The Story of Blood and Roses

The catch of the unrealistic story was that there was a high chance that I would suffer from frequent myocardial infarctions and seizures.

I wanted to thank him for taking such a big decision about my life without having my consent first.

I pressed that button and said the password because I wanted to end my pain there. I didn\'t want the spill the mess I had made and carry it around like a badge of honor for the remainder of my life.

Nothing about the situation made me proud. I was ashamed of myself, of my weakness. I was ashamed that I let the betrayal get the better of me and make me say things that I would regret until my last breath.

I did not scream at him. I did not glare at him. I didn\'t even smile at him. I just stared at the ceiling for the longest time, until he sighed and left the room.

.oO00Oo.

I wish I could scream when they turned the lights off.

The pain killers had done nothing to make me drowsy. I began hyperventilating as the walls seemed to close in on me.

One week had gone by. I had found myself strapped to the bed, my body wrapped in bandages, and nurses frequenting my room to check my vitals. I cooperated and let them treat my body during the day. At nights, I glared at them and pleaded with my eyes to keep the lights on.

They never seemed to notice.

Claustrophobia gripped my throat.

It was a new development, and I was thrown off by it. I had never feared anything. It made me paranoid.

As usual, the door opened after a few hours of darkness. Instead of a nurse, someone else entered the room.

The light flicked on within a few moments. I saw a woman with blonde hair facing away from me. When she turned around, I was surprised.

Daisy looked tired, to put it mildly.

She smiled as she saw me. I, on the other hand, stared at her. She sat down on the stool beside my bed.

"You look like shit," she commented as she took my hand. I flinched, knowing that I didn\'t have to pretend that I was strong. "So... dislocated shoulders... shattered bones and torn ligaments. Have I got it right?" I gave her a small smile. "I... damn," she swore.

For a few seconds, I just stared at her as she thought of something appropriate to say.

"I am sorry," she started. "I know that they can\'t get you to talk, and I am happy. I don\'t want you to talk to them. I did not let them listen to the recording. If you ever want to know what happened after you... blacked out, I can give it to you." She gulped and then looked at our joined hands. "You don\'t want it; I know. But I just wanted you to know that you had that option.". She had a small smile on her lips as she proceeded to explain.

"They didn\'t think you\'d pull through, obviously. So, they asked me to write down the report on the case. Jacob Hunt led the team that rescued you. I think he already told you what he did." She stopped again, trying to gauge my reaction. "While you were out, I cleared out all your records and made a new identity for you. You can thank me for that when you are ready to speak to me."

Those were the moments when you couldn\'t help but like the woman.

"I will get them," she promised.

"They did a little public funeral to make your death a bit more believable," she said out of the blue. "Sean was there. I spoke to him. He seemed guilty," she explained. I looked at her curiously, hoping she would figure out the questions running through my head.

"I was going to ask you if you want the money transferred to his account. Do you think it\'s wise to name him as the heir to your estates? You\'ll be left with nothing." I sighed and then nodded. "Anthony could use the link to find you out."

I gave her a pointed look.

"You might think that he will not want to, but... he was there, okay? At the funeral." Who was there? "Anthony Murray." He was? Why? "I don\'t know what he was doing there, but he was just sitting in the car, waiting for Sean." She shrugged. I nodded.

Maybe he wanted to make sure I was dead.

Daisy didn\'t comment about anything else. She didn\'t tell me about what she heard. She didn\'t tell me that I was wrong in anything that I did or said. She heard everything, but she was the only one who never commented. She sat there with me all night long and sang random songs to me.