An annoying beeping was the first thing I heard, the monotonous shrill sound repeated over and over again as I tried to make sense of what it was but couldn't.
Nothing felt right. There was tingling pain in my throat and a feeling of hollowness in my stomach. My body didn't feel like it was mine as I struggled to fight the ubiquitous dizziness. However, my vision was slowly returning to me as a new level of awareness emerged.
After several moments of just breathing, trying to adjust to the new feelings and the discomfort, I opened my eyes for what felt like the first time forever.
The patterned, sterile white tiles on the ceiling repeated in theme with the beeping that was continuous and nerving. The bright lights illuminated the white of the room, heavily contrasting against the previous black and my eyes watered in pain.
My mind was still foggy, the bleariness numbing but painful as I continued to battle it in an attempt to understand, to get my head on par with the actuality. The beeping noise. The white walls. The smell of disinfectant that hid the decay.
A hospital.
And when I realised, the events of the night came back to me full force, heightened emotions replaced all numbness. I had been shot. I killed Mathew.
Dorran!
My chest heaved up and down in such quick succession and I could hear the sound of the beeping increase in fervour too. Dorran was gone. And it was my fault.
No longer distracted by sleep, my mind was immediately seized by guilt, the feeling returning with an almost unbearable intensity. Without anything else to focus on, I became trapped in my head, the weight of reality suddenly too heavy to carry. It was all too much too soon and if the pain was like this, then I'd rather not have woken up at all.
I inhaled and inhaled, gulped for breath but there wasn't enough air to fill my greedy lungs. I couldn't breathe. My hands tightened on the sheets and my legs fiddled on the blanket as I tried to find any grip to ease the feeling in my chest but nothing was working.
My history of panic attacks stretched back to my childhood. But despite this history, there was nothing you could do to stop them. My body became a traitor, turning against my own mind, leaving me a helpless victim. And nothing was worse.
The crippling anxiety was horrific and I thought, if no one came in the next couple of seconds, my overworked heart would stop in my chest.
Unexpectedly, a hand came down on me in strength and comfort, and my heart did in fact stop.
...Because I knew that hand anywhere.
I looked up slowly, afraid that this was just a trick my mind was playing on me and it must've been because there was no way it was possible. I looked up and up, my chest still heaving. And there he was with his silver, flashing eyes. Dorran.
The monitor went blank and Dorran took note of this.
"Breathe, Darcy," he muttered but it was difficult to concentrate on his words as I stared at him.
My focus was on his beautiful grey eyes that clinched in worried impassivity, his lips that uttered those words over and over again, soft and red and finally his strong hand that held mine in support.
"Breathe."
How was this possible? I had seen him die, hit by the bullet and now he was standing in front of me, seemingly unharmed?
Maybe this was all just a vision, nothing else, an image my despair-ridden and hungry mind produced in an attempt to placate me. And that thought saddened me like no other if he was just an image that would soon disappear. I didn't know if my heart would be able to take it.
YOU ARE READING
Enemy Basis | COMPLETE
Romance*His silver gaze, so reflective and transparent, was opaque and blocked off in disgust as he looked down at me with the first emotion I had ever seen on his emotionless face: a sneer so packed with hatred that I almost recoiled back in horror. "Just...
