Edward
I hated that hospital.
I'd been stuck here for God knew how many days. I couldn't work. They'd taken my phone away, and that bloody Michael refused to give me back any of my devices.
I had no idea what was happening with my company, apart from the dreadful news pouring endlessly into my head from the television. Yes, I could have switched it off and ignored the whole thing, but how the hell was I supposed to do that when I had absolutely nothing else to do?
I'd tried to sneak out of this hospital, but there were so many police officers around that, unsurprisingly, I hadn't gotten very far.
Technically, they were here to protect me from another attack. Under the circumstances, however, it seemed far more likely that they were trying to keep me inside and prevent me from getting on with my own affairs.
The worst part was that no one would tell me who the fuck was running this damned investigation. What was happening with it? What had they found?
Rest. Rest. Rest. Recover.
That was all anyone ever said.
God, they infuriated me.
And what infuriated me most was that I had no idea where Luka was today. What if he was in danger? Who was protecting him now? At least this place was crawling with police.
I knew. I knew. He needed to rest too, but he could have rested here. I'd even offered him my bed or suggested asking the staff for another one.
I was far calmer when I could keep him in sight. Now that was impossible. I didn't even know where he was, and it was getting on my nerves.
My irritation rose in waves. Sometimes I managed to get myself under control, calm down, and relax for a while. Then another surge of worry would wash over me.
Now I sat there with my entire body trembling with anger and impatience, desperate to get out of this place.
I could have my dressings changed at home. What the fuck was the point of having so much money if I still couldn't go home and have my own doctor take care of me while continuing to work and keeping Luka in sight?
I could call the doctor Michael had dragged to my place last time.
Though, on second thought, I had treated the man rather harshly. It was embarrassing now, considering he had been right when he said my headaches had psychological roots.
I had arrogantly believed that people such as me didn't have those problems and demanded that he find another cause.
He never did.
Looking back, it seemed that all the pain I'd gone through had, in all likelihood, been rooted in my state of mind.
I still wouldn't have called it trauma, despite how persistently the doctor had hinted at it. But every time I convinced myself that I had done the right thing, despite the guilt growing inside me, every time I suppressed everything I felt for Luka and hid it behind that damned impenetrable mask of indifference, the pain returned.
And once that mask finally cracked, once all those emotions broke free, the pain disappeared.
I sighed, rubbing my temples out of habit, even though it was my shoulder that hurt now.
If I no longer wanted to go through that agony again, I had to stop.
I had to stop burying my emotions. Stop hiding who I truly was.
Because the worst part had never been the pain in my head.
The worst part was that all of this could cost me the one thing that mattered most.
I could lose Luka.
The thought that the real me might not be enough for him, that I might disappoint him, terrified me, but I had to take that risk.
The door creaked open.
I flinched and turned sharply towards it, hoping to see a familiar pair of fox ears.
Instead, an enormous grey wolf beastman stood in the doorway, wearing that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.
I sighed.
"What are you doing here?"
Then it struck me.
"Who's with Luka now? What the hell are you doing here? Where is he?" I demanded.
"Keep it down," Kazuo growled. "He's home. There are cops all over the place. And that crazy friend of yours stayed with him."
I folded my arms across my chest.
"I thought you couldn't stand Michael. Now, all of a sudden, you've left him with Luka. What changed?"
"I really can't stand him," Kazuo admitted. "But he insisted so damn much, and something tells me I can trust him with this. He'll watch Luka while I'm gone. Besides, they've both been stuck here too long. They could both use some rest."
He was right, so I said nothing.
Kazuo came over, dropped heavily into the chair beside me, and tossed a bundle of crumpled papers, rolled into a tube, onto the bed.
"That's for you," Kazuo said, sounding distinctly displeased.
I unrolled the papers. The edges were badly crumpled, as though they had been handled and leafed through countless times.
The moment I opened them, I recognised the document.
It was the contract.