Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zahra
Not often did I let anger rule my mind or my actions, but that was precisely what thundered through me when I stormed into the room and caught the man who had practically been dead to the world—just yesterday—inserting cuff links into the wrists of his black shirt, not once looking up when I entered the room.
This was when I felt the second tug of tears, ones I had held back for almost a week since I found him.
His hair was brushed back, cut, and tamed.
His shirt was tucked into his perfectly fitted black slacks, and his black shoes were spotless.
He looked clean—like he was heading out, getting ready to start his day like nothing had happened.
Like he still didn’t look pale. Like this was just a typical day when he woke up and dressed to go to some important meeting … like he wasn’t—like this wasn’t—
My fingers shook as I quickly locked the door behind me, took out the key, and slipped it into my jacket.
He raised his head briefly, gaze trained on the door, before focusing back on the cuff links, not once looking at me. “Whatever you are trying to start, I suggest you abort now. I am in no mood to indulge it.”
I scoffed loudly, disbelief making the anger beneath my skin bubble, and I stomped my way over to him, stopping when I was right before his tall and broad frame. “Fuck you, and f-fuck your mood.”
My voice shook. My body shook. The breath I dragged into my lungs shook. My vision blurred as I watched him, angry at his nonchalance and stupidity for abruptly leaving the hospital area of the compound.
The anger I felt gave way to sadness. I was sad that he couldn’t look at me—that he wouldn’t look at me, but at the same time, I was glad … glad that he was okay, relieved that he was standing and that he was here … still here … still alive … more alive than he had been a week ago.
My throat tightened, gathering a lump as I blinked a tear down my cheek.
One week … it had been one week since I found him in that bathroom.
Motionless. His chest wasn’t heaving, his nose wasn’t producing any breath, his fingers were still warm but were growing cold, he looked pale, he looked dead—it had been a week, but my throat was still sore from how fucking loud I had screamed, how I had stumbled to my knees beside him, seeing the empty pill case right next to his body.
Seeing him now, the whole thing replayed in my head, bit by bit.
With shaking hands, I felt for his pulse, and there was nothing; his neck was slowly slipping from warm to cold, telling me he hadn’t been unconscious for long.
I held both sides of his face, shifting closer to his body.
“Hey,” I called softly, tapping his cheek like that would bring him back to consciousness.
“Elio—” It was in that moment that my gaze had landed on the pill case beside him, and gears began to turn and reconstruct in my head.
Fear was the next thing to hold my reasoning captive, and an urgent need to get him to breathe rumbled inside me as I placed my hands on his chest, pumping hard.
“Come on, Elio … come on.” I pumped and pumped, leaning over to pinch his nose, covering my mouth with his and blowing steadily.
Nothing happened.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I panicked, starting compressions again, pumping and pumping, and sweating and fighting off the fear clouding my senses.
I pinched his nose, covering my mouth over his again as I tried to blow air back into his lungs before rising to see nothing happening again.
I started pumping again, harder this time, my own heart hammering so fast against my chest.
“Please, God, no. Please, God, no, please, please, please.”
I was crazed, breathing sharply as I applied enough strength to his chest.
“Come back to me”—pump—“come back to me”—pump—“come on, Elio.”
Thirty compressions, my arms were going weak. I pinched his nose, tilted his head a little as I blew breath into him, and rose to check.
Nothing happened.
A sharp sob left me as I started compressions again immediately, the situation suddenly becoming more real.
Frantic, I screamed for help but knew no one could hear me, not from here.
His room was literally the last one downstairs.
I knew Casmiro was in the building, Devil was, too, probably most of Street, but I wasn’t sure—I wasn’t sure of anything at the moment; all I knew was that I needed this man to breathe—tears clouded my vision—I just needed him to breathe.
I continued the compressions. I wouldn’t give up until I feel something. I wouldn’t give up.
“Elio, please, please, come on, come on, breathe for me.”
Leaning over to pinch his nose and blow into his mouth, I checked to see if his chest moved.
Nothing.
My lips trembled as my stomach tightened, and I let my tears fall, starting compressions again, but it was weak because my bones suddenly felt like jelly, and I wanted to curl up beside his body and keep him from growing cold like he was doing beneath my palms.
