*Isabella's POV*
The hospital doors slid open, admitting us into a world that smelled of antiseptic, stale coffee, and a faint, underlying scent of despair. It was a place I fucking hated, a monument to sickness and fear. He was still pale and drawn, the shadow of that shared pain still etched onto his face. I was probably no better, my makeup from the night out long gone, replaced by the grimy exhaustion of a sleepless, panicked flight.
We walked up to the reception desk, "We're here to see Jacob Lancaster," Damien said, his voice rough, but holding a sliver of authority that cut through the quiet chaos.
The receptionist, a tired-looking woman with kind eyes, looked up from her computer screen. "Are you family?" she asked.
"I'm his brother," Damien said, the simple statement carrying a world of weight.
"And I'm his girlfriend," I added softly. The words felt strange on my tongue, a heavy, complicated truth after my realisation on the plane. The receptionist just nodded, handing us visitor passes without another word.
We were led deeper into the hospital, down long, echoing corridors that all looked the same, each step taking us closer to a reality I wasn't sure I was ready to face. Finally, we reached the private intensive care unit. A doctor in blue scrubs, looking exhausted but with a sharp, intelligent gaze, approached us.
"Mr. Lancaster," he greeted, his eyes first on Damien, then flicking to me.
"How bad is it, Doctor?" Damien asked, his voice tight with a fear he was trying desperately to suppress.
"He's out of danger now," the doctor said, and the words were like a fucking lifeline. "The bullet didn't touch any vital organs; it was just his shoulder. The surgery went well, and he's now in a private recovery room. He should wake up any moment now. If you are there when he does, please inform the nurse."
"How long will he be staying here?" I asked, my voice small and nervous.
"At least a week," the doctor replied. "We'll know more in a couple of days."
"Thank you, doc," Damien said, his voice thick with relief.
The doctor nodded and walked away, leaving us standing there in the cold, sterile hallway. The immediate danger was over, but as I looked at Damien, I saw that the numbness in his eyes was gone, replaced by something far more terrifying. His cold emotionless eyes.
"Shall we, Isabella?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Are you all right?"
I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms around myself. "I just need some time," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm all over the place. I mean, I did want to say it but... when we were on the plane and you said you felt numb, I thought... just for a moment he..." I trailed off, unable to even form the word.
"Isabella, no, it couldn't happen," he said, his tone infuriatingly calm, like he was explaining a business transaction. "Feeling an overwhelming amount of emotions is one thing. I would feel it if my twin was dead," he said, the word landing like a block of ice between us.
"Won't you shut up?" I snapped, the anger bursting out of me, hot and sharp. "How can you even say that fucking word?" I demanded, tears now flowing freely down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable.
"Isabella, I'm sorry," he said, his voice softening as he reached for me. "I've never seen you so..."
"Emotional," I cut him off, my voice dripping with venom. "You're right. I feel like I'm falling apart. And amidst all this, you still have a fucking poker face. Although your brother is shot and is currently lying in a hospital bed, do you really hate him so much?" I asked, wiping furiously at my tears, the accusation leaving my lips before I could stop it.
"What?!" he exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "I don't hate him. He's my brother. But you heard the doctor. He's fine, no need to dwell over this. He'll be fine," he said, his matter-of-factness a slap in the face to my raw emotions.
With that, I took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing all the emotions down into a deep, dark pit inside me. I straightened my shoulders and nodded. We had to do this.
We turned and walked towards the door of his private room, each step feeling heavier than the last. The air grew thick, heavy with the unspoken hole that had just opened between us. I reached out, my hand trembling slightly, and pushed the door open, bracing myself for whatever lay on the other side.
Entering Jacob's room, I was hesitant to even look in his direction. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a fucking drum solo, each beat a painful reminder of what we might find. Jacob was always so cheerful, so fucking playful. Next to him, I didn't know boredom or sadness. He was a bomb of chaotic energy, and now... now I'd have to see him struck down, broken in a hospital bed.
Jacob, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?
I've watched him sleep before. Even in his sleep, he had this cocky, contented grin plastered on his face, like he was dreaming up some new mischief. Right now, he had... nothing. His face was pale, almost waxy under the harsh fluorescent lights, his lips tight and colourless. All those little tubes sticking out of his hands and arms, snaking up to bags of clear liquid... it was a fucking nightmare.
I haven't been to a hospital since my mother. I was hoping, praying, I'd never see a loved one with tubes around them again. The sight sent a wave of nausea rolling through me.
Damien urged me forward with a gentle hand on my back, and I forced my feet to move, one after the other, until I was kneeling beside his bed. He was half-naked, save for the crisp white sheets pulled up to his waist and the thick white bandage wrapped around his right shoulder. The bullet hole.
I hesitated, my eyes finally daring to look at his face properly. This could be Jacob. But it wasn't. Not my Jacob. My Jacob was my sunshine, my fucking storm. He can't be shot and laying in a hospital bed, looking like a ghost. How the fuck was this even possible?