Defender's Heartbeat

Chapter 34

Manuel

As I drifted away, relentless pain pulsed through my entire body. The steady beep of a machine sliced through the darkness, but my vision remained shrouded in blackness. I couldn't see anything. Where was Enzo? Was he safe? Someone had tried to hurt him. I reached out, desperately searching for him, but all I grasped was cold, empty space. My heart raced, fear and anxiety consuming me. I needed to find Enzo. The darkness grew heavier, pulling me under once more.

I found myself in my childhood home. The familiar scent of old wood and dust filled the air. My mother lay in bed, her frail body barely visible beneath the tangled sheets. She was sick, her breathing ragged and shallow. My stomach roared with hunger, an intense ache gnawing at me as if I hadn't eaten in days. The oppressive silence of the house pressed down on me. Before I could take in more, the scene slipped away, and darkness enveloped me again.

My stepdad loomed over me, his face a mask of fury.

"You stole my beers!" he bellowed, though I knew he had consumed every last one himself. His fists came crashing down, each blow landing with a sharp sting. The pain was blinding, his accusations a relentless assault. Every punch felt like it came from his anger and frustration. I crumpled under his blows, unable to defend myself. As I lay there, everything went dark once more.

I was suddenly in the army, where the harsh discipline and structure felt like a faint anchor. But that tenuous stability shattered as I found myself in a small, oppressive room. Two shadowy figures loomed closer, their hands tearing at my clothes with clear, menacing intent. Panic surged through me as I fought back, my movements desperate and frenzied. The more I struggled, the tighter the room gradually closed around me. The struggle felt endless, and just as I fought to break free, darkness engulfed me once more.

Suddenly, I was in the woods, the chill of the night air biting at my skin. The moonlight barely pierced the dense foliage. I saw myself shoving someone into a river, their terrified cry swallowed by the rushing water. The gun in my hand felt heavy as I fired at another figure, the shot echoing through the still night. The gravity of my actions hit me like a cold wave, and as I grappled with the weight of what I had done, everything went dark again.

A beeping sound cut through the blackness, more insistent now. I could hear voices, their words a distant murmur. I felt the comforting warmth of a hand gripping mine. I was in a room, though its features were blurred and indistinct. Near me, a baby with jet-black eyes stared at me with a haunting, unblinking gaze. The intensity of the baby's stare made my chest tighten, a deep, aching sorrow blooming within me. Tears welled up, blurring my vision. The emotion was overwhelming, and just as I tried to hold onto the fleeting sense of connection, the darkness reclaimed me.

The beeping grew faster, a frantic rhythm that matched my racing heart. Someone's hand was still holding mine. The touch was a lifeline in the chaos. I heard a voice, soft and fading, struggling to reach me. I needed to listen to it, to cling to that connection.

"Please, keep talking," I wanted to say, but the darkness closed in, swallowing the words and the voice.

I found myself looking at a small boy lying in a bed, his tiny body battered and bleeding. I reached out and picked him up, cradling him close, feeling the fragile warmth of his small frame against my chest. The sensation of someone holding my hand lingered, offering a faint comfort amidst the overwhelming pain. As I cradled the boy, a profound sense of loss and urgency surged through me. Darkness swept over me once more.

"You're just a bodyguard. You're not my Papa. You're not my Papa," a voice echoed in my mind, each word a sharp stab. The beeping reached a frantic pace. The beeping grew erratic, mirroring the turmoil within me.

People rushed around me, their voices filled with urgency.

"Manuel, can you hear us?" someone called out, their desperation evident.

Manuel? Who was Manuel?

I felt a strange lightness as if I was floating, but the grip on my hand was tangible, grounding me. I saw Enzo—his black eyes wide with fear and confusion. Two men with heavy iron bars loomed, their intentions clear and threatening. I jumped in front of Enzo, shielding him with my own body, my heart pounding with fierce protectiveness.

Enzo. Where was my Enzo?

I opened my eyes. The grip on my hand tightened, a comforting pressure amidst the chaos.

"Papa," a voice whispered, filled with desperate hope. I turned my head slowly, my heart aching. Enzo was looking at me, his eyes wide with worry and love. I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. I wanted to reach out and touch his face, to feel the warmth of his presence, but my arm wouldn't move. The longing to embrace him, to hold him close, was overwhelming.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and doctors rushed in, their faces a blur of urgency and concern. Their hurried movements and the beeping of machines created a clamor that seemed to push Enzo further away. My heart ached as I struggled to connect with him, the sense of helplessness swallowing me whole.

They told me I had been in a coma for a week. As soon as I regained consciousness, Enzo was by my side, holding me tightly. His arms were a lifeline, and I could feel his tears soaking into my gown as he whispered his apologies. The doctors, their faces etched with concern, instructed him to step back. They said I was still in a precarious state despite the successful operation. Reluctantly, Enzo complied, but every part of me wanted him to stay.

I hadn't even had a chance to truly see my baby's face. My mouth felt heavy, and words failed to come out. My strength drained. Enzo leaned in and kissed my forehead softly, just as I used to comfort him when he was young and unwell. His scent, a mix of his natural warmth and cologne, enveloped me in a fleeting moment of comfort. As he turned to leave, he glanced back at me, but my vision was clouded, preventing me from capturing the full details of his face.

I saw Pedro standing beside him, his arm wrapped around Enzo in support. Enzo appeared small next to Pedro, who was fifteen years older and exuded a protective presence. For the first time, I felt a surge of reassurance seeing Pedro with my Enzo. It seemed clear he genuinely cared for him, providing comfort during this vulnerable time.