Page 3 of His Wicked Revenge

Lucky me.

“We were able to stop the internal bleeding as well, but then you flatlined. A nurse had to use a defibrillator on you to bring you back.”

“You should have just let me die,” I whisper as my eyes squeeze shut, blocking out the memory of the knife impaling my body. I go to swallow but find it difficult. My throat hurts. It’s scratchy and raw. “Can I get some water?”

The woman standing next to the doctor walks away to fetch me a drink—unfortunately, not the kind of drink I really needed after having a near-death experience.

“You’ve been in and out for a few days. Your body needed to rest after what you have been through.”

The nurse returns with water, carefully handing me the styrofoam cup so nothing spills out. I take greedy gulps, and my throat instantly feels ten times better.

As I continue to chug the water, I hear the muffled sound of someone talking through a walkie-talkie. Narrowing my eyes, I peek around the nurse and out of the semi-opened door to see a police officer standing by the nurse’s station.

Please just be hospital security.

The doctor follows my line of vision to see the officer chatting with another nurse in the hall. He inhales a deep breath before returning his attention to me.

“Your boss, Henry Bennett, will be here to discuss things with you, as the news is not supposed to come from us. We will leave you to rest. If you need anything, there is a call button on the remote attached to your bed.”

I slightly nod in response, the water cup still in my hand. Water threatens to splash out as my hands become unsteady, shaking with the uneasiness of seeing Henry.

Seeing the cop in the hall, I’m not sure I can drink the water anymore. It might all come back up with how these nerves have infiltrated my body.

Knowing there is no way I will be able to hold down any more water, I try to reach over to the table next to the bed to set the cup down, but I stop when I feel the discomfort from being stabbed shooting through my body like a firework, making me hiss.

The doctor must hear me as he’s about to walk out of the room because he comes back and grabs the cup from my shaky hand, placing it on the table, and making sure not to leave without giving me a smile full of an expression I know all too well.

Pity.

As he walks away, I try to slow my breathing as I settle back into the inclined bed.

The machines next to me hold a dull beeping sound that happens every five seconds. There is another machine beside it humming, which makes me want to reach over and either press a button to turn it off or unplug the damn thing.

How in the world am I supposed to rest with all this noise?

As I lay my head back against the uncomfortable mattress, the mixture of the machines beeping, the rushed footsteps of the doctors and nurses in the hall, and the cop speaking to another officer who has just shown up is becoming too much for me to handle.

It’s all starting to blend together, creating a loud noise that penetrates my ears and causes my heart to race. The beeping on the monitor picks up and overpowers the rest of the noise as the pounding in my chest accelerates.

It’s too hot in here. My head twitches to the side, a new thing that has accompanied my anxiety as I attempt to calm myself.

I glance down at the hospital gown they put me in, and although it is a thin piece of fabric, I’m sweating. I have to get out of this hospital before I lose my damn mind.

I drop my eyes from the gown to the needle sticking into my arm. An IV is placed on my inner arm, and I follow the tube to the bag of what I am assuming is either electrolytes or vitamins.

All I know is that it can’t be medicine, seeing how I can still feel the burning from my wound. I look back down where the IV is sticking in my arm and immediately want it out. I'm not too fond of how it feels as it sits under my skin, and it quickly adds to the irritation of everything else that has attacked my senses.

I go to lift my right arm to rip the IV out, but I don’t get far. My arm jolts to a stop before being yanked back to the position it was in. Creasing my brows, I dip my head to the right and find they have me handcuffed to the bed.

Do they think I was going to run? It’s not like I was a danger to anyone else in this hospital.

Rolling my eyes, I return my stare to the IV until I spot the remote attached to my bed, and the red call button stares back at me. I’m itching to press it so that a nurse can come in and tell me when I’m being discharged.

My hand wraps around the remote, and as my thumb hovers over the button, the door to my hospital room slowly opens. I flick my eyes up, not to see a nurse or the doctor, but to see Henry Bennett.

His eyes scan over my body as he tries to reassure himself that I am fine. When he enters the room, he doesn’t shut the door to give us privacy. No, he left it open halfway so I could still see the police officers.

“Henry—” I want to apologize and beg for his forgiveness, but from the disappointed expression on his face, I know he won’t forgive me for what I’ve done.