✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

55-Crawl To Find You

Jake's pov

I think I died.

I feel I have crossed into death. Perhaps now, death is the only freedom that can redeem me. I am dead, I shall not have to bear the torture of my life, maybe I can dance with devils now. Free, and wild.

Or is this the coward's way out?

Wouldn't that mean I've given up too quickly, let go of those shattered remains of life I fought tooth and nail to cling to? There is a throbbing ache in my head, and my eyes are screwed tightly shut, defying the tug of consciousness. I take a jagged breath, immediately choking as bleach fumes burn their way into my lungs.

"Jake?"

That voice—too familiar, damn it.

Slowly, I pry my eyes open, squinting as the light stabs into my skull like a dagger. Fuck. Who knew that light could sear right through me, burning with the intensity of hell itself?

A few agonizing moments later, my eyes adjust, and even then I keep my vision narrow, wary of the pain. White. Walls. Ceiling. My heart hammers in my ears, and my parched throat tightens, choking on fear. I try to rise, but pain detonates in my shoulder, slamming me back down.

"Don't move, you are hurt." It was Ethan.

Brightness seared through my eyelids, pushing against my skull like an unbearable pressure. My head throbbed in time with each beat, a painful reminder that I was still tethered to this maddening reality.

My limbs felt like they were plunged into a heavy pool of molasses, without the slightest tendency to come back up. I wanted to shift-to move one inch-but my limbs were leaden and unresponsive. Panic hit at my chest, so the only sound of labored breathing was amplified in my ears. There was only one other sound: the mechanical beeping of a heart monitor, reminding me that I was alive or still attached to this bed.

I tried to put fragments together of what had happened, but it was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. Ana's face flashed into my mind, her eyes wide with fear and sadness, but the image was too fragile and dissolved into a haze of confusion.

I fell into darkness again.

Every time I opened my eyes, it was the same white ceiling staring back at me, mocking me with my ineptitude at comprehension. I could feel the weight of the world upon me, the crushing reality that I was utterly and completely alone. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils, along with the faint metallic tang of blood.

I had tried to focus, to push through the fog that was cluttering my thoughts, but each attempt seemed to sink me deeper into disorientation. I heard footsteps from a distance, echoing faintly, and far enough that I couldn't make them out. My head ran with the wish to catch onto something concrete, while this seemed to be like trying to catch a dream that slips away as you awaken.

Time was fluid, the moments bleaching into each other. I couldn't say how long, in minutes, or how many hours I had been there. The only constants were the white ceiling above my head, and the ache within me, a dull, throbbing reminder of my fragile body.

I tried to call out, but my voice was a rasping whisper, hardly escaping my lips. My throat was dry and parched. A deep degree of helplessness, the fear of what must have passed while I was contained within this limbo, overcame me. With every flutter of consciousness, confusion mounted anew, layer upon layer of pain.

Suddenly, like a rent in a veil, clarity tore through the haze. I remembered Ana's tear-stained face, Anastasia does not cry, it was my hallucination.