed his throat was scratchy.
I hoped that would earn me a day off with Mom, where I could feel safe and pampered.
“You aren’t fine.” Her voice trembles. “You were shot, Aurora. Shot. And then”—she pauses, as if I don’t remember what happened next—“you drowned.”
I can’t help but smile, realizing how much I’ve missed her—not just the physical closeness, which is new and uncomfortable, but the emotional connection too.
Over the past several months, I’ve pushed her away, not telling her about the internship I didn’t get or all the unexpected turns my life took.
In trying to shield her from my troubles, I’ve widened the already existing void between us.
“I know, Mom,” I say, rolling my eyes to lighten the mood, but she catches it, and her gaze narrows.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me, young lady?” She presses her lips into a thin line. “We need to have a long talk about how you haven’t been honest with me.”
I recognize the pain etched on her face, and a new wave of guilt seeps in before I can rationalize why I kept so much from her.
The weight of my decisions suddenly feels real, the sting sharp enough that my hand instinctively drifts to my slinged shoulder, as though the pain inside me has settled into the injury itself.
“Mrs. Sinclair…” Layla peers from behind the door. “I think the doctor is looking for you.” She’s dressed in black leggings and a puffy jacket. Her hair is auburn again, and it occurs to me she was wearing a wig the last time we saw each other.
“Oh! She is? Good. Good. Thank you, dear,” Mom replies, picking up her notepad and pen. “I’ll go find her. I have questions.” She adjusts her glasses and hurries out of the room.
Once she’s gone, I tilt my head toward Layla and smile. “Is she actually looking for her?”
“Maybe?” Layla shrugs. She’d texted to check in after the incident made the news, but I wasn’t sure she’d actually show. “How’s your shoulder?” She tilts her chin toward the layers of bandages.
“It’s good.” I try to sit up higher, but a sharp pain shoots through me, causing me to wince. I smile shyly. “I mean, it’s been better.”
She nods and immediately averts her gaze.
“Thank you for coming,” I add, glancing at the food tray to my side. The thought of having chicken noodle soup again solidifies the need to get out of here further. “The nurse says I need to get up every couple of hours to clear my lungs after the anesthesia and all. Do you want to get a soda?”
We take a walk to the vending machines, navigating through the busy hospital floor.
Nurses and doctors move around us, their footsteps purposeful as they hurry to their destinations.
As we pass the nurses’ station, the smell of greasy food wafts through the air, and my stomach growls in response.
Even though I can eat anything I want, my mom, believing she knows better than the doctors, insists I eat “healthier.”
Once we step in front of the vending machines, I suck in a breath and decide to be brave. “Listen… I owe you an apology.” I turn to face her, searching her eyes, realizing I owe many apologies to the people in my life.
“What for?” Layla asks and taps on the vending machine buttons. The can clinks as it tumbles down the chute.
I focus on the floor, tracing a circle with my right foot.
“I think I hurt you the last time I saw you. I was overwhelmed with everything happening with Sergei, and then you dropped this bomb on me,” I say, immediately cringing at my choice of words.
“What I mean to say is, I didn’t handle you telling me about your work well.
” I lower my voice as I say the last part.
“But I’ve been thinking—I’ve had a lot of time for that the past couple of days—and maybe I could ask Nadia if she knows of any openings at Sergei’s company. ”