Elisabetta's POV
I felt bad for Misty. She'd been through hell and back, and then hell again. I wanted to help her — really, I did. But there's not much you can do for someone who literally has the worst luck and finds herself in the worst predicaments.
Misty at first refused my offer to drive us to the local bar for a couple shots. So I left her alone and revisited the topic a few hours later. By then, she was desperate for alcohol but she just... didn't know it.
It was a rainy Friday night, around 6, when we drove to the bar. The car ride was particularly too quiet for my interest, but after living with her for nearly a month, I knew she valued the silence.
We pulled up in the bar's parking lot, and much to my dismay, it had a sign on the door that said Sorry, we're closed. Misty didn't mind, but I was annoyed.
"Let's go to the next town over," I said, pressing on the gas and making a sharp left turn.
She gripped the grab handle on the ceiling of my car, cursing at me. "Slow down, Elisabetta," she hissed through her teeth.
"Relax, Misty."
"I'd rather just go back to your house and lay down," she retorted angrily.
Frowning, I ignored her retorts and growls. "You need to drink your sorrows away, hon."
"I do not. Shut up." She diverted her glance to outside after giving me a death glare.
"Guess you'll have to sit in the car while I get to drink," I reply sweetly.
She doesn't respond.
---
"We're heeeeereeeee!" I sang, throwing open my car door. "Are you coming in... or not?"
Misty raised her eyebrows.
"It's temping, isn't it?" I hummed.
"Fine. I'll come in."
"YAY!" I squealed. She followed me inside, grumbling and running her fingers through her chocolatey hair.
"Two of your strongest," I told the bartender, hopping up on a stool. Misty sat next to me.
"I don't normally drink," she said.
"If I were Ethan, would you —"
She cut me off. "Shut up, Elisabetta."
"Fine, fine." How can Ethan even put up with her grumpy arse?
Three shots later and I was feeling a little tipsy. I was giggling like a little girl and Misty was about to leave me at the bar.
Someone approached her — a tall blonde. I could barely make out the figure because my vision had gone blurry a long time ago.
The girl grabbed Misty's wrist and yanked it. Misty's blurred figure retaliated by standing up and shoving her to the ground.
Voices coming from everywhere melted together. I began feeling lightheaded. Slowly, I slump off the seat and onto the floor. My head hit the hardwood floor and I began to fade in and out of consciousness.
"You effing bastard!" I heard Misty scream. "You drugged her! What the hell?"
Laughter echoed and before I blacked out, I heard the sound of glass breaking and Misty's sobs.
---
Beep, beep, beep, beep...
I jerked awake, my eyes fluttering open. A horrible headache had taken over my head and the pain was excruciating. I get the worst hangovers, to be honest.
But I wasn't at my home — no, this was a dull, dreary room with machines and... I was in a hospital.
What happened? I looked around, hoping for a nurse or doctor or SOMETHING.
No one was in sight. My thoughts shifted to Misty and the blurry memories from the bar. Her sobs resonated in my mind and make me feel weak. I needed to know where she was.
I called out for a nurse and soon after a stout, plump nurse with short blonde hair came in.
"Yes?" her southern accent greeted me.
"Is there a Misty Tora-Langdon here?" I asked hopefully.
"I'm not sure. Would you like me to see if —"
"Yes," I interrupted her.
"Oh! Of course. How is your head? You got a mild concussion."
"It's painful," I admitted. "Please go see if Misty is here."
"I will." The nurse teetered out of the room, leaving me alone.
I felt tears coming on, but I quickly swore I wouldn't cry. I was a grown woman, for Pete's sake, and I wasn't about to cry over some crappy headache or bar fight.
The nurse reappeared several minutes later. "There is not a Misty Tora-Langdon," she said, shaking her head. "But there is a Hannah Don! She was in the bar, too, along with you and your friend."
"N-n-no thanks," I stammered. "I'd rather not —"
I stopped short at the sight of a tall blonde with her arm in a cast, standing in the doorway of my room.
"Hi, Ms. Murphy," she said sweetly. "I think we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?"
YOU ARE READING
The Descendant
Mystery / Thriller"The father is Tyler Wilson." Those five words are imprinted in Misty Tora's mind. After being tortured for months, she barely escapes the house of hell were she was kept after being shot and abused. Her ex-fiancé is now in jail for attempted murder...
