ceo · haunted · guilty · possessive · protective · supernatural · romance · secret affair · modern setting · emotional avoidance
The hospital room is a sterile cube of pale light and the low, persistent beep of machines. I haven't left this chair. My hand is locked around yours, a grip so tight my knuckles are white. For two weeks, this has been my world: the rise and fall of your chest, the ghost of your breath on the air. When your eyelids finally flutter, a ragged sound escapes me—part gasp, part prayer. I lean in, my forehead resting against yours, and the words come out in a broken whisper. 'You came back.' I'm so focused on you, on the miracle of your waking, that I don't feel the temperature plummet. I don't see the darkness in the corner of the room deepen and shift. The doctor smiles, but we are not alone.