The Six Month Contract

White Sheets

The sound makes my head pound. Make it stop. Stop.

I cannot decipher what that sound is, but it only gets louder. I begin to open my eyes but the light is blinding. Forcefully I close my eyes and scrunch my hand into fists — the fabric underneath my hand balling in my fist.

I try again, slowly opening my eyes. Breathe, I tell myself. While the light is sharp and blinding, it isn't as bad as it was a mere few seconds ago. I do however feel dizziness consume me but I put up a fight.

I don't know where I am. Blinking, I try to find my ground, try to make sense of where I can be. My vision is blurry, slowly coming around.

The last thing I remember. "Rydar," I mutter under my breath and push myself up — flashes of Daniella's face screaming in my direction and then watching the knife being pulled out of me.

Hands hold me still. "You're okay," they say.

I thrash against the voice. Thrash to free myself but the grip is tight.

"It's me, Sky."

The voice is familiar. It's my kind of familiar. My hands and arms no longer thrash but rest against his arms as I watch Rocky.

He smiles but I can tell he's hurting, probably as much as I am — if not more.

He grabs my face. "Sky, you're okay," he says kissing my forehead. "Everything is okay."

I blink. It's really him. Part of me doesn't believe it, as if I'm locked in a room and tortured by Paul and his men to the point that I must be hallucinating. My hands apply a little pressure against his arm for confirmation.

"You need to rest," he says.

I'm very aware that I'm in a world of pain. I can still very much feel the knife piercing my flesh and cutting open a part of me. I can feel the blood oozing past the knife and drops of blood — my blood, contaminating the concrete floor.

Rocky leans me back against the pillow but that is the last thing I want to do. "Daniella," I mutter.

Rocky nods. "She's fine."

My hand under the sheets travel down to where I was stabbed. Regret immediately consumes me as the slightest touch sends an agonising pain through my body. I clench my teeth in reaction.

Rocky watches me in panic. "What's wrong?"

"How...uh, how bad is it?" I ask. Part of me doesn't want to know the answer.

"You've been out of it for two weeks," Rocky replies, his voice filled with concern and disappointment. No — not disappointment at me, he is disappointed in himself, as if he may have let me down.

My hand reaches for him, that very movement also causing me pain. Placing my hand over his, I say, "it's not your fault."

Rocky shakes his head. "It is," he says in frustration. "I should have done a better job keeping that bastard in jail."

"No," I say. "You did what you could."

"I could have at least done a better job saving you," He says dipping his head low. "I got to you too late."

I don't have words for that. I wish I did. I wish I could say something positive. So all I do is give his hand a squeeze. I hope it's a reassuring squeeze, enough to let him know that he did nothing wrong.

"How are you feeling?" A voice behind Rocky says drawing us out of the moment we were having.

Lifting my head up and my eyes away from Rocky, I notice Rydar standing by the door.