Elara POV:
Pain was a fog, and in it, I dreamed. I dreamed of Dante in Switzerland, dabbing antiseptic on a cut on my hand. His touch had been impossibly gentle, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own.
I dreamed of the time I tried to leave him, packing a small bag, telling him I couldn't live in his world of violence anymore. He had held me, his arms a cage of desperation, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Without you, what's the point of any of this?"
Waking was a fresh wave of agony, and with it, a brutal truth. He had found a new point. Someone more important.
Every movement sent a fresh spike of agony through me, but I dragged my broken body from the floor. I packed a single bag, stuffing in my passport and the last of my cash. I had to get out.
As I limped toward the door, my phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Dante.
I've found a better doctor for you in Boston. I'll take you there myself. I won't fail you again. Please, trust me.
I stared at the words, a bitter, broken smile I couldn't feel stretching my lips. Trust him. The very concept was a cruel joke. Every shard of pain in my body was a monument to that trust.
I found an envelope and a stamp. I carefully packaged the discharge papers from the Swiss clinic-the ones that proved I was cleared for release a year ago-and the empty bottle of his falsified medication. I addressed it to his penthouse.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood, a cold resolve solidifying in my chest. I didn't want his apologies. I didn't want his guilt. I didn't want him.
The journey to the airport was a blur of clenched teeth and sheer will. The plane took off into a raging storm, the turbulence a pale imitation of the chaos raging inside me. I stared out the window at the lightning splitting the dark sky.
I smiled.
I found his contact in my phone, the name I had once cherished. My thumb hovered over the screen.
Then I pressed delete.
Elara, I whispered to the ghost of the girl I once was, this time, you will be happy.
