CH. 8: THE OFFER

                                    

                                          
M A L L O R Y 
The first thing I hear is muffled beeping, followed by the bitter odor of disinfectant and isopropyl alcohol.
My body feels heavy, as if I'm being weighed down underwater with rocks tied to my feet, sinking in an ocean of darkness as I struggle to swim to the surface of consciousness. Next comes the dull, throbbing ache in my head that forces me to open my eyes.
As I slowly regain consciousness, the harsh glare of the overhead lights assaults my eyes without warning, forcing me to shut them and wince. 
Fucking hell, turn it off!
It takes a moment to adjust to the white lighting before I open my eyes again, only to be met with a hazy blur. After blinking a few times, my vision comes into a crystal vivid focus and a room comes into view— cream white walls, a single window with curtains slightly drawn, and the bed I was lying in.
It was a hospital bed. 
I'm in the hospital.
Why the hell am I in the hospital?
Before my brain can process anything else, my ears catch the loud sound of someone snoring next to me. Familiarity sets in as I turn my head slightly to the side, finding Celina sleeping on an uncomfortable-looking couch next to my bed.
Her head rests on her arm, propped on the chair's armrest. Her gradient raven-sapphire hair was mildly disheveled and if her darkened eyelids are anything to go by, she hasn't been sleeping very well.
I attempt to speak, but dehydration tightens my throat like a vice, and only a dry cough escapes me.
The noise I make causes her to stir, blinking sleepily before her eyes flutter open. Her gaze lands on me, and upon realizing I'm awake too, relief floods her expression, sending a warmth that dispels the chill in the air and melts away the coldness I felt inside.
“Alabado sea Cristo! Thank God, you're awake.” she exclaims, reaching out to grasp my hand. Her touch is warm, grounding me in the reality of the moment.
Praise Christ!
Her eyes scan me with a melancholic mix of solace and concern. I manage a faint smile. “Celina...”
“Yeah, it's me, niña. I came last night as soon as I heard what happened. How you feeling, Mal?”
“Shittier than I usually do on a daily basis,” I quip and she smiles at my attempt at lightheartedness.
Bringing a hand to my forehead, I curse when my temples pulse. “My head... It fucking hurts so bad,” I mumble, wincing at the pain flaring with each word.
“I’ll get the nurse to bring you something for the pain,” she says, making a move to leave but I tighten my grip around her hand and she looks back at me.
“Celina, what happened last night?” I choke out, my voice trembling with fear and confusion, though part of me wanted to remain blissfully ignorant and not know at all. “I... I don't remember anything.”
Her eyes widen in alarm and I regret having asked. She squeezes my hand, a solemn expression settling on her face. “You don't remember anything at all?”
She sighs as I shake my head no. “You were attacked last night. A guy stopped them and called 911 when he found you unconscious. They said…”
Her words become muffled, her voice fading to the background. The memories hit me like a freight train, resurfacing in flashes. The alley, the two men, the gun to my head, the struggle— it all comes rushing back, ganging up on me, taking turns to torment me.