"These moans of yours, Zemira, they tend to tamper with my head. They're making my mind a haywire, 𝓜𝓸𝔂 𝓿𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓲𝓻." He whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. His dominance was giving me power to show my dominance.
If he wants to...
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An antiseptic smell, like a hospital's, fills my nose, and I hear distant beeping from monitors. My head throbs, and when I touch the back of my head, I feel a sore lump where I was hit. A wave of disorientation washes over me. My head is heavy and my body is like lead. Everything felt so weird and heavy, every movement feeling laborious.
I struggle to open my eyes, squinting against the harsh light that seeped through the curtains. With a groan, I try to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain shoots through my head and leg. My hand goes to my temple, coming away sticky with blood. Panic sets in as my thoughts become fuzzy. The room spins around me, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic.
As my vision clears, I realise I'm not in a hospital room as I thought. I'm lying in my own bed. Confusion sets in until memories rush back-the mission, the kidnapping, the pain of the blade in my thigh, Reina. I grit my teeth against the memory.
Someone stands over me, but my blurred vision prevents me from recognizing them. They hastily apply makeshift bandages and try to stop the bleeding. With effort and a shaky breath, I focus on their face. Despite the throbbing ache in my head and the disorientation clouding my thoughts, being near them makes me feel safer.
"Mama?" I whisper, disbelief coloring my tone.
The still blurred figure tending to my wounds looks down, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of relief and worry. Her features are etched with lines of stress and exhaustion. How did she get here? Why is she the one taking care of me? Why isn't she resting after the kidnapping?
The kidnapping.
More memories course through my brain as I struggle to sit up. My heart pounds in my chest, and tears blur my vision as I replay the scene in my mind-the horror of it all threatening to consume me. My own father, injured, all because of me. Guilt claws at my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I reach out to her, my hand trembling.
She takes my hand in hers, her touch gentle. "Ya zdes', dorogaya," (I'm here, sweetheart) she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "Ya za toboy." (I've got you.)
The room blurred into a similar image as I sat on the bed, the night's silence was ripped by my muffled sobs. The entire incident replayed in my mind like an unstoppable nightmare. The gunshot could still be heard, the flash from it still seen, and the cold dread felt. The warm arms wrapped around me, and she pulled me close. Tensing at first, as I was sure the hug would hurt, but I relaxed into the hug quickly as a rush of silent cries was finally breaking free.
I clung to her, my body shaking with the force of my sobs. "Eto vse moya vina." I choked out. (It's all my fault.)
She tightened her hold. "Oh, detka, net. Eto ne tvoja vina." (Oh, baby, no. It's not your fault.)
"Ya byl pryamo tam!" My voice rose, a mix of anger and sorrow. (I was right there!)
She gently rocked me, her hand stroking my hair. "Ty nichego ne mogla by sdelat', lyubov' moya. Tvoy otets...on by ne khotel, chtoby ty nesla etu tyazhest'. On by ne khotel chtoby ty obvinyala sebya." (There was nothing you could have done, my love. Your father...he wouldn't want you to carry this burden. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself.)
