✦ ♡my cigarette man♡ ✦

Chapter eight || Tornerai da me

When I was younger my parents warned me of all the possibilities for my untimely death: from eating something I was allergic to slipping off a cliff. They'd have an exaggerated scenario for every event, I'd roll my eyes always complaining they were so dramatic. Why did they have to be so overprotective? 

I guess this is karma.

I never imagined how death would feel. Of course I knew eventually it had to happen but I arrogantly denied it could possibly be so soon. Nothing could possibly hint towards this outcome. Everything aches; Flickers of light burn through my tear filled eyes, when I try to move my limbs it's as if weights are keeping them down. Doctors and nurses mummer indistinctly above me trying to determine how to treat an injury that they seem to see no possible cure for, their expression panics. I squeeze the sheets. I want to speak, to ask for him, but my throat seems to close. I feel aware but not entirely present, angered by my lack of ability to communicate, which I guess is more karma? The pain is so sharp, still piercing through my abdomen. Is the knife still there? I wasn't able to fully see through my blurred vision and it didn't help that I kept passing out. My consciousness was limited and I was barely holding on. Just a little longer, I meekly smile to myself, my eyes fluttering shut.

•••

I open my eyes to the harsh glaze through the ancient hospital curtains. The room was plain: dingy baby blue walls, a creaky metal bed with cold sheets and a curtain separating the other patient. The only sounds were the beeping of monitors and hushed snoring coming from the armchair by the leaky window. Damiano rests peacefully leaning back into the chair, arms crossed. I've never watched him sleep before; the distrustful glare was completely faded and the hint of a smile almost appeared on his face.

His eyes began to open and the restful expression transitioned to joy.

"Chloe!" He shrieked.

The nurse glared through the tinted window and Damiano flushed uncomfortably. Damiano jumped out of the chair hurrying to my side and squeezed my hand.

"How are you feeling?" He whispered. His sympathetic eyes left me furrowing my brow in confusion, my eyes batted blankly at him.

Our confusion seemed to align because he mimicked my own with a head tilt.

"Mi amour," he begun he chewed his cheek anxiously as if he didn't want the answer to whatever he was about to ask. "You do know why you're here...right?" He paused. Waiting for a assuring response of "yes of course!" But Instead I coldly pull my hand away from his grasp.

"We were in France?" I ask. He nods his head thoughtfully. "And then what?" He pushed. My eyes batted blankly at him. I couldn't remember much of anything, I remember admitting my pregnancy but nearly everything after was a blur. "I-I don't know..." I whisper. Damiano swallows hard, his sympathetic eyes board into mine.

"Timothèe stabbed you Chloe." He delivered bluntly. His harsh tone was a smack in the face with reality.
Tears welling in my eye I quickly placed my hands on my stomach. Dampened blood stained bandage wrapped around my stomach. I felt the tears escape, rolling down my cheeks. "Is it..." my voice breaks. Damiano sunken eyes fall to the floor.

The door swings open and a doctor approaches us.

•••

I stare into the sheets, blurred from the tears in my eyes. I wish for the tears to escape, a cry or a scream or some sort but I can't; everything is emotionless. It's quiet, I guess they are all waiting for me to "process" the news.