Page 146 of Delirium
Seconds felt like eternity as he looked at me, his tired eyes taking in the state I was in, but I didn’t have time for his pity or for him to choose his words. I needed to know. I fucking had to know. I could feel the color draining from my face as I waited for him to say it, to shatter my world, to take away one good thing that had happened to me.
“No, no,” the doctor finally spoke. “Ophelia is stable for now, but she’s lost a lot of blood.”
The whoosh of air pushing out of me almost knocked me off my feet. A strong pair of hands landed on my shoulders from behind, and I tilted my head, seeing Indigo there. He had a grim look on his face while he stared at the doctor, but it did nothing to suppress my nerves.
“She coded two times on the table,” the doctor said flatly as if he was talking about a fucking sheep somewhere in the field and not my Sunshine.
“But she’s okay?” I asked, hoping to hear it from him as well. “She’s going to be okay?”
The flat set of his lips was starting to piss me off, but I had to keep my cool. I could feel my anger brewing under my skin, waiting to be released, but for all his robotic movements, I knew the doctor was only doing his job.
“We’re taking her to the ICU,” the doctor said. “But the first twenty-four hours are critical. We will keep monitoring her throughout the night, and someone will always be—”
“Is she going to live?” I thundered. I was done with listening to the nonsense. He wasn’t giving me a straight answer.
“Calm down, Storm,” Indigo murmured behind me, squeezing my shoulders. “He has to explain it all.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Knoxx,” the doctor murmured, looking me straight in the eye. “I don’t want to give you false hopes because it wasn’t good. Whoever did it, knew what they were doing, so they didn’t cause any unnecessary damage. But the amount of blood she’s lost and the number of times she coded are what worries us. Her blood pressure is low, and we don’t know if there is any permanent damage to her brain from the lack of oxygen she went through.”
Every word felt like a knife slicing through my body, but I stood strong, listening to what he had to say, even though I wanted to sit down on the floor and fucking wail for her. But I couldn’t. Our kids needed me, she needed me, and I’d be damned if I left them alone to fight through this.
“She’s strong,” The doctor finally smiled. “And I think she wants to live.” She better. “But we need to monitor her, and we won’t know for sure what the verdict is until tomorrow.”
“Can I see her?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He seemed to contemplate his answer, but whatever it was that he saw on my face broke through his resolve and he slowly nodded.
“One of the nurses will take you to her, but Mr. Knoxx, you need to know…” he trailed off. “She will look extremely fragile, and I don’t want you to get frightened. There will be monitors attached to her, and she won’t look like she usually does.”
I fucking knew that, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy seeing her like that, but the need to see with my own eyes that she was still breathing, that she was still with us, was stronger than the fear of seeing her so fragile, so broken.
“I don’t care,” I gritted out. “I need to see her.”
I needed it more than air to breathe. Without further ado, the doctor explained how the night would look and left us to stand there until the nurse came to take me to her, to take me to my Sunshine.
* * *
The first timeI saw Ophelia on that street, marching toward me with that cocky smile and the sway in her hips, it was like looking at the sun and not being able to look away. I was mesmerized, taken, and in that moment, I knew I had to have her no matter what the consequences would be. I had to have this larger-than-life woman, who oozed confidence and something akin to danger, as she dragged her hand over my bike, making it feel as if she was dragging it over my own skin.
The way her eyes sparkled, the way she held onto me as we went away from that place, I knew I had found my soulmate.
Which was why the sight of her in the hospital bed, attached to the machines, with wires spreading from her body, made me want to keel over. The doctor warned me, the nurse did as well, but I didn’t comprehend it quite fully until I saw her now.
Was this what she felt when I laid in the hospital bed, unconscious, fighting for my life? This fucking terror rushing through my veins, the mere thought of never hearing her voice, never seeing her eyes, made it harder to breathe.
“Sunshine,” I croaked as I walked toward her, every step weighed down with a led weight. My shoulders sagged as I stopped next to her bed, pulling the chair closer to me, and sitting down, unable to take my eyes away from her.
“I need you to come back to me, Sunshine,” I murmured, taking her hand in mine, careful not to screw up any of the wires attached to her. “I really, really need you to come back,” I sobbed.
Her skin had lost its color, the pale, ashen complexion right in front of my eyes, and I wanted to turn back the time, to keep her with me at home, to tell her to stay. Hell, I should’ve been there with her. I should’ve been the one protecting her, but we had become too relaxed, too comfortable, and this happened.
“I can’t go through this life without you, Phee,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her hand. “I don’t want our kids to grow up without their mom. I don’t want us to only have memories.” I spoke softly, praying that she could hear me.
“They look perfect, darling.” I smiled through the tears rushing down my face. “So fucking perfect, and I love them more than anything else. Malia, our daughter…” I cleared my throat. “She looks exactly like you. Loud, proud, and so observant.” I smiled. “And Malakai.” I laughed. “I’m pretty sure he’s like me. Quiet, but will probably end up being a bigger troublemaker than she is.”
My thumb rubbed circles over the top of her hand, the sound of the beeping machines around me breaking through the otherwise silent room.
The fatigue clung to my skin, the need to close my eyes and drift into oblivion too strong to ignore, but I shook my head, staying awake for her, for our kids.
