Like I’m dying.
She’s dressed in a thick white top jacket, with straight white hair, wrinkles, and aged freckles littering her face, and a pair of pale, bright blue eyes stare back at me.
“Where,” I swallow. My dry tongue swirls in my mouth as I taste iron. “Am I?”
“You’re in Sleepy Coldwater. Alaska? Ariksen’s ranch.”
She says, ‘Ariksen,’ like I’m supposed to know what that means.
“Who?” I quirk a brow.
She points to the other side of the room, and I follow her finger.
A tall, broad man in a black sweater stares back at me. Fair skin, a strong nose, dark, tousled hair, and a beard with deep sky-blue eyes stare back at me, surveying me with a strong, unwavering gaze. He doesn’t say anything. His brows are pinched inward like he’s trying to figure me out or like he’s worried. I’m not sure if it’s both.
He looks older than me. Maybe late twenties, early thirties. He’s masculine, his arms and thick thighs are strained beneath his clothes. His large, veiny hands look calloused from where I’m lying—a muted, pale blue, dim streak of lighting from outside beams on him.
“And you’re Ariksen? Is this your house I’m staying in?” I grumble, setting my forearms on both sides of me as I try to liftmyself higher in a sitting position, but pain stabs me in the ribs. I’m forced back down, and the back of my head plummets onto the cold, soft pillow, softening the blow.
“Everything hurts.” I close my eyes, gritting my teeth, feeling desperately helpless. My body feels like a bulldozer ran over it.
“Honey, don’t move. You’ve been in an accident. Can you tell us your name? We couldn't find your wallet in the wreckage,” the elderly woman asks me as she gets up with her cane, and Ariksen continues to watch me agonize.
He still doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with a penetrating gaze.
“Why does it hurt to breathe?” I groan.
“What's your name?” she asks urgently.
“My name is C-Coraline.” I look at my hands covered in lacerations. “Coraline Rosa,” I repeat, staring at my hands over the blanket—my mind blanks.
“I’m Merelyn,” she introduces herself, but I’m in no mood to be proper. I want to get straight to the point.
“Where’s my car? My phone is in there.” I croak out as I touch my head. The front of my head is bandaged up. I pull back my hand until it rests on my side. “Who are you guys? I’m going to miss my flight.” I palm my sweaty chest as I try to prevent the panic from completely taking over. Gasping, I try to even out my breaths before I can’t anymore. “Wait. Don’t I need to get to a hospital?”
They both stare at me with wide eyes and pale faces.
My chest heaves—my heart pounds. And a full-blown anxiety attack ensues.
“All flights are canceled. The nearest hospital is hours away.” The lady says as she glances at Ariksen, but he doesn’t return her gaze. He’s still glued to me.
“Stop staring at me and start talking. Say something!” I shout at him desperately. “Someone crashed into me! Someone is trying to kill me!”
“Honey, calm down.” Merelyn instructs.
“Calm down? You want me to calm down? You’re telling me I’ve been in an accident. My head is bandaged. My body feels like I’ve broken dozens of bones. I’m in a house with two strangers in the middle of a snowstorm, there’s someone who ran me off the road, and you want me tocalm down?”
“Yes,” a deep voice cuts in. I whip my attention to the man in the corner. “You need to calm down. We’re here to help,” he replies. “I’m Gavin Ariksen, and we’re only here to help you.”
“Well, Gavin Ariksen,” I spit mockingly. “Why haven’t you guys called the police? Or an ambulance? I need a doctor!” I spiral.
“We did, dear. No one will come up here during the storm. The roads are covered in snow. The winds are dangerous. They said as long as you are stable, you should be okay. I’m a retired surgeon, and from what I can see, you’re stable.”
“Stable?!”
“Listen, Coraline,” Gavin barks, and I rear back. “I know you’re scared, hurt, and confused, but I can assure you, it’s better to bein herethan out there,” he points to the window beside him, “where I found you. Your heart rate and blood pressure are normal. You don’t have any broken bones. A few deep lacerations that willmaybeleave a scar on your pretty face, but you’re going to live,” he insists in a commanding tone. “You’re alive. Stop complaining.”
My jaw drops.
