Everything is too bright. Too soft.
I keep my eyelids screwed shut against the light. Press a hand to my head to hold back the ache.
I’m dead.
That asshole Rocco lost control and killed me and that’s why I can feel a pillow behind my head and the soft slide of fabric against my skin and light against my closed eyes. The only explanation is that I’m dead, and the afterlife smells like lilac and coffee and something else I can’t place.
“Holy shit.” My voice comes out low, scratchy and, honestly, sounds a little weird for being deceased. Shouldn’t death be like a system reboot, sending you back to your original factory settings? Why do I sound outdated and worn out?
I crack my eyelids and my eyes start watering immediately, vision blurry. That doesn’t seem right either.
Neither does the tube-y thing that’s attached to my left arm. I fumble with my other hand, trying to feel what it is because my vision is completely screwy. The only thing I manage to do, however, is jostle the line, a quick pain radiating out from the insertion point.
It’s like a pinch to the arm. A trigger to wake up.
I push myself into an upright position and squint at my surroundings, trying to bring the picture into focus.
Observation one: I’m in bed.
Two: The bed is in a nondescript room. Neutral tones, generic artwork. If I’m seeing things right, it’s high quality but impersonal. Like a fancy hotel or a corporate apartment.
Three: There’s a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the bed and the curtains are drawn on all of them. Thick ones, blocking all light except the slivers that bleed in from the edges.
The room isn’t bright at all; it’s my eyesight that sucks.
I let my surroundings sink in and, compounded by what looks like an IV in my arm and a gnawing ache in my stomach, I have to acknowledge that I’m probably not dead. Which is great, I suppose, depending on whose room this is and why I’m in it.
The bedroom door opens and I yank the sheets up to my chin. A large figure steps through, carrying something in both hands. My situational awareness is heightened, my other senses still overcompensating for my fuzzy eyesight. My gut instinct, based on height and stride, says it’s a man. A large one.
He heads toward me, abruptly stopping a few feet away. It doesn’t matter how many times I blink, I can’t make his face come into focus.
“You’re awake.” A rough voice coasts over me, low and scratchy. Some neurons somewhere label it oddly familiar.
“I—” My vocal cords catch, throat closing. My need for water goes from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. “Thirsty.”
His only answer is to set whatever he’s holding on the nightstand then lift something to my mouth. I startle when his hand steadies my head but am quickly distracted by the liquid that hits my lips. Room temperature, watery but not quite water. Some sort of hydration drink, if I had to guess.
I struggle with the first sip, dribbling it down my chin, then take long drags. The man pulls the glass away before I’m done. “Not too fast.”
I make a sound of protest and he explains, “You’ve been severely dehydrated. The IV is helping, but you have to be careful about how fast you fill your stomach. Don’t want to throw up again.”
There’s a rough rhythm to his voice. A cadence that sounds different from what I’m used to. I lean toward that voice as if proximity will make it easier to see its owner more clearly.
“Your eyes—they are bothering you?”
I nod, surprised he can read me so well.
“Close them. Don’t open until I say.”
I plaster my palms over my eyes. “Bossy.” It comes out scratchy but audible. I swear I hear his footsteps pause before he continues with whatever it is he’s doing.
Moments later his weight depresses the mattress next to me. I jump when he touches the backs of my hands, moving away to sever contact. It doesn’t matter how soft this bed is or how many drinks he gives me, I’m done with men touching me.
“Open your eyes now.”
I do and instantly regret it. The room is so bright it’s practically throbbing white, supernovas on every surface. I wince, immediately try to hide my face. “No. Wait.” The calm command stops me. “Don’t hide from it. Your eyes will adjust. You just need to give them time.”
“How do you know?”