Page 13

What Fresh Hell is This?

DELILAH

Itry to part my eyes but it feels like someone pried them open while I was sleeping and poured an entire beach worth of sand in them. I have to focus hard on opening them and when I do, the only thing I can see is a blur where the ceiling should be. The rawness in my throat has me attempting to clear it. But I can’t. Something calloused and heavy is wound around my windpipe.

Acutely aware of my arms at my side, I try to lift them but they stay planted against the bed. I can’t even wiggle my fingers.

Panic hits me fast and strong, and all I can do is lie here, blinking at the nothing my eyes can see.

I think I’m experiencing my first bout with sleep paralysis. Indigo told me about it, but I thought she was making it up.

This has to be what death feels like.

Oh God, am I dead?

“She’s waking up,” a soft voice observes with zero urgency.

Okay, I’m not dead. But definitely being watched. Watched by who?

The invisible boulder sitting on my chest coupled with the stiffness in my neck has me desperate for answers.

Where am I?

Why are people talking in hushed tones about me?

The crook of my left arm is sore. Like a needle was there. So, a hospital?

I don’t hear any machines beeping.

And it doesn’t smell like a hospital.

However, thereisa stench, and mortification riddles me when I realize it’s probably me.

How long was I out? Was I just sitting here in my own filth for?—

“Welcome back, I’m Dr. Silas. You’ve had an eventful thirty-six hours. Can you tell me your name?”

Not expecting my voice to work, I stammer, “Delilah.”

“Very good.” I can hear the scratch of a pen against paper before he says, “I’m a friend of Adonis, and I’ve been monitoring you for the last twenty-four hours. If you can, lift your right hand for me.”

Adonis? Is that name supposed to mean something to me?

“Where am I?”

“Delilah, can you lift your right arm for me?” The doctor’s voice is measured.Patient.

And it’s only because of the kindness I can detect that I ignore the fact he didn’t answer my question.

Tingling in my fingers lessens my panic. I ball my hand into a fist and raise it off the bed to wipe the sleep from myeyes.

The figure beside me is no longer a blob, but a towering, brown-skinned man with close cropped curls and a stethoscope slung around his neck.

“Great. Now can you tell me your last name and the year?”

“Rose. 2026.”

He nods, a faint smile tugging his lips up. “Very good. Your vitals are back in normal range. We had a scare there for a while. The cocaine in your system did not interact well with the sedative.”