Page 54 of Queen of Ruin

Trying to recall everything that happened last night remains fuzzy in my mind with only one distinct thought standing out among the rest.

Diego.

He called for me but I couldn’t speak. A needle in the neck rendered me unable to move or speak and then a few seconds later, there was nothing but darkness until I woke up here.

Wherever here is.

Nothing about the room I’ve woken up in is in any way familiar, but it is well-loved. Floral bedding kept me comfortable in the hours I apparently slept here after being knocked out at the crash site. A small panda plushie sits next to the pillow. The light blue bedside table holds the black plastic card, so someone was obviously rummaging through my pockets while I slept. It rests next to a silver analog alarm clock with a little bell on top and beside a small wicker basket containing several beaded bracelets and a gold watch with a pink leather strap.

Well-worn, judging by the wear and tear around the tightening holes.

“Hello?”

The last time I woke up like this, Diego wasn’t far, and my heart lifts with slight hope that the same will happen this time.

Only, there’s no response.

“Diego?”

Again, nothing.

The bedroom contains two doors, one leading to a rather alarmingly exquisite ensuite with a large triangular bath, a walk-in shower, and two sinks in front of a large mirror that captures my stunned expression in painfully sharp detail.

Is that really what I look like now?

The shadows under my eyes haven’t faded, but there’s a slight pinkness to my cheeks, and the gauze covering my head wound at my hairline is fresh and taped down much tighter than Diego’s handiwork.

It’s not just my head wound.

Lifting my shirt, I examine my injuries in the mirror. Every single one has been cleaned and restitched. Even Diego’s badly stitched one has been cut open and then stitched so finely that I can barely make out any thread. It’s harder to see the wounds on my back, but they’ve clearly had the same treatment. Even my bruises glisten in the light and upon contact with my fingers, it’s clear they’ve all been coated in some kind of balm.

What the fuck?

“Diego?” Back in the bedroom, I try the door handle of the second door but despite it giving way under my weight, the door doesn’t open. A lock rattles each time I pull, but it remains closed and locked.

“Hello?! Anyone!”

I don’t care who comes through that door. I need answers. I need something.

The minutes tick by and no one comes. Pressing my ear against the wood, I close my eyes and listen, but not a single sound trickles through. Is there really no one on the other side?

In an attempt to keep my nerves calm and my heart slow, I pace the room and take it all in. A beautiful white dresser with gold handles rests against the far wall, with the top covered in gorgeous perfume bottles of all shapes, colors, and sizes. A mini silver piano sits propped up on one corner, but instead of strings, there are various glittering diamond earrings and rings inside. The dressing table is just as beautiful, made of the same white wood with similar gold handles and loaded with more makeup than I can even think to do with.

But there’s something… oddly familiar about it. Almost as if I’ve seen it before in a catalogue or a magazine. The walk-in closet is packed with stunning blouses, dresses, and countless shoes, all as dazzling as the last. Everything oozes luxury and taste, with fabrics so butter soft against my fingertips that it’s like touching a cloud. It all speaks to a woman with great taste and style.

Me, judging by the two photo frames I find on the dresser. One picture frame holds a group photo of four other people and me. Three men and a woman. Everyone is smiling and caught up in an embrace, except I look somewhat annoyed.

Is that really me? Or some stranger who looks like me?

The second photo is just me, lounging up on a rooftop with the city view spread at my feet. The picture’s taken from a distance and I get the sudden warm feeling that it was taken without my knowledge.

But I kept it anyway.

Outside the window, the city of New York stretches out below like a cement blanket against a gorgeous blue sky and fluffy white clouds dotted about like sprinkles. Hard to believe that’s the same city I’ve spent the past two weeks scraping by and surviving.

Despite everything, I’m left with no answers and eventually return to the bed. No one’s come. No one’s said anything. I have no idea where Diego is and can only pray he’s received the same care and treatment I have. Studying the bedside table, curiosity gets the better of me and I pull open the drawer, only for my heart to drop right down into my stomach.

Guns.