Rita POV
I don't remember how I made it out of Charles's apartment. I only remember the door slamming behind me, the echo stabbing in my head like it was mocking me for ever believing that place was safe. My chest ached—not from my allergy, but from the slow, deliberate crushing weight of betrayal.
I walked without direction, my feet carrying me while my mind lagged behind, trapped in the image of Ava on his bed, and Charles staring at me like I was nothing. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't wipe them away. Pretending had lost its point somewhere between the hospital room where my parents died and the bedroom where my boyfriend betrayed me.
The street was alive with people, yet I felt invisible. Laughter, phone calls, footsteps—they all passed me by. No one knew my life had just collapsed again. My hands trembled as memories clawed their way in. My mother's voice. My father's smile. The way they always put me first, even when it cost them everything.
They died because of me.
The thought clung to me, heavier than ever. And now, standing alone, my heart breaking in real time, it felt unbearable. I had lost them, my home, my savings, and now the people I trusted most had done the worst possible thing.
I laughed softly through tears, bitter and broken. Maybe some people are only meant to endure pain.
Then I stopped.
Not on purpose. My feet simply froze, pulled back from my thoughts by something I couldn't see. I lifted my head through blurred vision—and there it was.
A flower shop.
The glass reflected my misery, but the roses were what held me. Bright. Full. Perfect. Even knowing what they could do, even knowing the danger, they were beautiful.
My chest tightened.
It wasn't just the petals or the scent. It was everything I had tried to bury—the allergic reaction, the panic, my parents fighting to save me while chaos spiraled around us. And now, they were gone. All because of me. My fragile body, my cursed life, my inability to be anything but a burden.
I hated myself. I hated the betrayal, the cruelty, the endless pain. I hated that I was still breathing when they weren't.
I stepped closer to the roses, heart pounding. My hands gripped the edge of the stand. My eyes shut. I inhaled.
My body betrayed me immediately.
Chest tightening, throat closing, gasping for air. My legs gave way, and I collapsed onto the floor.
So this is how it ends.
Pain, guilt, loneliness—it would all stop here.
Just before everything went black, I saw a figure rushing toward me.
When I woke up, pain burned in my chest and the sting of oxygen pricked my nose. Disinfectant filled my lungs. Dread settled deep before I even opened my eyes.
Not again.
I forced my eyes open. White ceiling. Machines beeping steadily. Mocking me with the reminder that I was still alive. Tears stung—not from heartbreak this time, but frustration.
Why couldn't my life just let me end?
"You're awake."
The voice was calm, firm, unfamiliar.
I turned my head. A man in a white coat stood beside my bed, studying me like he wanted to see past the oxygen mask and the monitors.
I scoffed weakly. "You shouldn't have saved me."
His brows furrowed. "That's not something you get to decide."
I laughed bitterly, then coughed as pain shot through my chest. He adjusted the machine, steady hands and professional.
"You had a severe allergic reaction. Another few minutes, and you wouldn't be here."
"That was the point," I snapped, voice shaking.
He straightened. "And yet, here you are."
I turned my face, tears sliding down. "Why? You don't even know me."
He paused. "Maybe I don't need to."
I clenched my fists under the blanket. "You had no right."
"And you had no right to throw your life away," he countered. Firm. Sharp.
I laughed hollowly. "You don't know anything about my life."
"You're right," he said quietly. "But pain like yours doesn't come from nowhere."
I looked back at him. His eyes weren't cold or judging. They were steady. Unmoving. Seeing.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt seen.
"I didn't want to wake up," I whispered, voice breaking.
"Then we will start with keeping you alive long enough to want to."
I didn't reply.
Something inside me shifted. Quietly. Dangerously.
And I didn't know whether to be afraid—or grateful.