Page 84 of Relapse

“Are you…sure?”

“I’m okay. I’ll go.”

I had to get a hold of myself before I opened the door.

The room itself wasn’t much at all. Just enough space for the bed and an area for the doctors to examine. No couches. No overnight stays. No visiting longer than allowed.

As is, not many people were even allowed back here, due to the severity of his attack. Everything was still under investigation, and cops trickled about the hallway corridors—little reminders of the eyes that were always watching.

I took a single step inside.

It was dim inside the small hospital room, the lights lowered to a mere glow underneath David’s torso as he lay on the bed, eyes closed. The curtains were half drawn, and the only steady light came from the monitors beside the bed, blinking green and blue in slow rhythm.

Dark.

Just like I remembered.

Rooms with him were always dark. As if too much light would expose his evil secrets. Or force him to see himself for what he truly was.

I almost scoffed at myself. It wouldn’t have mattered if every light in the place had been blazing. My father had always done what he wanted, regardless of who it hurt. He was cruel. He never hid those parts of himself, not really.

I watched him for a moment. From my perspective at the doorway, he looked so…small in comparison to how I usually saw him.

His face contorted slightly in pain with each breath, cheeks a bit more hollowed. He had oxygen tubes hanging from his ears and placed into his nose. He looked older. As I watched the blanket lift with each slow breath, I couldn’t stop a memory from surfacing.

“Roar!”

“Dad, chase me! Haha!”

There had been a time when his voice meant something different to me. When it didn’t make my stomach twist. When it was a welcomed sound floating through the air.

Why did he change so much? It was a question I could never seem to stop asking myself, even though I knew I’d never have a good enough answer for. That answer was dead alongside the younger me. A decomposing body amidst the earth.

I pushed the thought away and stepped fully into the room, letting the door shut quietly behind me. I waited.

For a moment, there was only the steady hum of machines.

“Noah,” David called softly. “Come over here.”

His voice startled me at first. The way his tone came out, so tentative, reminded me of before. Lifetimes ago, when he could be kind. I swallowed and made my way to his bedside.

“Who?” he whispered, eyes barely open.

My brows furrowed, not fully understanding. “Who, what?”

He lifted a weak hand, motioning me forward.

“Closer,” he rasped.

I stepped nearer, leaning slightly over the bed. “Who are you talking about? Do you need Damian?”

All of a sudden, his hand shot out, gripping the front of my shirt and pulling me forward. I stumbled, catching myself on the bed gate, before nearly collapsing onto him. Our faces were inches apart.

“Who stabbed me, you rotten piece of shit?” he snarled.

My shoes squeaked against the polished linoleum as I struggled to regain my footing.

“What makes you think I know that?”