slips away.
If I can’t lay my eyes on her, I want her father watching over her.
“She’s beautiful, Mila,” he beams, looking back at me over his shoulder.
My eyelids droop, and it becomes a fight to keep them open. I’m so tired, but I can’t feel the pain any longer.
I strain to open my eyes, and then I’m looking down. Raphael is smiling at our daughter beside the nurse while the other figures continue to move around, but I can’t make out what they’re here for.
Raphael turns, his body freezing momentarily before he’s running across the room. Jumping onto the bed, he scoops me up in his arms. My eyes are wide open, but I’m not moving. He’s screaming my name, but I don’t hear a single syllable. In fact, I don’t hear anyone in the room. Tears stream down his cheeks as he rocks me back and forth, holding me close against him.
I blink, and it’s daylight. Blood stains the sheets on the bed, but no one is in the room. I seek Raphael out, finding him seated in the corner of the baby’s nursery while she sleeps in her crib.
The nurse is still here, settled in the rocking chair, watching the babe sleep.
Days turn to nights, and the cycle continues with Raphael weeping as the baby is being looked after by the nurse.
It’s not until I seek him out again that I find him in our room, sitting on the edge of the bed. In one hand he holds a bottle of vodka, and in the other a gun. He stares straight ahead at the painting of the fallen angel and his mouth stretches, as if he’s screaming, I assume, judging by how the veins in his neck bulge from the strain.
Dragging his arm back, he launches the bottle at the angel and jumps up. I try to go to him, but he’s moving fast, and begins clawing at the painting. He’s shredding it, his tears dropping onto the broken pieces.
Out of breath, he drops to his knees, the gun still clutched in his hand. I go to put my hand on his shoulder to calm him when he tips his head back and whispers, “Mila.”
Can he sense me? Feel me? No, it’s not possible. It’s coincidental.
He raises his arm and puts the gun to his mouth, inhales deeply, and slides the barrel past his lips.
“No!” I scream, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t hear me, and squeezes his eyes closed, producing fresh tears.
The spark from the shot brightens my vision for a moment, and as I blink, Raphael’s body slumps to the floor.
His blood seeps from the wound, pooling on the carpet where his head lies…
Chapter Thirty-Five
Raphael
I’m woken by Mila lurching up, her body trembling next to me. It’s still dark outside, so I look at the clock, which reads 1:32. Leaning over, I switch the lamp on and turn to see her glistening with sweat, her gaze trained on something in the distance. I don’t think she knows fully where she is.
“Did you have a bad dream?” I ask, my voice startling her.
She jerks away as I go to rub her arm. Dropping my hand, I give her the space she obviously needs.
Her eyes are darker than usual, and I’m desperately wondering what’s running through her head.
“Mila, talk to me,” I urge, trying once again to soothe her.
I’ve barely touched her when she jumps out of bed and drags on her robe, hiding her body from me.
“Mila!” My tone is sharper, louder, which seems to do the trick.
She finally looks at me with a sadness that seems to engulf her.
“We’re always destined to die because of one another.”
I slip out of bed, not caring that I’m baring all, and go to her.
“What are you talking about?” I plead, grabbing her arms.
“We’ll never find peace because we don’t deserve it. You need to leave. From here on out, we’ll have Trey and Cristian relay messages between us.”
What the fuck did she dream about? What’s spooked her enough to bring this on?
“Mila—”
“No.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she steps away from me. “Our prophecy said we would bring peace to Vita, but nothing about us finding peace ourselves. We’ll have to pay for our many, many sins. You have to go. Please, just leave.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from her, and because of that, I see how shaken she is. I don’t want to cause her anymore pain, and it’s clear she’s feeling a lot of it.
Collecting