Page 42 of Queen of Ruin

“You’re leaving?”

“Not leaving, no.” He comes around the bed and sits beside me, then cups the side of my face with his warm, rough palm. “I’ll be back. I swear. I know how to get some money, and once I get it, you and me can go far away from here, and we won’t have to worry about anything or anyone. We can just be together and work on getting your memories back. Okay?”

I nod slowly, but something about the shadow of pain in his gorgeous eyes unsettles me. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to talk to a friend. Listen, don’t open the door. Keep it locked. I’ll make sure the manager doesn’t kick us out yet, so you just rest and eat.” He plucks a packet of candy from the bed and presses it into my lap. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“With candy?” I smile slowly. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

“Rest. Heal.” His fingers slide up to the edge of the gauze on my forehead. “Maybe get the memories of your bank accounts back?” His smile turns cheeky, then he kisses me on the lips. “I’ll be back.”

As he pulls away, a sudden pulse of desperation surges through me so I grab him by the collar of his T-shirt and pull him back in for another series of slow, gentle kisses. “You'd better come back.”

“I will. I promise.”

After Diego leaves, I close the door and lock it, then slide on the chain and return to bed. He says he’ll come back. I want to believe him, but something’s not sitting right with me and I can’t put my finger on it.

Is it the card?

The tattoo?

The mystery?

No… it’s something else.

Ten minutes later, it reveals itself, and I’m hugging the toilet while throwing up the blue drink in painful gags that aggravate the pain across my ribs. That drink definitely didn’t agree with me, and I’m forced to drink from the faucet to wash away the acidic taste of vomit.

The sugar crash and exhaustion from throwing up are enough to send me right back into an unsettled sleep, amplified by Diego’s absence. I dream of strangers kicking down the door and fighting me, dream of Diego’s head turning up outside the door with a threat that it’s all my fault, dream of tall buildings and gigantic men with deep voices whose words don’t make sense.

By the time I wake up hours later, I’m drenched in sweat and burning up. Every brush of fabric against my ribs feels like an open flame against my skin, and I wince.

God, it hurts.

It’s dark now. No more sunlight peeking in through the holes in the curtain. Distant noise rises up from one of the other rooms in this block, a television turned up too loudly and barely muffling the argument it’s meant to hide.

No sign of Diego.

Did something happen to him?

What do I do if he never comes back? Where do I go? I have nothing. I know no one. He’s the only person I have who can help me.

I should have gone with him.

Just as my panic rises, the lock clicks and the door opens, only to get snagged on the chain.

Diego grunts as he bumps into the door. “Val? You good? You awake?”

The relief that floods through me is dizzying. I scramble from the bed and make it to the door, then unlatch the chain while dragging the door wide open.

“About time,” I snap as he walks past me. “I was really worried.”

“I’m okay, I promise.”

“Are you? Because I was here, worried that something had happened to you and I would be left all alone, and then what would I do? I know no one and nothing and I would just be drifting and⁠—”

“Hey, hey, hey…” Diego’s hands cup my face and he hums softly, cutting off my panicked rush. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re okay. I’m sorry I took so long, but I had no way of contacting you. But I’m here now, okay? Are you okay?” One of his hands moves up to my forehead. “You’re warm.”

“I feel hot.”