Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
My heart hurt even thinking about anything happening to her.
"Oh, honey," she said, chin meeting her chest, head shaking side to side. "No one else made it out," she told me, voice sad. "But you," she said, trying to be cheery. "You lived. It's a miracle, really."
No one else made it out.
No one.
Not my uncle.
Nor my aunt.
Not any of the staff.
I wasn't even sure how many had been in the house at the time. At least three.
Five people.
Dead.
And I was the only one to make it out?
My heart ached in my chest.
Five people I would never see again.
Five people whose families would never see them again, who were grieving as we spoke.
"My parents," I heard my voice croak out.
"We had no way to contact anyone," she told me, and I was left wondering if they had seen it on the news. If they were sitting in my childhood home with bellies swirling, wondering if I was one of the five dead or the lone survivor. "You can call them," she told me. "You should call them," she added. "You don't want to be here alone," she added, reaching for the phone, placing it next to my good hand.
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked, mind swirling.
"Of course I can," she told me, sympathy plain in her voice. I wondered if it was because she thought I was mourning, or because I reminded her of her daughter, or because I was all alone in a foreign land with no one at my bedside.
"Can you get me the number for the Market Square hotel?" I asked, hearing my voice catch a little. "I have... I have a friend staying there. He might be able to... come sit with me until my parents get here," I explained, tears starting to sting at the backs of my eyes now that the shock of it all was wearing off.
"Of course. Call your parents, let them know you are okay. I will get the number."
With that, she left, and I dialed my parents, heart in my throat as I listened to two rings before my mother's frantic voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Mom?" And then I just broke. There was just something about your mom's voice. You could be going through the worst thing in your life, getting through it with a stiff upper lip and a spine of steel. But the second you heard her voice, all the facade fell away, and you were just a little girl in desperate need of her love once again.
By the time I had pulled myself together, she and my father had told me ten times over how much they loved me, that they would be on the next flight out to Armenia, that everything was going to be okay, that I just had to be strong for a little while longer, and then they would be there to take care of me.
I was still swiping the tears away with the bed sheet when the nurse came back in, smile a little sad as she passed me the number. "Call your friend. You shouldn't be here alone," she told me with a pat to my shoulder. "The doctor will be in to speak with you in a few minutes."
"Thank you," I told her, feigning patience as she made her way to the door before fumbling with the phone, heart frozen as I waited to hear the concierge answer.
"Hi. I need to speak to Mikhail Osman in room 4D, please," I told them, glad my brain had started working enough again to be able to translate my English into Armenian.
"I'm sorry, miss. He checked out."
This time, the rush of numbness had nothing to do with drugs.
The shock had nothing to do with the explosion.
He'd checked out?
Why?
He hadn't said anything about needing to move on.
He would have told me if he was leaving, right?
He wasn't the kind of man to sneak off in the middle of the night.
"Are you sure?" I heard my voice asking, airy and tight. Likely because it felt like there was a hand closing around my neck.
"I'm sorry, miss. Yes."
"Did he... was there a note left? For a Mack? Mackenzie," I clarified.
There was a pause. "No, I'm sorry miss."
"Okay, thank you," I managed to croak out before putting the phone down.
I hadn't even fully been able to process it before the doctor came in, her eyes similar to the nurse's, sad for me, as she went through all my injuries in a careful way, like she didn't want to overwhelm me with all my brokenness, like she didn't want to hurt me any more than I had already been hurt.
As if she had any idea.
It all paled, all of it, to realizing Mikhail was gone. That he had left me. That he would not be showing up with flowers or a cheesy get-well balloon, giving me a sweet smile, coming over and pressing a kiss to my lips, telling me everything was going to be okay because he was here now.