The Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Leaf

Alison's POV.

My breathing comes out in heavy pants as I mutter quietly, begging and imploring my legs to go faster.

[A/N: I can legit smell the sinners from here.]

The sliding doors, open silently, head bowed as if sensing the depression around its home. Soft murmurs fill the room around me, families holding each other close as they fight back tears.

A young couple stands a few meters to the left of me, tears rolling freely from their cheeks as the grim faced doctor walks away silently.

My body comes to quivering halt as I near the receptionist, fingers digging into the hard desk separating me and the lady.

"I'm here for Blake Ryder."I gasp out, pressing the heel of palm to my chest as I try and steady my breathing from sprinting to the private hospital after hitting the taxi driver with money.

She sets her mug of coffee on the table, bored eyes taking me in before her fingers press tiredly on the keyboard before her, an aggravated sigh falling from her lips.

"I'm sorry, but only family members can visit him at the moment."she says, smiling unapologetically.

"I'm his cousin."I snap, fist coming down on the table, "What's his damn room number?"

She glares at me, lips pursed in distaste as she scrolls down, "Room 313."

I don't look back to thank her but make a run for the elevator, punching in the floor number using the map of hospital as a reference.

"310. 311...312 and 313."

I shove open the door without hesitation, heart hammering loudly in my ears.

There Elizabeth is, slumped in her seat, soft snores emitting from her opened mouth, a fashion magazine resting uncomfortable upon her chest.

Her step-father sits at her right, he too fast asleep, glasses tipping dangerously at the end of his nose.

The middle of the room accustoms a large bed, sheets a gentle green as if any colour so bold would startle the patient.

The patient being Blake.

It is only then do I notice the true bodily injuries to the man laying on the bed.

Both his arms are heavily bandaged, blue and white chords winding across the beds and plugged into a machine beside him.

His face is skinny and thin from where I am, cheeks hollow and skin pale and white as if the life had been sucked out of him.

Dark bags heave at his eyes, lips a pale pink as if it were struggling to shine the deadly crimson i was so accustomed to.

A steady beep emits from the screen opposite me, a sign that at least he was alive, injured he may be but breathing.

My fingers unconsciously trace his jawline, breath held in as if the slightest of pressure on him would destroy the string that was holding him from the dark pit of death.

His skin is soft underneath my fingers, untouched.
My hearts to feel more of him, feel him against me.

I blush profusely, scolding myself from thinkings such thoughts.

He wronged me.

Maybe, maybe he did.

But didn't I too? Didn't I give him a wrong impression of myself right from the start, leading him to believe that I didn't give the slightest care about him.