A R A B E L L A 'S P. O. V
I was floating on a soft pillowy cushion, my back sinking effortlessly into the dewy cloud. My body wrapped in the finest silkiest cloths I had ever felt.
God, I could die here.
In a way, I did feel like I was dead. I was flying, high and wild. Covered in the softest material, feeling lighter than ever. Seeing my dead husband. Because that what he was. Dead.
Months I mourned him, had a funeral, fallen into the deepest depths of grief and mourning anyone has ever felt. Plunged into endless pain, still it hurts. And the guilt, the swarming excruciating guilt that had fuelled my actions, my emotions, my life.
And Elliot. The man who saved me from that.
Hardin couldn't be alive because that meant these past months had been a lie. That meant...that meant...th