“Please … please … God, please, this cannot happen to me. Elio … wake up, come on … come on, come on, baby, breathe, breathe, come back. I’m still here; come back.
” I pumped harder. “Wake up, please … I can’t lose you.
If you can hear me, please—fuck.” I raised my forearm and wiped my tears and sweat as I repeatedly pumped his chest with more strength until I wasn’t sure if I was breaking his chest or giving him compressions. I just needed his heart to wake up.
I was shaking everywhere as I hit him. I hit his chest repeatedly; the sound of my fists slapping hard against his skin, where his heart was, almost made me sick.
I pinched his nose, tilted his head back, and pressed my mouth down to his as I blew air again, rising to see his chest moving slightly.
I almost doubled over, a strange kind of strength coming over me the next instant as I took my compressions back to the normal rate, continuing the CPR for a few seconds before I got on my feet and rushed back to the room with blinding speed, finding my phone while running back to Elio, feeling his neck for a pulse to see that it was weak, the weakest I’d ever felt.
But it was something. I dropped the phone beside me, turned Elio’s body to the side, brought his chin up after I dialed Devil’s number, and he picked up, voice groggy.
“Z?”
“Medic!” I yelled. “Hurry up, it’s Elio!”
He cursed before the line cut.
All that happened next was a blur. Casmiro had rushed in shortly after with a medic, and soldiers were everywhere.
I was still in shock, still couldn’t process what had happened, and even when Angelo arrived the next day and asked who had found Elio, I still couldn’t remember half of what he said.
Still, I knew he had taken me away from all the chaos and from a confused Devil who was having a conversation with Casmiro about Elio’s health issues.
The empathy in Angelo’s eyes was something I would never forget.
He thanked me, tried to talk me out of my head, told me about the first time he had found Elio, told me about his sister, and eventually asked if he could trust me with sensitive information about Elio.
I told him yes, and he told me of Elio’s special training in the army.
I had been sad then, but the sadness that touched my insides didn’t compare to my fury.
It was a violation—all on the orders from his sick father.
A sick father who Elio seemed to believe was alive, in that motel, where he had tried to hurt himself, and his supposed father who had a gravestone right here in the compound, right beside his mother and siblings.
I didn’t question it then because I had been more focused on getting him to give me the gun.
He had made me promise not to tell anyone about his father being alive, but I had meant it when I told him there was nothing to tell because his father was dead, and he had been dead for years.
Right off the bat, after he confirmed he had faked the man’s death, I had told him he needed help—and I had also meant that.
But now wasn’t the time for thinking all that. Now was the time to talk.
“You should be on bed rest, Elio. You should be in bed, in that fucking hospital, resting; you should be on your way to get a fucking shrink to help you—in fact, I hope that’s where you are getting ready to go.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I do not have time for this, Zahra,” he stated plainly, reaching behind me to grab his suit jacket from where it hung. He put it on. “Give me the room keys; I have a week’s worth of work to see—”
“Are you fucking serious?”
He picked up his watch, fixing it around his wrist without looking up.
“Are you trying to act like you haven’t been unconscious for a week after OD’ing?”
He fixed his collar, gaze still not meeting mine. “I am fine now, no? Do I seem unwell to you?”
“Elio,” I called, trying to bring him back to his senses.
“Room keys. Stop being a nuisance.”
“Can you even try to fucking look at me!” I yelled.
His body stopped looking for things to distract itself with as he sighed, finally looking down at me, his gaze locking with mine. No remorse. No regret. No guilt. Nothing.
“Keys,” he stated.
I shook my head, sniffing and wiping the tears from my eyes. “That’s all you can say to me? Keys? Like it matters?”
“It does matter. You locked the door when you came in; I need the keys to unlock the door in order for me to go out.”
I bit the inside of my lip. “Elio … you almost died. Hours after your birthday, do you remember?”
“I am aware. While it is quite unfortunate, I am now back, alive again, and everyone is happy, yes? I do not want to speak on it, nor do I want to dwell on a past that I cannot vividly remember, nor can I change, so if you would give me the fucking keys and let me go my way, that would be most appreciated.”
“No. I want to talk about this now.”
“For the love of God, Zahra, I am barely managing to stay composed before you right now.”