The Quiet Room
712 Words
Everything was white. Too white.
My eyes burned when I tried to open them. The first thing I felt wasn't pain, it was the smell. Bleach and medicine.
A hospital.
I tried to sit up, but my body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Well, I guess it was.
Every muscle in my hip and shoulder throbbed with a dull, heavy heat. I groaned, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed sandpaper.
"Easy there," a voice said.
I flinched, my heart jumping into my throat. I looked toward the corner of the room. A man was sitting in a chair, a tablet in his lap.
He looked expensive. His suit was dark, his hair was perfectly neat, and he had the kind of face you see on billboards.
But he didn't look at me like Leonardo did. He didn't look like he wanted to break me. He looked... concerned?
"Where am I?" I managed to get out. My voice was a wreck.
"A private clinic," he said, standing up slowly. He didn't move fast, like he knew I was ready to bolt. "You ran in front of my car. Or rather, you ran away from something and my car happened to be there."
The memories hit me all at once. The club. The silk dress. The silver letter opener.
Leonardo.
I looked down at my hands. They were bandaged, but I could still see a faint stain of red under the gauze.
His blood. I started to shake. The panic started clawing at my chest, making it hard to breathe. If Leonardo found out I was alive... if he found me here...
“Hey, breathe,” the man said. He stood a few feet away, giving me space. “I didn’t see anyone chasing you, and if they were, I guess they might’ve lost track of you. Just relax. You’re safe for now.”
"Safe?" I let out a weak, shaky laugh. "No one is safe from him."
The man narrowed his eyes, stepping a bit closer to the bed. He looked genuinely confused.
"Safe from who?" he asked quietly. "Who is 'him'?"
I looked away, my fingers gripping the thin hospital sheet until my knuckles turned white. I didn't say anything. I couldn't.
Giving him a name felt like handing over a map to this room. If I told this stranger about Leonardo Thorne, I might as well be dragging myself into something dangerous. Maybe that could wait for the future, once I figured out who he really was.
He waited for a second, watching me. When I stayed silent, he didn't push. He just exhaled and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
"Fine," he said, his voice softening. "You don't have to talk yet. My name is Julian Vane. I’m the one who ran into you, and the one who picked you up off the asphalt."
"Why help me?" I asked, looking at him properly now. "You could have just called the police and waited for them to show up."
"The police aren't always the best option in this part of town," Julian replied. "And I don't like seeing people treated like prey. My nurse found this when she was cleaning you up."
He pointed to a small plastic bag on the bedside table. Inside was the silver letter opener, still crusted with dark, dried blood.
"You held onto it even when you were unconscious," he said. "You’ve got a hell of a grip."
I sank back into the pillows, my energy completely gone. I was out of the club, but I was in a room with a stranger I didn't know.
"What now?" I whispered.
"Now, you sleep," Julian said, turning toward the door. "The doctor gave you something for the pain. We can talk about what happens next when you can keep your eyes open. You're staying at my place while you heal, it’s more private than a public ward."
I didn't trust him. I didn't trust anyone. But as the medicine started to kick in and my head felt heavy, the bed felt softer than the floor of the Golden Lily.
I closed my eyes, the image of Leonardo’s bleeding hand stil burned into my mind.
I was alive. That was enough for today.
- Writer
