Love to survive

chapter 1 Been soft, weak and pitied and a little emotional feeling to act properly is one of my strategy of getting what I want and executing my plan as a survival ‎All I could think of was his face, etched like a memory that refused to fade, even in the searing moment of death. The man I longed for so far out of my reach. Tall, with skin like moonlight stretched over sculpted muscle, and a tattoo on his forearm that hinted at rebellion, yet somehow whispered of loyalty. ‎ ‎Everything about him pulled at the hidden corners of my heart quiet, steady, dangerously alluring. ‎ ‎Will my plan work? The question echoed in my mind, but the pain was too sharp, too raw for thought to fully form. My bones throbbed as though they were cracking from the inside as I got pushed into the hospital that afternoon. ‎ ‎Then a rush of white fabric moved into my line of sight just for a second. A figure. Tall. Male. A white lab coat. My heart leapt wildly, thudding against the bruised cage of my ribs. ‎ ‎It could be him. ‎ ‎But then darkness swept in, heavy and silent, and I surrendered to it. ‎ ‎When I opened my eyes again, waking from a heavy dream. I inhaled deeply, ‎“Yes, honey,” I blurted out, my voice hoarse, cracked. ‎ ‎A voice replied, soft and practiced. ‎“It’s okay, ma’am. You’re in the hospital.” The nurse’s face came into focus as she leaned over me, checking a monitor. ‎ ‎I blinked slowly, disappointed, my chest sinking. My heart had tricked me into thinking he’d be here. I shut my eyes again, pushing back the foolish hope. ‎ ‎“You need to rest, ma’am,” she said again, her voice kind but firm. ‎ ‎I nodded faintly, the effort it took to move even my head enough to exhaust me. But my thoughts… they refused to rest. They spun around him, every detail. ‎ ‎I knew he would come. ‎ ‎He had to. ‎ ‎He always checked on his patients he cared, in his own unreadable way. I clung to that certainty like a lifeline, wrapping it around the pain and fear, using it to lull myself back into uneasy rest. The thought of him walking through the door, his voice steady and low, was the only comfort I had. ‎ ‎Even if I was just another patient, still, I waited. For him. ‎ ‎Then, the door creaked open. The nurse came in, ‎ ‎“Excuse me,” I said slowly, voice dry with anticipation. “Where is the male doctor?” ‎ ‎She paused, brow slightly furrowed as she looked up from her chart. ‎ ‎“Oh, do you mean Doctor Peterson?” she asked, her tone light, almost curious. ‎ ‎“Yes,” I replied, my voice a little too eager, too fast. ‎ ‎She blinked, then nodded slowly. ‎ ‎“It’s 3 AM in the morning,” she said, as if reminding me of the obvious. “He’s gone home. And I don’t think he’ll be in tomorrow either. Said he has a seminar to attend. He’s a busy man.” ‎ ‎My heart pounded as though it had suddenly remembered it was capable of panic. I couldn’t stop it. The tears began to fall, hot and unchecked, trailing silently down my cheeks. I turned away slightly, ashamed of how visible my despair had become. ‎ ‎To her credit, the nurse didn’t flinch. She simply stood there, watching me with an unreadable expression, neither cold nor overly kind. ‎ ‎I wiped at my face with the sleeve of the hospital gown, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‎ ‎“When will he come back to the office?” I asked, my voice cracking under the weight of hope I was no longer sure I had. ‎ ‎“I don’t know,” she said gently, though there was a finality in her tone that told me not to press further. ‎ ‎Then, after a moment of hesitation, she added, ‎“I’ll call Doctor Abigail.” ‎ ‎I stared at her, disoriented. That wasn’t the plan. Doctor Abigail wasn’t part of it. I had nothing left to hold onto but time, and even that was beginning to run out. ‎ ‎I had to find a way to stay. I had to see him. The plan wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. ‎ ‎*** ‎3 days after. ‎I was drifting in and out of a light, medicated sleep when the door creaked open. ‎ ‎"Your husband is here to see you," Dr. Abigail said gently as she stepped inside, clipboard in hand. ‎ ‎"Husband?" I echoed, confused, the word sounding foreign in my dry throat. ‎ ‎"Yes, ma'am," she confirmed, giving a brief, polite smile before stepping aside. ‎ ‎My heart jolted. I heard the familiar rhythm of his footsteps before I saw him tall, composed, with a