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I try to sit up, only to feel every part of my body scream out in pain. I slump back on the bed in defeat, too overwhelmed by the cords of the machines attached to my body. Everywhere fucking hurts.
The weight lessens on my arm, and Nala stands up to my view, eyes red with tears. “G? Gianna?” She looks so shocked. She embraces me, causing me to gasp for air and wince at the pain of her body on mine.
She withdraws and wipes her tears. “I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful.”
I try to shake my head to assure her that I'm fine, but the stinging pain at the back of my head stops me from doing so. “It's okay, I'm okay.” My voice is weak and slow.
“God, I thought you were never going to wake up, and I would just lose you like that. I was so scared.” More tears fall from her eyes, but this time, she makes no move to wipe them away.
“I'm sorry,” I mutter.
“Why the hell are you apologizing? It's not your fault. I swear if that bastard wasn’t already dead, I would have skinned him alive.”
I can't believe my ears. “He's dead?”
“Yes, the cops wanted him alive, but he tried to shoot his way out so…”
I don't know what to feel. The memories of Perez hurting me keep flashing through my mind like a nightmare. But I never wished him death.
“Where’s Chris?”
She looks away from me and stares at the door. “He’s outside waiting for his turn. They only allow one visitor at a time.”
“Oh,” I reply. My heart is relieved that he's here. That he's alive and unscathed. I have to see him. The first thing I prayed for was the chance to survive so I could confess my feelings. I can't waste any more time. I have realized that time is precious and there's no right time.
“Let me bring him in for you,” Nala says with a knowing smile on her face.
I turn my face to the other side when she leaves. The door creaks open again and my heart stutters.
It's him. I can feel it.
I feel him step closer, and I lose it. I slowly turn my head, despite the pain, to look at the love of my life.
“Chris?”
He looks so worn out. His eyes are red and puffy from tears. His white shirt is still stained with what I assume is my blood.
“Chris,” I call again, and he snaps out of his daze. I keep whispering his name like a broken record.
He embraces me, his tears falling on my cheeks. “I'm so, so, sorry. I'm sorry.” He pleads profusely.
“Why are you sorry?”
He pulls back a little to stare at me. My fingers instinctively reach up to tread along his face. As if trying to memorize every part of it. I run my fingers into his hair and tug onto them softly.
“All this wouldn't have happened if I had protected you.” He sounds so broken and regretful. Despite the pain in my hand, I cup his face.
“Stop blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault. I'm alright now. That's all that matters,” I promise him.
He nods, takes my hand, and kisses it, slowly and reverently. I almost lose my breath at the too much care reflecting in his eyes.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel awful. My whole body hurts.”
He draws away from me. “Fuck, I shouldn't touch you so much.” He sighs, tears rolling down his cheeks. I have never seen him so vulnerable, and it hurts to know that I'm the cause of it.
“I’m sorry, Gianna, I'm so sorry I'm late.”
