Fulfilling Fate - Book 3

Chapter 2 - It's Only The Start

Raffaele

I see her trapped. She's breathing heavily; fear engulfs her. Attempting to move, she struggles. She has nowhere to go. Her heartbeats, unsteady. "God, where am I?" She squeezes her eyes shut and snaps them quickly open again, "Why is dark? Why is it cold?"

Her lips quiver: she whimpers in distress. Dislodging the lump in her throat, she places her palms on the inside of the coffin lid. "Raffaele?" Her voice is shaky and scared.

"Please, Raffaele!"

It's as if I'm the third person watching myself standing over her grave. Hearing the thumping sound of her heart and rapid breaths more evidently. "Asimina," I crouch down, talking to her.

"Raffaele, I hear you. Get me out!" She screams.

A shovel leans against her tombstone. I question momentarily how it got there, but I don't waste time pondering. Losing my jacket, I frantically start to dig. "Hold on," I yell back, wiping the sweat off my forehead. "I'm going to get you out."

"Don't leave me," she pleads.

"No, baby, I'm coming. I'll get to you out," I promise, and I start to dig faster. My arms get heavy, and pain shoots through them, but I won't stop. Taking in a deep breath, I push through and shovel faster. My heart beats erratically the closer I get. Hitting wood, relief washes over me, "Asimina," I call to her.

Her lack of response has my heart sinking to the darkest pits of hell. I fall to my knees, pushing the dirt off her casket as quickly as I can. "Asimina!"

Frantic, I struggle to lift the lid in my panic; fear has me fumbling, unable to coordinate. I scream as I put all my strength into it. Her face is pale—her breaths shallow, lifting her into my arms. I hold her close to me. The bullet wound in her chest starts to bleed again. A slow yet steady flow drenches my shirt. Dirt stain tears paint my cheek as I watch one last breath leave her lips.

Jerking and jolting in bed, my eyes snap open. It takes me several minutes to settle my erratic heart. I'm drenched in a cold sweat. Bringing my hand to my chest, I rub over my tattoo, easing some of the pain briefly. Another vivid nightmare. It's the same one every night. I never get there in time. I never save her. Letting out a heavy breath, I run my fingers frustratedly through my hair. The dream never fails to shake me to the core.

Cocking my head to my right, my eyes sweep over Nathan. He's fast asleep on his belly, comfortable on his mother's pillow. He snores with his mouth agape. It's the first night he has slept for this long. Since Asimina's death, he has woken up every hour. Reaching over, I check the time on my phone—four in the morning, another night with only three hours of sleep.

I can stir in bed as much as I please; I won't fall asleep again, not after that dream. Staring at the ceiling, I contemplate, do I get out of bed or lay here awake? Blowing out a defeated breath, I slowly and carefully roll out of bed, trying not to wake my son and head straight for the bathroom.

Letting the water run, I eventually take steps into the shower; my stiffened muscles feel the warmth and loosen. Placing my palms flat on the tiled wall, my head lowers, and I notice Asimina hair products and body wash. With my breaths shuddering, I spin around and adjust the showerhead before sliding down the tiled wall. "Tell me how to cope," I speak as if she can hear me. Never has anything hurt this much before.

My Adam's apple bobbles as I attempt to swallow back the emotions. Another failed attempt has them surfacing with a vengeance. Bringing my knees up, I lean my elbows on them and drop my head into my hands. Water pours over me, masking the tears falling. I never imaged I would be so broken and loving so ferociously. She was a gift, but this is a curse.