Page 251 of This Woman Forever

“Please eat, Ava.”

And eat. I’ll wake up if you eat.

“I’ve eaten some salad.”

Something more than a few leaves.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Kate says hopelessly.

I do. Drag her. Kicking and screaming if you have to. Just mind the babies.

“We’ll go,” John says.

How’s your head, motherfucker?

Another dip of the mattress beneath me, and then... silence.

No. I need noise. With no noise, there’s only my thoughts, and my thoughts take me back to the kitchen. To Lauren. Fuck.

I strain, certain I must be shaking with the effort to move just a finger. Just a little fucking finger.

Fuck it.

I stop trying, and I let my mind wander to where it will go, inevitably dreading where that might be. I’ve been back in that kitchen every time I’ve partially come round. Watched from the edge of my life as I stepped in front of Ava and blocked her from Lauren. Watched as the knife plunged in and she dragged it, slicing me, before I knocked her away and she lost her grip. This knife was sharper than the knife she used sixteen years ago. I hardly knew I’d been stabbed, only felt an odd pressure in my side, before the pain kicked in and the blood started flowing. I’ve watched as I collapsed. I’ve watched as comprehension found my distraught wife. I’ve watched as she sobbed and demanded me to open my eyes. To not die.

It's not your time, Jesse.

Watch your mouth, Daddy.

Pain slices me, and I jolt.

Fuck.

And then, as if my mind is protecting me, it shuts down.

And all I see is darkness.

49

My eyelids twitch, the muscles coming to life, and light blinds me, forcing me to slam them shut again. Fuck, did I just open my eyes? I breathe in, hope crashing into me. I squeeze my lids shut and release them, cautiously peeling one open. My eyes hurt. My face muscles hurt. Suddenly everything fucking hurts. I look around the room, still as can be, not only because I’m incapacitated, but because if my whole head is in agony by just opening my eyes, I can’t begin to imagine the level of pain waiting for me if I actually move.

I drop my eyes, and I’m greeted by a mass of messy brown hair. I exhale lightly, wary, and suddenly all I can feel is my heart beating. Ava. I’m mesmerized as I stare down at her sleeping, her head resting on the bed, her body hunched over.

“How old are you?” she mumbles. I’m unable to stop my small smile. I sustain the pain, swallowing too, trying to push some words past my lips.

“Thirty-eight,” I whisper groggily, amazed when I hear my own voice. “I’m thirty... eight, baby.”

I hear her hum and mumble, her head moving as she rubs her face into the sheets.

“My beautiful... girl is... dreaming.”

And that’s me done for the day, my eyes closing again, the effort to keep them open way too much. Christ, will I ever be able to move again? I’m fucking drained. Heavy. Hurting.

I feel the bed move. She’s woken up? God damn it, I missed her. I focus, concentrating on moving my finger again, anything to tell her I’m here. Anything to stop her worrying. Fuck.

An unbearable, screechy sound attacks my ears. God, make it stop.

“Jesse?”

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