Devastation
1048 Words
The woman staring back at Keziah Bennett from the full-length Candace mirror looked less like a living person and more like a beautifully preserved corpse.
She hadn’t moved in minutes.
Not a blink.
Not a breath she could feel.
Only the violent pounding of her heart reminded her she was still alive.
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
It must be a prank, she told herself, forcing a smile that trembled and vanished almost instantly.
Noah didn’t do pranks.
And if he ever decided to start, it certainly wouldn’t involve her father’s life.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
She would call him back. He would laugh softly and say the words he always used whenever she worried too much:
"Relax, little boss. I got you."
But as she lifted her hand, something felt wrong.
Too light.
Her breath hitched.
“What’s going on?” she whispered, staring at her empty palm.
A cold sensation crept up her spine.
“Where the hell is my phone?”
She spun toward the vanity, rummaging through neatly arranged cosmetics, knocking over a perfume bottle in the process.
“For goodness’ sake, I just received a call minutes ago!”
Her voice cracked as panic clawed its way into her chest.
Then she saw it.
Her phone lay scattered across the marble floor — shattered into lifeless pieces.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Repairing it never crossed her mind. Even if it could be fixed, she didn’t have the patience for it now.
Something was terribly wrong.
Without another thought, she rushed out of her room.
When Keziah stormed into the sitting room, the cleaners froze mid-task. They had been working under Noah’s strict instruction to ensure the house was spotless before his arrival.
Her sudden appearance — barefoot, pale, and wild-eyed — sent a ripple of alarm through them.
“Keziah! It’s past 10 PM! Where on earth are you going?” the cleaning supervisor, Mrs. Hannah, called after her.
But the front door had already slammed shut.
Keziah was gone.
************************************
Noah hated hospitals.
The smell alone made his stomach twist, but tonight it was worse. Much worse.
Chaos ruled the theater corridor.
Doctors moved quickly. Nurses whispered urgently. Equipment rattled past.
Justin Bennett had been rushed into surgery less than twenty minutes ago.
Noah adjusted his tie, then loosened it completely when it began to feel like a noose around his throat. He unbuttoned his collar, dragging in a breath that refused to steady him.
He wanted to grab a doctor.
Demand answers.
Punch a wall.
Instead, he inhaled slowly.
Control yourself.
“Breathe in…”
“Breathe out…”
A pair of bedroom slippers suddenly flew past him.
He frowned.
“You haven’t paid for the service!” an elderly taxi driver shouted.
Noah turned — and the moment he saw her, recognition struck instantly.
Keziah.
Her hair was slightly disheveled, her chest rising and falling too fast, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
She looked seconds away from breaking.
Torn between chasing her and settling the furious driver, Noah chose the latter. He reached into his pocket and handed the man a hundred-dollar bill.
“For the young lady who just got out.”
“Let me get your—”
“Keep the change.”
Gratitude spread across the driver’s face, but Noah was already moving. He picked up the discarded slippers and hurried inside.
He knew exactly what Keziah was capable of when pushed into emotional corners.
And tonight, she was far beyond the edge.
At the theater entrance, two nurses struggled to hold her back.
“I need to see him!” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound composed.
The nurses looked relieved when Noah approached.
“I got this,” he said calmly.
The instant his voice reached her, Keziah turned.
Her light brown eyes shimmered with tears that finally spilled over.
“Noah…” Her voice was frighteningly steady. “Tell me my dad isn’t the one in there.”
For a split second, Noah wished he could lie.
“He’s going to be fine.”
The fragile dam she’d built shattered.
Tears streamed down her face as her knees buckled. Noah caught her before she hit the floor and guided her to a chair.
She didn’t thank him.
She didn’t speak.
She just stared at the theater doors as if willing them to open.
Hours crawled by.
When the doors finally swung open, Keziah shot to her feet.
Dr. Kyle stepped out, his surgical cap still in place, exhaustion etched into his features.
“How is he?” she asked before he could speak.
The doctor hesitated — never a good sign.
“We managed to stop the heart bleed,” he said carefully, “but he is currently in a vegetative state.”
The words seemed to echo.
“Vegetative… what?” she whispered.
Her vision blurred, but she blinked the tears away stubbornly.
“Is he going to recover?”
“We will continue treatment and observe how he responds.”
Professional.
Measured.
Not reassuring enough.
“Please,” she said, her voice breaking despite her effort to remain strong. “Make sure nothing happens to him, Kyle.”
“We’ll do our best.”
“Can we see him?” Noah asked.
“He’ll be transferred to the VIP ward shortly.”
Keziah nodded silently, though dread had already begun to coil tightly inside her chest.
Something told her that life — the one she knew, the one where her father was untouchable — had just begun to c***k.
And deep down…
She feared it might never be the same again.
- Writer