bouquet of white lilies in hand. He approached with the careful confidence of someone used to getting his way. ‎ ‎"How're you, Mary?" he asked, his mexican voice thick and smooth like smoke. ‎ ‎I only managed a nod. The bandages around my ribs felt tighter, as if they sensed his presence. ‎ ‎He sat down on the edge of my bed, Without hesitation, his hand found the exact spot on my side where the pain still lived. I flinched inwardly, but no sound escaped me. I’d learned silence was safer. ‎ ‎"Where is my money, Mary?" he asked, voice even but laced with ice. ‎ ‎“I’ll pay you, please… just give me a little more time,” I whispered. ‎ ‎He leaned closer. “I executed your job. ‘A little more time’ wasn’t part of our agreement.” ‎ ‎“I know. I haven’t seen him. Not yet,” I said, my voice trembling with the truth and the fear behind it. ‎ ‎"I don't care about your plan" he retorted ‎ ‎A moment passed. He straightened, then said flatly, “You have two more days.” ‎ ‎He stood, pressed his fingers into my bandaged ribs—firm, deliberate—before leaning down and brushing a kiss against my forehead. ‎ ‎Then he was gone. ‎ ‎I knew I was dead already because there was no way for me to pay him back but I consoled myself with his thoughts and cried for love once again.. ‎ ‎Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, and finally, it was almost time for me to be discharged. ‎ ‎I stirred from a deep sleep, my eyelids heavy. My vision was blurry at first then I caught a shadow near the end of the bed. I blinked a few times and tried to sit up, shifting slowly, awkwardly, until I could see him clearly. ‎ ‎He turned toward me just then, smiling. My breath caught in my throat. ‎ ‎It was him. ‎ ‎The doctor I’d seen before, in and out of sleep, the one whose voice lingered like a whisper in the back of my dreams. Somehow, he looked even more unreal now, standing there in his white coat. ‎ ‎"How are you feeling, ma’am?" he asked gently, walking closer, his tone warm but professional. ‎ ‎I managed a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. ‎ ‎"I'm fine, thank you." I bit the tip of my finger nervously, unable to keep from gazing into his eyes. ‎ ‎He leaned in slightly, checking the bandage on my stomach, then shining a small light into my eyes with clinical precision. ‎"You’ll be discharged today," he said, stepping back. "You’re healing well. The police are still investigating the hit-and-run. Hopefully they’ll find whoever did this." ‎ ‎I nodded, trying to steady my voice. "I hope so too." ‎ ‎he went out and stood by the nurses’ station, flipping through my file with a puzzled expression. He glanced toward my room, then back to the file when Abigail came. "I read her file too and I pity her. She as been crying since, I wish I could help her" she said and moved past him to another ward ‎ ‎“A dark skinned girl this tall and sexy, with that round bubbly ass and those full breasts, has no family? Something doesn’t add up but anyhow it is she'll be best for the job at hand after all no one will ask after her if she's gone. he had to act fast before Abigail will notice" ‎ ‎there I was on the bed when he came with a file in his right hand. ‎ ‎“Have you come to read me a bedtime story?” I teased, forcing a playful smile. ‎ ‎He chuckled. “Ah ah ah, you’re funny,” he said, moving closer. ‎ ‎“I read your file,” he added, his tone softening. “Where will you go after you’re discharged?” ‎ ‎I hesitated, looking up at him. “I don’t know.” ‎ ‎There was a beat of silence before he said, “Would you like to stay with me until you figure things out? I'll pay you” ‎ ‎His offer hit me like a jolt. I blinked, unsure whether to trust it. Why would he offer me shelter and a pay? What did he want in return? Was this a setup? ‎ ‎Still, I nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t mind staying with you, sir.” The truth was, I’d do anything to get closer to him and puff out a little dollar out of him ‎ ‎Just then, the door opened again and a girl stepped in. ‎ ‎“This is my daughter, Cindy,” he said. ‎ ‎I smiled, heart thudding. Another piece of the puzzle. Things were getting complicated fast. I felt a bit of love seeing him with his kid but my life is on the line too, i need the money so I had to continue with my deceit ‎ ‎"why would he bring a stranger close to his daughter?" I asked myself ‎