Seven Souls

After trauma

Christiana’s POV

It hurts… It hurts so bad… An immense pain I couldn't even describe.

I can’t even breathe. The memories of the accident replayed again in my head. The last thing I remember was looking at Sophia as the blood trickled down her face. Her green eyes were the last things I saw before seeing the darkness.

The darkness that lasted for god knows how long. Maybe it was done when my sister signed those papers of giving my heart away to Sophia, thinking I was dead.

No, I wasn’t dead. I was killed. The doctor misdiagnosed me and took my right to live.

I snapped out of my thoughts, getting off the bed, and placing my feet on the cold floor, sending a shiver down my spine.

“What time is it?” Sam’s sleepy voice croaked out, and I looked at him. His hair tossed messily on the pillow, some resting on his forehead.

His hands reached for my empty spot, not finding my body to pull closer to his. He opened one eye before sitting up and running his fingers through his hair. “Another nightmare?” He asked, and I shook my head, tearing my gaze off him, and looking at the floor instead.

“No, I just had some bad cramps,” I murmured, which wasn’t a lie. I had that twinging pain in my sides, but it wasn’t like the one in my chest.

A week has passed since I’ve known the truth. I wasn’t holding well alone, but in front of Sam, I was all happy and pretending to be okay. It was as if everything was okay with me, but it wasn’t.

No one would even understand how I was feeling.

I wasn’t going to therapy anymore. My last appointment was three days ago. Josephine wasn’t a great help. I only told her what she expected to hear from Sophia. Maybe I slipped once or twice, but I gave her what she wanted.

The Sophia she expected at the end of one month of therapy.

I felt Sam’s hands massaging my shoulders. “I’ll run you a warm bath, and make you breakfast,” I knitted my eyebrows with confusion, then my words clicked in my head.

Bad cramps, mood swings, and emotional pain. Getting a period at this moment wasn’t what I needed.

I lowered my gaze to my grey sweatpants, noticing the dark reddish spot. It was redder on the white sheets.

Sam pressed a kiss on my shoulder blade and I closed my eyes, letting out a long sigh.

That was a good sign for Sophia’s body. It was her first period after the miscarriage, her body was recovering.

And I was dead. I repeated in my head, feeling the tears swelling in my eyes.

“You have work, I’ll manage myself,” I tried to refuse Sam’s help, getting up, but he grabbed my hand, following me off the bed and sitting me down.

“Don’t move,” he said before rushing to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and the painful cramps that increased now I acknowledged it was my period.

Among all people, Sam was the one who was in front of me while I was at my lowest.

Well, I pushed my sister… I told her I would reach back after I let my brain comprehend the unsettling new information.

Sam had enough on his plate with therapy, work, and taking care of me. I promised Sophia I wouldn’t open a conversation about the past. He needed to move on, and the guilt was holding him from doing that.

Funny thing… I also wanted him to move on, have his life wrapped together, and get better.

If it wasn’t for Sophia’s sake, then for himself.

I had this question in my head. Did he feel guilty for taking my heart to save Sophia? Did he even think I had a chance to live or was he like my sister who gave up because I was brain dead with no chance of surviving?

Yes, I was angry my sister didn’t fight for me and that’s why I was avoiding her.

But I wouldn’t like to be hooked up to machines for the rest of my life, and she knew that. We talked about it, and I made her promise me if I ever had a tragic accident with no chances of survival, then she should pull the plug.

But knowing now I was misdiagnosed, and my heart went to Sophia, where I could’ve possibly been alive, is just so… frustrating.

Maybe I exaggerated about getting angry at Kylie.

A wave of pain erupted in my lower abdomen, followed by a groan as I slouched forward, hugging my body.

“Maybe get me some painkillers. I’m not feeling well,” I shouted over to Sam, gripping on the side I felt the piercing pain the most.

“I’ll go to the drugstore to get some, anything else?” He asked, and I lifted my head seeing him getting clothes for himself since he was in his black shorts only.

He threw the clothes and clean folded sheets on the nightstand, then scooped me up, my arms going around his neck as he walked to the bathroom. “Any special requests for breakfast, princess?” He asked, pressing a kiss on my forehead to get my attention.

“Anything is perfect,” my voice came out as a whisper.

The scented candles entered my nostrils, and I glanced at the comforting set Sam had prepared for me. “Sometimes you are a little too extra,” I retorted, and his lips hovered over mine in a quick kiss before letting me down carefully.

“All for my princess,” he said as he brushed the flyaways off my face, tucking some behind my ear. “Call me when you need something.” He trailed off.

“What about-“

“No, you’re first, then work,” he stated, cutting me off, then pressing another sweet kiss before pushing me lightly towards the bath.

I heard the bathroom door close with a thud, announcing my alone time to relax, a word that was thrown out of my dictionary since I died.

How funny… I keep telling myself to stop thinking about it, but I always end up thinking about my death, and this wasn’t my body.

It feels better pretending it was a movie or some drama show, maybe a reality show like keeping up with the Kardashians.

I stripped out of my clothes, tossing them lazily to the corner of the bathroom, then I headed to the shower booth.

I wasn’t going to lie in a pool of blood. I had to clean myself before enjoying a bath.

Stepping out of the booth, I stared at the bath, looking at my reflection. I’m stupid.

What was I even doing? Grieving over me? I had to find who was responsible for my death. Of course, it would be the doctor who misdiagnosed me.

He was the one who called it.

And I’m ready to call Kylie now, find who killed me and get this over with.