Isabella looked at the scene unfolding before her, her mind struggling to process the bizarre, surreal occurrence. Jacob's hand was still resting on Damien's shoulder, and there was a genuine, easy-going smile on his face. Damien, for his part, wasn't glaring or looking like he wanted to murder someone. He just looked... tired, but calm. It was fucking weird.
"What is this? Why are you smiling kindly at each other?" she asked, her voice low. "Is this a hallucination from the meds?"
"Maybe," Jacob chuckled, a real, unbothered sound "We kissed and made up," Jacob teased, winking at her.
"We just hugged," Damien countered.
"You two hugged?" she asked, her voice laced with shock. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her leg and ribs sent her falling back against the pillows with a gasp.
"We reconciled," Damien said, his tone firm, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
"We're cool," Jacob added with a shrug.
He then leaned in closer, his expression turning serious, his eyes filled with a desperate, hopeful plea that made her heart ache. "Will you have us back now?" he asked.
And just like that, the fragile peace shattered. She felt the walls of the small hospital room start to close in, the weight of their expectant gazes pressing down on her. "I just had a fucking car accident," she said, her voice rising with a frantic energy she didn't know she possessed.
"My mind is all over the place, are you seriously cornering me like this?" She looked from one to the other, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. "I'm..." Jacob began, his face falling, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realised his mistake.
"Leave me alone for a while," she said, turning her head to stare at the blank white wall, a desperate attempt to escape. "I don't even know if I want to work for Lancaster Corp anymore." The words were out before she could stop them, a final, desperate act of self-preservation.
"What?" Jacob exclaimed, his voice a choked whisper of shock. The hope that had been so bright in his eyes just seconds ago was extinguished, replaced by a devastating, hollowed-out look of disbelief.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
*Isabella's POV*
"Leave me alone for a while," I said, the words feeling like the last scraps of my energy. "I don't even know if I want to work for Lancaster Corp anymore." I turned my head to the side, staring at the bland wall. I couldn't bear to look at their faces, at the hope and pain I knew I'd find there.
"What?" Jacob exclaimed, his voice a choked whisper of shock. "I can't say I fucking approve, but I... I totally understand you," Damien said softly. His voice was a calm, steady presence in the chaos, a surprising anchor that I wasn't expecting. He wasn't angry; he was just... there...existing.
"I mean, my best friend turns out to be a fake bitch who threw me in front of a car," I said, the words tumbling out in a bitter, hysterical rush. "And, by the fucking way, he was the one who took the sketches. He was in some sort of twisted relationship with Owen." I finally turned back to them, my gaze landing on Damien.
"He did what?" Damien asked, his voice dangerously low, the earlier softness replaced by a chilling anger that made the air in the room feel cold.
"Like Dad said, we can't do a fucking thing about it," Jacob said, his voice devoid of all emotion, a hollow echo in the room. He looked utterly broken, the fight completely gone out of him. "I didn't register the invention. It's over."
"But Cole was arrested, right?" Damien's voice cut through the haze, sharp and practical, trying to nail down the facts in the middle of this emotional wreck.
"Yes," Jacob said, a grim, almost crazy satisfaction in his eyes. "And just wait till they hear that she was clinically dead."
"I was what..." I asked, the words barely a whisper. The beeping of the heart monitor beside me seemed to get louder, faster, mirroring the rapid panic rising in my chest. Clinically dead? The words echoed in my head, foreign and terrifying.
"You went into cardiac arrest," Damien explained, his voice gentle but clinical, as if reading from a medical chart. "Probably induced by the scare of being in front of the car. Your heart stopped beating for some time."
"Cole says he didn't do it on purpose, but I bet that son of a bitch could get ten to twelve years for second-degree murder," Jacob said, his mind already racing ahead to the legal punishment.
"Second-degree what? But I didn't die," I said, my voice rising in disbelief. "Oh, Jacob, are you trying to make me laugh? Because I fucking can't, my chest hurts." I attempted a weak laugh, but it turned into a sharp wince of pain.
"Your ribs are broken," Jacob said, his face falling, the vengeful glint in his eyes replaced by a wave of guilt. He stepped closer to the bed, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "I'm sorry for hesitating in the office, sweetheart. I was a confused dickhead for a moment."
I looked at his face, at the genuine remorse in his eyes. "You're a dickhead," I said, a small, tired smile touching my lips. "But I guess everyone has flaws." It wasn't a grand forgiveness, but it was a start. It was all I had the energy for.
"Thank you, sweetheart. I love you," Jacob said, his voice soft, a fragile little thing sound filled with a desperate hope that made my chest ache.
"Hey, you're pushing it," I managed to say, the words scraping my throat.
"I don't know whether to fucking laugh, cry, or scream," I said, the weight of my situation crashing down on me like a ton of bricks, it was all suddenly too much. "I needed to graduate this year. And now... how?" The question hung in the air, pathetic and small.
"There are online classes," Jacob said, his practical, problem-solver voice kicking in. "You'll do just fine."
"Let me sort things out, okay?" I said, cutting him off, my voice firmer than I felt. I needed to be in control of something, even if it was just the conversation.
"I wanted to take care of you," he said, his expression softening with a raw sincerity that caught me off guard. "Just like you took care of me when I was shot."
A weak, humourless laugh escaped my lips, which, again, fucking hurt. "You used your condition and your puppy dog eyes to request a lot of sex," I said, a ghost of a smirk playing on my lips despite the pain. "You know, if that's the kind of 'taking care' you had in mind then..." I let the implication hang in the air, a familiar, teasing probe to lighten the mood.
"I knew you wouldn't want me, sweetheart," he said, a slow, sly smile spreading across his face. "That's why I asked someone else to come and take care of you."
My smirk vanished. "Who..."