[Currently being rewritten and updated chapter by chapter]
Book One in the "Hard Love" series.
It's hard being knocked down. And it's even harder getting back up.
Thalia Carter grew up on the south side of Chicago with a dead-beat dad and never real...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I never gave too much thought to the afterlife before Grant died. I never wanted to, never needed to.
Whatever came after death wasn't my concern, because I was sixteen and stealing my own beautiful moments in a dark world that didn't want me to be happy. In the midst of so much pain and strife, I found comfort in Grant. Every second with him was a moment immortalized in my mind.
When he was taken from me, that's when I started to wonder. I pictured bright meadows and vivid, burning sunsets at the end of every day, assuming there was some figment of time wherever he was. A trail for him to hike on. Endless amounts of paints and inks for him to create with. To me, peace would be a lot like the real world. The only difference is we wouldn't have to fight for anything. Our happiness would be our own, and nobody could take it from us.
I'm not so sure I found peace.
There's a heavy throbbing in the side of my head, making it impossible to focus on one singular thing as I try to pry my eyes open. So far I can only see a mixture of monochrome blue blobs, varying in shades. When I swallow, my throat feels raw and scratched. I shiver from the chill in the air. There's fabric against my skin, but it does nothing to keep me warm.
My face twitches as I inhale something that burns my nose. Antiseptic, or rubbing alcohol. Something strong and clean. If I had found peace, I wouldn't be in a hospital. I wouldn't still be able to feel something as human as pain.
Things start to clear as I blink the sleep away. Yep, I am definitely in a hospital. Definitely not heaven, although I guess it's debatable whether I was headed there or not.
There's a big, clunky monitor set up to my right, along with an IV bag with a tube stuck in my wrist. I've never been afraid of needles, but my heart rate starts to accelerate as I take in my surroundings, especially where the skinny metal pokes through my skin. I try to sit up then howl in pain from the flaring heat in my side.
There's a click of a door opening and and closing. A bald, middle-aged man in scrubs comes through the door, eyes widening when his meet mine.
"When did you wake up, then?" His tone is laced with sugar as he walks up to me, examining me and grabbing my limbs to inspect with no thought to ask permission. But I let him, because he knows what he's doing and the thought of protesting exhausts me. I notice a name on his lab coat. Doctor Frederick.
"Ju–" I cut myself off to cough, getting caught on the dryness in my throat. Two seconds later there's a water cup placed in my hand. I sip gingerly, starting with small sips then gradually downing the whole thing. "Just now."
Dr. Frederick nods slowly, typing something onto a tablet as he glances at the monitor. "And how are you feeling? Any pain?"
When he meets my eyes, I give him a flat look. He lets loose an awkward chuckle. "Right, that's to be expected. Can you specify where?"
