Vienna Cruz stood trembling, her eyes rimmed with angry red.

"Desmond! I’ve had enough!"

She let out a sharp, jagged breath. "You’re divorced, yet you’re still playing the doting husband for her birthday? She catches a bug and you’re at her beck and call, but when I’m miserable, you’re practically tripping over yourself to get back to her!"

I tried to speak, to defend the simple fact that my health was crumbling, but no sound escaped my throat. Vienna’s screeching voice began to drift, sounding as if it were coming from the end of a long, dark tunnel. My vision blurred, the edges of the room fraying into nothingness, and my body gave out. I collapsed, hitting the floor with a dull, heavy thud.

...

When I regained consciousness, the air in the room was suffocatingly thick. Vienna was still there, her voice dripping with venom.

"I barely touched her! She’s faking it, Desmond. The CT scan was clear, wasn't it? She’s perfectly fine!"

"Vienna."

Desmond’s voice sliced through her hysterics. I had never heard him speak with that specific register before. It wasn't shouting; it was a terrifyingly calm, absolute silence that squeezed the air out of the room.

"Who gave you the right to touch her?"

"Get out." His tone dropped another octave, lethal and final.

I kept my eyes shut, feigning sleep, listening to the sharp click of her heels retreating as she fled.

In the dead of night, while Desmond stepped into the hallway to take a hushed phone call, I quietly unhooked the monitors. I didn't belong in this bed, and I certainly didn't belong in his orbit. I slipped out of the hospital ward, the cold night air hitting my skin like a promise of freedom. It was time to head to the Southside Branch, and I wasn't waiting for permission.