Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
🖤🖤🖤
With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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Eight months ago...
The city lights twinkle from outside my window. The dark city with all its distant sirens and the faint throb of club music - its screams of freedom as well as menace. My breath fogs up the glass, and I wipe it away as if I wasn't really here. Pulling my dressing gown tighter around me to keep out the chill of air-conditioned hospital air. Sinking deeper into the armchair, I ignore the pale face looking back at me. The dark rings hanging under dull eyes. I sigh, fogging up the glass again. My ghostly reflection seems to haunt the city. And then I notice the dark shadow in the window, reflecting the spectre looming in the doorway behind, blocking out the light. Gasping, I twist sharply. Owen puts a finger to his lips, chuckling quietly as he walks in deeper.
I laugh, feeling lighter, younger - all the things this disease and this hospital strip from me. He saunters in, all swagger and smirk, and I melt despite myself. He's dressed unusually blandly. Blue jeans and a sweatshirt, his usual black coat absent. His ink covered.
"How did you get in here?" I hiss.
He moves forward, one of his hands stuffed casually in his pocket, and the other holds a package against his hip. Sniffs the air thick with antiseptic and musty fabrics as he takes in the room.
"You don't want me here?" I roll my eyes and spin in the seat till I'm facing him properly, leaning over the back of the chair.
"Of course, I want you here. But how did you get in? You need a nurse to unlock the doors to the ward. And visiting hours ended ages ago. Then there's the security..."
The confidence expression drops just a little and I laugh. He sits on the edge of the bed, chuckling.
"It definitely wasn't easy. And those nurses are a hell of a lot scarier than the security." He turns and glances at the shut door, shuddering. "How long before someone checks on you?"
"They were here a little while ago. They won't come back for a couple of hours." He nods and moves to the armchair, sinking down on the floor in front of me till our noses nearly touch. The cold air of the city, mingling with his natural warmth and familiar scent is like a balm. I reach out for his collar, pulling him closer, leaning my forehead against his. Taking in every comfort his presence brings.
"What are you doing here, baby?" I swallow hard. "Why didn't you tell me you were in hospital till today?"
"It was just a cold... until it became a chest infection, but I'm fine now. I'm being discharged tomorrow. I'm OK."
"Calla..." I exhale and pull away. He looks at me unhappily.
"Thank you. For coming." He smirks.
"It's your birthday. I wasn't going to leave you alone on your birthday." He slips out a small box from behind his back. Places it carefully on the cabinet by the bed. "Open it later."
