Silent Screams (Hollow #1)

CHAPTER 25

Two and A Half Years Ago . . .

Everything is black. Dark. Bleak.

My eyelids feel heavy. Disorientation and confusion zing through me before a sterile white room appears in sight. Even the dim light above the hospital equipment couldn’t wash away the darkness swirling through me.

I suck in a sharp, painful breath. It hurts so much I wish I could stop breathing. I hear the wheezing and realize the noise belongs to me.

With one glance ahead of me, I notice a man standing at the end of the hospital bed.

Am I dead—dying? Why else would a beautiful angel be standing with me?

Does he know my mom?

“Wat—” I clear my throat, which irritates it even more. I cough and cough and, thankfully, he gets the hint as he moves in closer to grab the glass of water on the nearby tray.

I finally see all of him as he comes to me and places the straw against my cracked lips—dark hair, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of raw chocolate .

“Easy,” a coarse voice greets me as I take a few sips. The water feels nice until I swallow. My throat is begging me to keep going while my pained chest is sending out burning signals all over the place.

Yet, through the pain, all I can focus on is the rough timbre of his voice.

And the fact that this angel was sent for me.

“W-will. ..” I force my speech through the dryness and ache. “Will you... take me to her?”

He places the water back in its original spot. “Take you to whom?”

“My mom. She’s dead.”

He shakes his head. “Then, no. You’re not dead, beautiful.”

“S-so.” I swallow. “Why aren’t I screaming... bloody murder.”

When he sits on the bed, there’s a redness to his dark eyes that greets me.

“Because...” He grabs my hand. “I won’t hurt you.”

I know he won’t. I can feel it in the lightest cells of my being, feel the conviction of his statement through my soul.

I try to speak, but it hurts.

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

Am I really not dying? Am I dreaming? Why am I here?

“W-will you come... back?” God, every word out of my mouth feels like someone cursed my tonsils.

“No.”

“I’ll never see you again?” The hope will burn me.

“Unlikely,” he whispers. “But when you close your eyes—I’ll be there.”

I have a feeling I’ll wake up and he’ll have disappeared. The thought makes me want to cry.

“So you won’t remember me?” I whisper, my eyelids slowly shutting of their own accord.

“Go to sleep. ”

This is what being on ten different drugs must feel like—as if beautiful angels are here to save you, here to distract you from the pain, here to give you a small dose of strength before your world finally crashes at your feet.

He left me behind, my guardian angel, but he never left my heart.