The Mafia Man's Trophy [On Hold]

Chapter 19.

— One Week Later —

Kylie

My throat was dry, and it itched terribly.

My hand twitches in strained effort to stroke my throat and remove the sandpit that had accumulated there, but no matter how hard I tried to move my limbs, it just felt like I was restrained tightly by ropes.

My eyes flutter slowly and they open to gaze up at the familiar ceiling of my dimly lit bedroom. My toes curl and stretch as the warm rays of the sun bathes my skin in a single line of sunray.

I inhale deeply and feel my chest expands to accommodate the clean air. My hand jerks forward as I try to lift it slightly and my body tenses as my eyes bulge out of my head when they make a sudden glance down.

I was sprawled across a firm, broad, naked chest, and the peacefully sleeping face that met my shocked gaze made my heart leap and lodge into my throat.

Timidly, I peel myself from the body, and with a bit of strain, push myself away from the man that laid with me on the bed.

I drag myself to the edge of the bed as I try to quail the panic that was slowly rising inside me and my heavily beating heart.

I feel the bed dip beside me and I knew he was awake. My assumption was confirmed only seconds later when his worried face was suddenly in my line of view, he was staring at me in concern, worry lines marring his facial features, but my lips felt dry and panic clogged my throat, I couldn't speak.

"She's awake! Get here now!" I hear him growl into a phone and the miniscule hairs in my pores lift as his voice rolled over me like waves of a turquoise sea.

I bite my lip nervously, and move to stroke my wrist but stop when I feel the rough material that now covered my once flawless skin. I gasp deeply and I feel myself get sucked into a warbled trance.

It was a memory, one I wished to forget.

I killed a man. No, that wasn't it. I murdered a man, in cold blood.

I, slaughtered him like an animal. I shot him, not once, or twice.

I stabbed him, over and over, like, a lunatic, a psychopath.

I went absolutely berserk.

I was sucked deeper into the warp and this time, I was watching myself lay helpless in the bathtub as my fingers gripped the razor, and not even seconds later, was I running it with trembling fingers over my wrist. 

Multiple times, such deep strokes.

Blood. I remember that too, so much blood.

I'm pulled from my terrible memories by a cold, firm hand resting firmly on my shoulder, squeezing me gently.

My eyes flutter open to glance up at an unfamiliar face. It was a man who wore a stoic expression with a stethoscope hung loosely around his neck.

He was older than I was, and by the look of knowledge and concern on his face, I knew what profession he was in.

A doctor.

Which was he? A psychiatrist? Did he think I was insane?

"How are you feeling Ms Lombardi?" He asks me in a very soft voice. My lips peel back to reply but no words emit my lips. I look down and swallow hard before meeting his eyes with a pained expression. Slowly, I touch my throat and wince in discomfort, trying to convey a silent message to him. 

His eyes glow in understanding before he looks over my shoulder.

"Water, she needs water."

"Pheobe, bring a pitcher of cool water and a glass. She's awake."