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Greta
So many voices.
Am I back in the hospital? None of the voices sound like Diego or that bitchy nurse that couldn’t crack a smile if a gun was placed to her head. Have I gone so deep into the insanity that I’m hearing voices? Why won’t my eyes open? Or are they open, and I’ve drifted to a deep void inside my head?
“It’s been two days. Why isn’t she waking up?” I want to cry at the sound of Adelaide’s voice.
But what if it isn’t real?
“The doctor said her body could be protecting itself, and the drugs he gave her could be fucking with her brain.” A burly voice comes through theblackness.
“Maybe she’s protecting herself fromcertainpeople, and that’s why she won’t wake up.”Miriam too?
“Miriam, you said you wouldn’t do this,” Addie’s gentle scold has me smiling. At least it would if I could move.
“I said when she’s awake I would be good, but she’s not awake, is she?” my younger sister counters, and between their bickering, a tiny gurgle, then a giggle comes through as though my nephew is putting in his two cents, and my heart leaps for joy.
My nephew’s sweet baby talk is interrupted when the burly voice mumbles, “Gesù Cristo.”
Who is that, and why are they speaking Italian?
“Greta has no reason to fear me.” This time the voice is deep and smooth like molasses, and my heart picks up to a gallop. The voice soothes me while intoxicating me at thesame time.
“Then why did she run? You still haven’t explained that to us,” Miriam argues, and for some reason, I want to sit up and defend the man.
“Miriam, enough. I told you I would tell you everything once Greta was awake and settled.”Xander Cain?
More arguments ensue, and the more the voices around me bicker, the more I’m convinced they’re real. But why can’t I see them, and why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck?
“Ugh,” I hear myself moan, and instantly the voices go silent, feet shuffle, and an animalistic growl emanates from a distance before a door opensand shuts.
“Greta? Come on, babe, open your eyes,” Addie coos.
“Let’s go, chickadee. Time to wakey,” Miriam goofs, but her jesting can’t hide the concern inher tone.
Slivers of light break through the slits of my eyes, and I put all my strength into opening them fully. When I do, I nearly burst into tears when I see my sisters and nephew smiling down at me.
“Oh, my God, Greta!” Addie chokes and collapses into a chair next to my bed, smothering her head in my lap as she sobs. Slowly lifting my hand, I pet her hair to comfort her.
“How you feeling, sis?” Miriam asks as she bounces the sweet baby boy on her hip.
I smile up at her. “I…” I cough through my dry throat, and Miriam hands me a cup of water, deflecting Dean’s grabby hands like a pro.
“Sips. We don’t need you puking.”
I chuckle around the cup and then hand it back to her. “As I was saying. I thought you hated me, so seeing you both here, I feel pretty good.”
Miriam freezes, and Addie’s head swings up, her eyes red and swollen. “Who told you that?” Addie asks.
I wipe away a fallen tear from her cheek. “Sebastian,” I answer, and like a punch to the head, my mind spirals, and scenes flash in front of my eyes.
Kissing Sebastian in the snow, a gun in his hand, a beast standing next to the phantom from my dreams, then…
“He fucking shot me!” I cry in fury. The machine at my bedside beeps in warning as my heart rate climbs. My sisters stand on either side of me, squeezing each of my hands while they try to bring me down. “My own damn husband shot me!”I screech.
“Your husband? Greta, what the hell are you talking about?” Addiequestions.
“Jesus, what kind of bullshit did that bastard feed her?” Miriam mumbles, then bends to get eye level with me. “Sebastian wasn’t your husband, babe. And I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sureeverythinghe told you washog shit.”
