Page 77 of I Would Beg For You

“Val,” I mumble again, though my voice hitches as I devolve into a flurry of sobs, my face pressed to the soft fabric of his sweater.

A strong arm is holding my back upright, a large hand caressing my hair. The movement is so soothing, I close my eyes and let myself be rocked. When the darkness comes this time, I gulp as another tear rolls down my cheek.

It’s over. It’s all over. I’ve lost him…

When I next come to, my mouth feels less coated in that disgusting metallic taste, which is a relief.

I blink my eyes open, grateful the bright glare is gone. A soft, golden light bathes the room—there’s a standing lamp lit up in the far corner. It looks like a bedroom, as I’m definitely in a plush bed and there are antique-looking armchairs in a small cluster near the lamp. And a fire is roaring quietly in the grate, too.

I don’t know this place, and I want to take a better look around. I press my hands flat on the soft sheets and push up, yelping when a searing pain on my left hand and arm make me collapse back onto the bed. Wincing against the lingering hurt, I stare to my left, gaze catching on the clear tube running to a bag filled with clear liquid…

IV. Hands forcing me down. Darkness taking over.

A scream tears itself from my lips, and I’m now thrashing around in the bed. Why can’t I reach the damn IV to pull it out? What am I doing here? What are they doing to me?

When strong hands clasp my upper arms, I fight back even more. I’m not letting those bastards take me under again. Who do they think they are?

“Naomi, stop! It’s me,” a man says.

Nice try. I can’t help but think it sounds like Valentino, but I’m not going to fall for this trap. I thrash even harder, throwing out my right arm and hitting a solid form, the back of my hand whacking the person’s head.

The man yelps from the blow. Good. I force my hand back to the holding the IV. Damn thing won’t budge.

Hands are grabbing my upper arms again. I snarl and I’m all ready to fight, but my bluster is now all in my head and none of it is in my muscles. The person ends up shaking me a bit as he clasps my arms and pins them to my sides.

“Look at me!” he commands.

I want to spit at him, but my mouth is too dry for that.

“Eyes on me, Naomi!”

These words… They snap at something inside me, and I blink, hard. It sounds like… I force my vision to clear, to focus as my body tenses in apprehension.

The room is rather dark, but slowly, a picture is emerging. A big, masculine shape. Unruly dark hair. Well-hewn features. Furrowed eyebrows. Worried eyes—I can’t see their color in this gloom, but I know these eyes. Then that full mouth set now in a tight line.

I swallow, hard. “Val?”

A sigh gusts out of him as his hold on my arms relaxes. “Yes, gattina. It’s me.”

“Val,” I repeat, incredulous. “What…what’s going on? Where are we?” Movement near the door catches my eye, and I recoilinto myself when I see a woman standing there in blue scrubs. Before I can reason with myself, my legs are trashing away, tangling in the sheets. “No! I won’t let her do this to me! Please don’t let her hurt me!”

“No one’s going to hurt you. She’s here to help.”

“No!” I scream out. “They…they did things…”

Images are flooding me. Most of them don’t make sense, but I can still feel the dread, the outrage, the feeling of violation…

“Naomi,” Valentino calls out gently. “This is Renata. She’s with me.”

“No! I don’t—” The rest of my words end up garbled as I pull my knees to my chest, as if doing so could make me disappear.

“Marco!” Valentino calls.

When a man steps into the room, Val reaches out for me and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, letting his palm rest against my cheek. I burrow into his warmth, my only safety in this fraught moment.

“Look at him, Naomi. This is Marco, my best friend. Remember him? We used to play in the back yard all the time. Once, he climbed the tree near your window and the branch broke. It happened right in front of you, do you recall?”

I blink. “I…I ran to him, to see if he was okay.”

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