Chapter 231 THE PROGRESS TIME MAY BRING
KAI’S POINT OF VIEW.
The sound of the monitor’s beeping felt like the most beautiful symphony of music I'd heard my entire life. It was the only thing reassuring me of her being alive. I stared at Aurora, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She no longer looked like the ghostly pale woman I’d carried two days ago, her cheeks now had some color, the medically induced sleep the doctors put her under so the medication could do its work.
I stared into the mirror, doing the only other thing I've done for the past two days besides watch over her: wash my face, brush my teeth, and wash my face again before putting on the clean clothes Dad brings over for me every day.
He had to return to the outside world, not for work this time around but to ensure that nothing came back to me. ‘I failed to protect you once before, Kai. That will never happen again.’ I remember his words and the pat on my back before he went off, his phone pressed to his ears while he barked orders to whoever was on the other line.
It's been two days. Forty eight hours since I’d kicked down that door, carried a limp Aurora through the chaos, and brought her here with the help of Dad, Everleigh, and Dominic. Two days since I killed someone, my mother. The guys left a few minutes ago, the bouquet of lilies and white roses Sloane had brought lay to the side, along with the balloons with GET WELL SOON printed boldly on them. Seraphina and Amara brought over.
They wanted to know any way they could help, but I sent them away instead. Everything was handled, but if I needed any help, they’d get a call. I splashed cold water on my face for the tenth time this morning, but the sound of the door’s clicking shut didn’t alert me. I knew who it was.
“You’re up early.” Dad joked, his light steps walking towards me. “I brought a fresh change of clothes, food, and some news.” I nodded, wiping with the clean towel. “The team also informed me there’s now a way for you to have your bath while in the hospital. I figured you’d need it.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered, walking over to him. He was seated on the couch, the basket covered with a small towel, which had once been antiseptically smelling, a flowered room filled with the scent of fresh food. My stomach growled with hunger, but the pressing guilt in my mind still prevented me from eating. I ignored the basket altogether.
“You said there's news?” I tried changing the subject, but Silas Mercer was too meticulous to be fooled.
“You should eat, son.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied, though the deep, hollow ache in my gut was a constant reminder of how long it had been since I’d had a real meal, or anything other than water and hospital jello. I looked back at the bed, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Aurora’s chest yet again. I hated looking away from it for more than a minute; the fear of something going wrong still had not let up its grip. “Tell me the news. Is it the detectives?” He stared at me for a second, his finger pressed to his lips. i could see the twitch in his eye brow, probably because he wants to force me to eat, but he chooses different instead.