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It takes me a moment to realize we’re not moving anymore. Blinking, I look around. We’re in a parking lot. I glance at him, finding him with a slight grimace on his face.
“This isn’t the loft,” I mutter, my voice raw, empty. I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.” I look around again, my brows pinched together.
“Where are we?”
He hesitates, his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I stare blankly at him, just waiting. Finally, his shoulders fall as he sighs.
“The hospital,” he whispers.
“What?” I shake my head, pressing into the door, away from him. “No. I don’t want to be here.”
“I know. But we have to make sure you’re okay, Eve.”
“No.” I shake my head again, folding my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to.”
“We have to know…” He trails off, his eyes pained as he stares at me. “He could’ve done permanent damage to your body, baby. We have to make sure you’re okay.”
Even though I don’t want it to, my chin wobbles.
He did do permanent damage, though. He destroyed me from the inside out. He took everything from me. The person I was before is dead, and she’s never coming back.
“Please,” I cry, tears blurring my vision. “Don’t make me go in there.”
“I’m so sorry, Goldie.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, but that doesn’t make it better. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want anyone else poking or prodding at me. I want to go home, to the loft, and sleep.
I never want to wake up again.
I can see it, the pity in his eyes, the way he’s hesitating, like he doesn’t think this is a good idea. It’s not. I just want to forget this ever happened.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know he’s right. That I should be here, that we should make sure I’m okay.
But why does it matter?
I’m not okay.
I’ll never be okay.
“Please,” I rasp, begging him to not make me do this. His black lashes are damp, his hazel eyes red as he watches me.
“Don’t hate me,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry, Goldie. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry—”
“Ro.” My hand grips the door, like if I hold on tight enough, he can’t move me. But we both know he can. We both know whether I want to or not, I’m going into the hospital and those people in there will…they’ll stick things inside me, swab me, take samples, push and pull me in every direction.
I won’t be able to breathe—I can’t breathe.
I try to take a breath, but my lungs won’t fill with air. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I breathe?
Just inhale.
Inhale.
It’s easy.
Just do it.
But I can’t.
