Page 160 of Anton

That’s when the first burst of light appears in the distance. It starts small, but the closer I get, the larger it grows, spreading through the darkness until the shape of a door appears ahead of me. Fear and hope crash together inside me, and the second I see the red handle, I don’t waste another second.

I grab it, yank the door open, and rush to the other side.

ANTON

Holding her against me, I listen to the monitors beep, hour after hour passing with no change.

They don’t know if she’ll wake up. They keep telling me to give it time, but I’m not a patient man. I need her to open her eyes.

“Thora, if you can hear me, follow my voice.” My mouth stays close to her hair, my hand wrapped around hers. “I’m right here, detka. I’m not leaving this room until you talk to me.”

The monitor starts beeping faster, her heart picking up, so I keep going. I’ll talk all day and night if it brings her back to me.

“I know you can hear me. Hold on to my voice, pozhaluysta.” Please.

Her fingers twitch against mine, the movement so faint I’m not sure it really happened.

I straighten and stare at our joined hands, waiting for another sign. “Thora? I’m here. Wake up and let me see those beautiful eyes.”

Her lashes flutter, followed by a quiet groan.

Blyat. Slava Bogu. Fuck. Thank God.

Relief punches through my chest as I press the call button. “I need help in here.”

The door swings open, nurses rushing in ahead of the doctors, but I refuse to leave her side while they check the monitors and shine a light into her eyes.

“Thora.” One of the doctors bends over her. “Can you hear me?”

“Where…where am I?” The words scrape weakly from her throat.

“You’re okay.” I squeeze her hand and press my mouth near her temple. “You’re in the hospital, and I’m right here.”

Her unfocused eyes drift toward me, gradually clearing until recognition settles across her face and her fingers tighten around mine.

“Anton?” Tears gather in her eyes, cutting straight through me.

“I’m here, detka. I’m not letting you go ever again.”

The doctor keeps working around us, asking her name, the year, where she is, and if she can follow his finger with her eyes. Her answers are slow, rough from the rasp in her throat, but she gives them, and every word pulls air back into my lungs until I can breathe without feeling knives under my ribs.

I have her back. She’s alive. I keep repeating it to myself until I believe it.

The nurses adjust her pillows, give her ice chips, and check the bruising on her wrists and the bandage around her head.

“You should rest now.” The doctor cuts me a look.

He can fuck off if he thinks I’m leaving.

They finally go, and she sighs, closing her eyes as she burrows into me.

“I’ll protect you, Thora. With everything I have.”

She doesn’t answer, only falls asleep in my arms, and I stay there as the hours pass.

When she wakes again, she looks up at me. “How long have I been here?”

I don’t want to tell her the truth because it might scare her, but I don’t want to give her any more reasons to hate me either.