Page 140 of Ruin Me Gently

“You ungrateful bitch! After everything I fucking did for you—”

My body launched forward, driven by some deep need to get away, to escape. But the moment my feet hit the floor, the room tilted, my knees buckling beneath me.

A hand grabbed my arm, steadying me. Strong. Warm. Too close.

“Don’t touch me!” I choked out, yanking myself away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hands falling away immediately.

My pulse hammered in my ears, the floor swayed beneath me, my ribs ached with each ragged breath.

What the fuck was going on?

I latched onto the only thing I could control. “I need you to leave.”

“Lilith, please—”

“Leave!” My voice broke.

The air stretched thin and fragile, until I finally heard the quiet shuffle of movement, a door clicking shut.

Something inside me swayed, unsteady, like I was balancing on a fraying tightrope.

I climbed into the bed, trying not to snag the IV in my arm.

Why was there an IV in my arm?

My breath hitched, pulse stuttering as I carefully touched the taped line on my skin. My stomach twisted. My sheets felt wrong. My bed felt wrong.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the covers up over my head, as if that could block out the wrongness curling around me.

Five days.

Five days were missing.

The thought pressed against the inside of my skull, too big to fit into the cracks of my fractured memory. My fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them tight, as if I could squeeze the missing time from the fabric, force it back into my hands.

But there was nothing.

Just blankness.

The smell of bacon and something else wafted toward me as I made my way to the counter. The coffee machine sat where it always did, but—new. Sleek. Different.

I frowned. Had I upgraded it?

That seemed right. I must have.

How the hell was I supposed to work this thing?

I jabbed a few buttons. Useless.

I turned and made my way to the island, sitting down on one of the stools.

When did I get an island?

What was I supposed to do today?

I tried to run through a list, but everything felt loose, unformed. Maybe I’d go to work. Maybe I had errands to run. Maybe—

---