Unbound

Chapter 17

When I awoke, before I opened my eyes, for the briefest moment I could imagine that I was back at home in my own bed. I knew it wasn't real—it felt like chasing the tail end of a good dream—but for a few minutes, I let myself stay there until I realized the mattress under my back was not the uneven, lumpy mattress in my apartment. The room before me when I opened my eyes was unfamiliar. It was small and unremarkable, with soft light filtering in through a window that looked out into a canopy of trees.

My hand flew to my stomach—the last thing I remembered was the searing pain. The pain was still there, though now it was more of a dull ache. I hiked up the hem of the too-large t-shirt I was wearing and gingerly peeled back the bandages. The wounds were closing, far shallower now as my flesh knitted itself back together. I grimaced when I thought of the scars they would leave behind.

Cautiously, I propped myself up on my elbows then worked my way into a sitting position. My skin pulled and protested as I moved, but it was tolerable. When I looked around the room again, the only thing I recognized were my bloody sneakers by the door. Panic tightened my throat and I threw the blankets off toward the foot of the bed. Below the t-shirt, I found myself dressed in black sweats that about swallowed me whole. Quickly, too quickly, I slid out of the bed and my vision dimmed. Before I hit the ground, I managed to catch myself on the nightstand and took a few slow, deep breaths.

The feeling of missing time and waking up in a strange place was disorienting and left me deeply unsettled. Based on how much my wounds had healed, I guessed I had likely been out for a couple days. Bending over to pull on my shoes was out of the question, so I left them where they sat and counted down from three in my head before opening the door. I crept barefoot into the hallway and froze.

I knew exactly where I was: the bare walls and freezing temperature gave it away instantly. Now all I needed to know was how to get out. I glanced back at my shoes, considering biting the bullet and taking the pain if for no other reason than to shield my feet from the cold hardwood floors, but the sweat that beaded across my forehead from the effort of getting out of bed warned me off.

Steadying myself against the wall, I moved slowly down the hallway. I gathered that I was on the first floor of the house, and with any luck Gabriel would be shut away in his office while I found the front door. If I thought about him too hard, the top of my head burned softly where his palm had rested.

The hallway, as it turned out, led not to the front door as I'd hoped, but to the kitchen. Gabriel was seated on a tall stool leaning forward with his elbows on the kitchen island and when he looked up, meeting my eyes, I felt dizzy all over again. He was by my side in an instant.

"You shouldn't be up," he said firmly.

"I'm fine," I promised. I wished that my voice had come out stronger.

Gabriel led me to the stool he'd been sitting on and with some effort I hoisted myself up onto the seat. It was obvious by the way he kept his hands hovering close that he wanted to lift me onto it himself, but I was grateful that he refrained. Once I was seated and he made sure I was steady, he moved to the sink and filled a glass with water. He slid it to me across the counter.

"Drink." He was watching me closely, blue eyes narrowed, looking for any signs of my discomfort.

"I'm fine, I swear."

"Drink." An order this time.

I took a sip then put the glass back down.

"All of it." He nodded with satisfaction when I sighed and obeyed, then took the empty glass back and refilled it. I rolled my eyes.

Gabriel circled back around the counter to set the full glass in front of me, then gestured towards my stomach. "Let me see."

I drew back quickly, shaking my head. "There's no need, it looks better."