Days Are Numbered

35. Is it over?

Noah stepped outside the house, surrounded by a vast expanse of grass gently swaying in the evening breeze. The sun, with its soft hues of pink and orange, painted the sky in a mesmerizing display of amber. It was a scene of tranquility and beauty, yet tinged with a hint of nostalgia. With small feet and hands, Noah stumbled down the wooden stairs, his heart filled with anticipation. Ahead, on the swing, sat his parents, cocooned in each other's embrace, their faces illuminated by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. This place was familiar to Noah—it was their home before more wealth and success demanded they move on.

A wide grin adorned a five-year-old Noah's face as he raced towards his parents, eager to share in the warmth of their presence. But his joy was abruptly interrupted as a rough hand seized him by the arm, yanking him away. A middle-aged woman glared at him with stern disapproval, causing Noah to flinch under her gaze.

"Mummy!" he called out, seeking solace in his mother's comforting embrace.

Cordelia turned, her smile was tender, "Let him be. You spoil him, Rosa will take care of him," Jonathan intervened, drawing Cordelia's attention away from Noah.

Before Noah could protest, another hand clamped over his mouth, pulling him forcefully towards the house and into the attic. He struggled against the grip, tears streaming down his cheeks as fear and confusion enveloped him.

"Sit there and be a good boy, or I'll get the stick and the bugs," Rosa's stern voice echoed, before the cupboard door slammed shut, enclosing Noah in darkness.

The dream shifted, morphing into a harrowing scene as if traveling in time—a cacophony of shattering bottles and Cordelia's anguished cries filled the air. Noah's own voice now matured and hoarse, laced with venomous words, added to the chaos as he hurled hurtful accusations at his mother. Then, the darkness receded, giving way to the familiar woods where Noah found himself running, pursued by unseen threats. Covered in wounds and blood, he stumbled and fell down a dark cliff with unknown depth, darkness covering him once again, only to find himself back at the house standing before his parents, they rose from the swing at the sight of him.

Tears welled up in Noah's eyes as he pulled his father into a tight embrace, his battered body forgotten in the warmth of his father's presence. With heartfelt words. "I'm sorry I didn't cry when you died. I'm sorry, I wasn't the son you raised me to be. I'm sorry for all the headaches I caused you. I'm to blame." He confessed in tears.

His father's response was one of unwavering love and acceptance, his words a balm to Noah's wounded soul. "That's okay. Son, you were lost, now you're found. I'm very proud of you for this confession. I'll always love you no matter what. You're all we have." He whispered the words as he wrapped his hand around Noah's battered body, on the other hand, Noah broke now in heavy sobs.

"It hurts." He confessed.

"I know," Jonathan replied. "Healing is a painful and delicate process." Noah hugged him even more tightly. As they embraced, the sun shone brighter, enveloping them in a moment of healing and reconciliation—a family reunited, bound by love and forgiveness amidst the beauty of the setting sun.

—End— —Of Dream—

Noah slowly blinked his eyes open, the remnants of his dream still lingering in his mind like scattered fragments of memories. It was the first time since his father's passing that he had seen him in a dream, and the first time in a long while that his sleep had been peaceful.

As he surveyed his surroundings, the sterile walls of the hospital room and the soft hum of medical equipment reminded him of his current reality. He shifted, feeling the weight of bandages and plasters covering his body.

Laying back down, Noah's thoughts turned to the consequences of his actions, the choices that had led him to this moment of pain and reflection. A bitter acceptance settled within him, acknowledging that perhaps death would have been a preferable outcome. The image of Yaroslav, with his cold gaze and ruthless intentions, flickered in Noah's mind, the prospect of a gruesome fate looming nearby. With each passing thought, Noah felt himself growing numb, the sharp edges of his emotions blunted by resignation and despair. In a quiet murmur, he uttered words of surrender, a resigned acceptance of whatever fate awaited him.

"So be it," he whispered with weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, a solemn acknowledgment of the path that lay ahead.

The door creaked open, sending a shiver down Noah's spine as he braced himself for the inevitable presence of Yaroslav. The anticipation of his menacing voice, like a dark shadow devouring his soul, hung heavy in the air, filling the room with an oppressive silence. The machine next to him started beeping out loud in rhythm with his heartbeat. He expected a shock wave, then brutal beatings that would leave him bleeding.

"Great, you're awake. How do you feel?" A soothing feminine voice gently filled Noah's ears, and he immediately sat up, despite the pain that shot through his nerves from multiple places in his body. Ignoring the discomfort, he focused on the sight of the blond lady in her crisp white nurse attire, her red lipstick standing out against the sterile surroundings.

Noah hesitated, his mind racing with questions and uncertainties. What now? he pondered, unable to find the words to articulate his thoughts. Will Yaroslav pop out from behind her with a gun speaking spanish?

He observed the lady, noticing her expression shift to one of concern. "Okay..." Her voice trailed off as she scribbled something on her clipboard. "You should lay back down," she advised gently.

Noah continued to stare, attempting to decipher her thoughts. If he lay back down, would Avgustin suddenly appear, ready to strangle him? Or worse, would the bed transform into a lab table, restraining him against his will? Internally, Noah shook his head at the distressing thoughts, but the physical action was involuntary.

The nurse regarded him with suspicion, then reached for her cell phone, punching in a number as Noah remained lost in thought. "Room 103, emergency," she said into the phone. Noah's head snapped in her direction as he processed her words, and he sat up abruptly, causing some tubes to detach. The room spun for a second as a stubborn headache awoke. Noah reaped the remaining tube off.

"Stay back down, sir," the nurse calmly instructed, but Noah refused to heed her advice, snatching her phone before shooting her a glare. He rushed to the door, closing it shut.

The nurse's voice, gentle yet firm, attempted to quell Noah's rising panic. He darted towards the window as the door swung open, his eyes fixating on the bustling street below. A surge of surprise shot through him, only to be met with force as the men seized him, hurling him back onto the bed.

"Let go! Where am I?" Noah's voice cracked with fear and confusion.

"Easy now!" The nurse's urgency filled the room, her warning aimed at the men whose grip was becoming increasingly rough on the struggling youth. A sharp prick of a needle plunged him into numbness, his vision fading to blackness in moments.

Struggling against the fog in his mind, Noah's eyes struggled to focus on the nurse hovering nearby, her pen poised over a clipboard. His words slurred as they stumbled out, barely recognizable even to himself. Desperation laced his voice as he tried to piece together the fragments of his consciousness.

"The boys... where... are they?" Noah's words trailed off, his voice tinged with panic. The fear swelled within him, threatening to engulf his senses. "Did... they... die?"

The nurse paused, her expression softening with understanding as she regarded Noah with empathy, her words poised to offer reassurance in the face of his mounting anxiety. But Noah could barely grasp her words as he fell back into darkness. 

A/N

Thanks for following this farrr :]