What’s happening? Why do I have a tube down my throat?
My eyes fluttered open, but everything was blurry. Tears dripped down my temples from the pain and gagging. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to grab the tube again, but a warm hand touched mine, easing it away from my face.
“Easy, sunshine,” a man murmured.
Who’s sunshine?
“I’ve got the cocktail,” a man said. My throat worked, trying to remove the foreign object. Seconds passed and my ears rang as my head felt lighter, like a balloon rapidly losing helium.
“There you go. Get some sleep,” the woman murmured.
My body relaxed and darkness swallowed me.
* * *
My eyes fluttered open and the first thing I noticed was the lack of the tube down my throat. Beeps drew my attention and I slowly rolled my head to the side, squinting at the numbers on a machine by my bed. Fogginess clouded my mind, which made it hard to think clearly and know what exactly that thing was. I blinked and movement caught my eye. A man wearing a black business suit entered the room, his long white hair tumbled past his shoulders. He was so beautiful, like he came out of a fashion magazine. He paused mid-step as he realized I was awake and staring at him like an owl, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Emma,” he whispered, like it was a prayer. He rushed to my bedside, his hand enveloping mine. I stopped breathing and my heart somersaulted from the little zaps between our hands.
I opened my mouth, wanting to ask him who he was and what happened. The machine screeched, making an entirely different noise that grated at my nerves.
The man still holding my hand smirked, his amber eyes filled with mirth. “Breathe for me, baby.”
I sucked in a breath, filling my starved lungs with air. My stomach filled with butterflies, and I couldn’t look away from this man who had put me under some kind of spell. A smaller figure appeared in the doorway, and I tore my gaze away from the man. A nurse entered with a friendly smile, and it never faltered as she came to my other side.
“Glad to see you awake, Emma.” Her gaze dropped to where the man still held my hand. The corner of her lip tipped up into an amused smirk. She held up three fingers. “How many fingers do I have up?”
I opened my mouth to tell her she had three fingers up, but my voice cracked, and I winced from the pain.
“Take your time. I know that having a tube down your throat can make it scratchy,” the nurse said with a gentle smile.
I swallowed and wet my lips. “Th-three,” I croaked.
She smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and white. She grabbed her stethoscope from around her neck. “Take deep breaths for me,” she said as she pressed the flat part on my chest over my heart. I sucked in a breath and held it briefly before releasing it.
“Another deep breath. Very good.” She moved the stethoscope to several places on my chest, listening to my heart and lungs.
My eyes grew heavy, and it became harder to keep them open. But dang it, I wanted to know what the heck was going on and why I was in the hospital. I couldn’t go back to sleep. As much as my body craved rest, I wanted answers more.
“What’s happening?” I whispered, too exhausted to speak any louder.
“You don’t remember?” the man still holding my hand asked.
I turned my head, eyebrows bunching together. The man’s dark caramel eyes watched every facial twitch I made and assessed me like a bug under a microscope.
Shaking my head, I turned back to the nurse, who watched me with sympathy shining in her baby-blue eyes. “What’s going on?”
The nurse glanced at the stranger before returning her gaze to me. “Do you know this man, Emma?”
I shook my head again, feeling stupid for doing that so much, but I had no idea what had happened or who he was. “No.”
The nurse’s eyebrows faintly drew together before she patted my arm like a mother would to her child. “I’m going to grab the doctor real quick.” She pulled out a chunky phone that should have stayed in the nineties. As she walked out of the room, she dialed a number, then I faintly heard her say, “I need you in room twelve.”
Swallowing hard, I peeked at the man who had sat down on a chair, one leg over the other. He watched me with a blank expression, and I averted my gaze.
“Who are you?” I mumbled. “I’m sorry that I don’t remember.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” he murmured, avoiding answering my question. His voice was deep and smooth, like wisps of smoke curling in the night.
