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With what little power I have left, I force my eyes open.
Not surprisingly, I’m in a hospital bed. Fluorescent lights glow above me, illuminating the room in a white light. I have IV tubes stuck to my left arm. Beside me, the vital sign monitors beep and beep and beep.
I would’ve said I’m in hell if it wasn’t for her.
A mass of pink hair cascades on the pale blue blanket that covers my upper body. From my vantage point, I see the blonde roots. I see her fingers beneath her head.
Leighton’s wearing a pale blue hospital gown to match the covers. I have the urge to rip it off her. Dress her in something nice instead. Like my cum.
Later. I’ll make everything better for her later.
The only thing that matters is that she’s here. Alive.
I should let her sleep. Let her rest. Who knows how long I’ve been out. How long did it take the doctors to patch me up while she sat in the waiting room consumed by uncalled-for guilt and worry. By herself.
She should sleep. Regain her strength.
I wish I could’ve given it to her. I can’t.
When I was lying on the ground after I got shot, I thought that was it. I was going to die. I thought I’d never get to watch Leighton’s eyes widen for me or her mouth parting in anticipation. I realized I might never hear her tell me she loves me again.
I’m here, alive. I need all those things I thought I’d lost.
And I need them yesterday.
But how will I wake her when I have a tube coming out of my mouth? Why haven’t I noticed it before?
You know damn well why.
I was focused on her. Searching for her. Always searching for her.
My arm weighs a million pounds. I lift it up anyway, wrapping my fingers around the tube to pull it out.
It scratches my throat on the way out, and I gag. I get it out, regardless. Nothing can stop me. When I’m done, the tube drops on my chest. My arm flops to the side.
“Leighton,” I croak. Clear my throat. “Little doll.”
She jolts, her body snapping into attention. “What? What? Don’t bother him, he’s sleeping.”
“Leigh,” I say at the same time she realizes there’s no nurse or a doctor in the room.
Carefully, as if she’s afraid she’s hallucinating, Leighton turns her head to me.
“Baby.” My smile is weak. It’s all I have for her right now. “How are you?”
“Me?” Her chin wobbles.
My brave girl holds back tears for a brief second. I clutch her fingers, communicating that it’s okay to cry. And she does, letting them out.
“You’re the one who got shot. How are you?” Her fingers clutch onto mine as she weeps. “Why is your breathing tube out? I’m going to call the nurse. Stay right here and—”
“No nurse.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “You’re staying right here where I can see you.”
“Oh, God. Oh, thank God.” She sobs some more, laughing through her tears. “You really are back, you controlling psycho.”
“I told you I’ll never leave you.” I tug on her hand. “Come here. I missed you, plaything.”
Leighton hesitates, her attention flicking from where the bullet wounded me and my face.
