𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | ✔

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

i'm obsessed w 3/4 AM updates mann

Without further adieu, here is the next chapter...

༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

DEVI BHATT

The monotonous sound of the heart monitor beeps in the background of my awakening. My eyes fly open and so do all my senses. I take a deep breath with my oxygen mask on. When I move my hands I feel the IV attached to my arm.

Waves of confusion rocks my brain harshly as I try to take in all of my dark surroundings.

Slowly, I take the mask off, allowing myself a breath of fresh air in the dark of the night. The clock says it's around half eleven in the night. What day is it? The house is quiet, which is odd.

Everyone's always awake still, making noise either just talking really loudly or having little arguments. The hospital gown is tied very loosely around my body and is incredibly itchy. I can't wait to get out and off this bed.

I remember faint memories of before I collapsed. It was very loud and every single inch of my body was so sensitive. Slow heart beats and my vision was rotting. I think it was Ares– it must have been for sure.

A smile touches my lips when I successfully try to wiggle my toes.. I have control over my body movements thankfully.

It's like they're trying to test my resilience. And everytime I pass one of their tests, they send another. They're trying to find my weak point, my breaking point.

I can't forget about my best friend now. I feel bad yesterday for how I treated him– maybe I should have given him the chance to explain himself. He was so much kinder when I did for a short while too.

He was probably right too about the outrageous dress I was wearing– I would have never worn that before. Maybe I was feeling too confident and stupid, and it was ruining everything. If I see that dress again I might just burn it.

But one thing I'm putting my foot down on is him goddamn lying to me.

I push that thought to the back of my head when a sleeping log a metre from my bed stirs. His eyes are wide open, blinking as if to make sure if something is real. If me being awake is real. Guilt consumes me, that he's stressed and concerned for me.

"Hi," I croak.

He stands up slowly, hair clouding his eyes so that I can't see the emotions swirling behind them. I think I hear his phone clattering to the floor, but I'm not sure because all I can seem to pay attention to is him.

I swallow nervously, suddenly feeling my heart speed up. Then the goddamn heart monitor picks up on it as well. I look away– or force myself to look away from him. Something tugs my gaze back to him and it feels too much like the strings of fate.

Nothing could be so strong.

"You're awake," he says. It's pained. He's in pain.

"Yeah."

He walks closer. In the corner of my eye I see him rub his tired eyes and scratch his nape. I slowly sit up, feeling the rush of meds on my head.

"Move slow," he advises, already next to me. He readjusts my pillow, his hand resting on my leg, above the duvet as he does.

I glide my hand over his and feel a stutter in his movements. His hands aren't particularly smooth, but considering his occupation I wouldn't exactly expect it to be. Some spots my fingers feel soft and some spots feel rough. His knuckles are notoriously unsoft, making me smile.