I hate to admit this.
I really do.
But the more time I spend in this hospital—
the more I feel like I'm turning into a grumpy old woman who yells at people for breathing too loud.
Annoyed.
Constantly.
At everything.
The lights.
The smell.
The nurses.
The way the nurses walk.
It's ridiculous.
And the worst part?
I know it.
I'm fully aware of how unbearable I've become—
and I still can't stop.
Kiara is the only one surviving me at this point.
Poor girl.
She sits there, taking all my mood swings like a soldier who didn't sign up for war. She talks, she distracts me, she even laughs when I snap at her like it's somehow funny.
"You're impossible," she told me this morning.
"I'm injured," I corrected.
"You're dramatic."
"I was shot."
She rolled her eyes.
The audacity.
But still—
she stayed.
Everyone else?
Not so lucky.
I've pushed them all out.
The nurses now walk into my room like they're entering a battlefield. They speak softly, move quickly, and leave even faster.
Zade—
I exhale sharply at the thought of him.
He's… cute.
In an annoying, overly confident, younger-brother kind of way.
And he talks too much.
Way too much.
The first few days, he kept coming in with that careless grin, throwing comments like he owned the place.
"Still alive, huh?"
"Barely tolerating you," I'd reply.
He laughed.
Every time.
But lately?
Even he's started keeping his distance.
Because apparently, I snapped at him yesterday for breathing too loudly.
I don't even remember doing that.
Adrian—
my brother—
has officially given up trying to manage me.
He still stays.
Always.
But he doesn't argue anymore.
Doesn't try to reason.
He just watches.
Works.
Waits.
Like he's letting me burn through whatever this is until I calm down on my own.
Which I haven't.
Because I can't.
Because I'm stuck.
Three weeks.
Three whole weeks in this place.
Three weeks of white walls, slow recovery, controlled movement, and people telling me to rest like I haven't done enough of that already.
My wound is almost healed.
Almost.
The doctors say I need "a little more time."
I say they're overreacting.
I can walk.
Carefully.
I can breathe without feeling like something's tearing inside me.
The pain is barely there now.
Just a reminder.
A faint echo of what happened.
So why am I still here?
I shift on the bed, irritation bubbling up again.
"I'm going to lose my mind," I mutter under my breath.
Kiara looks up from her phone.
"You already have."
I glare at her.
She grins.
"Not helping," I say.
"You've been complaining for the last hour."
"Because I've been here for the last three weeks."
She shrugs. "At least you're alive."
I pause.
That—
that always gets me.
Just for a second.
Because she's right.
I am alive.
I shouldn't be.
Not really.
Not the way it happened.
Not the way everything could've gone.
But I am.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still… stuck.
The irritation comes back stronger.
"I just want to go home," I say, quieter now.
Not angry.
Just… tired.
Kiara softens slightly.
"I know."
But knowing doesn't change anything.
Nothing changes.
Not the walls.
Not the rules.
Not the fact that I'm still being watched like something fragile that might break again if I'm not careful.
I glance toward the door.
Guards.
Always there.
Always watching.
Always reminding me that my life isn't just mine anymore.
That it never really was.
And then—
without meaning to—
my thoughts shift.
To him.
Zane.
It's automatic now.
Unavoidable.
And that annoys me even more.
Because he's not here.
Not really.
Not like before.
Not like I expected him to be.
He sends Zade.
He sends updates.
He sends… distance.
And I don't know what to do with that.
At first, I thought maybe he was busy.
Then I thought maybe it was strategy.
Now—
I don't know.
Maybe I don't want to know.
Because every time I think about it too much, something in my chest tightens in a way I don't like.
I remember him too clearly.
The way he looked at me.
The way he held me.
Like I mattered.
Like I was something more than just a deal.
And now—
nothing.
Just absence.
Controlled.
Intentional.
And it makes me—
I stop the thought.
Because I don't want to name it.
I don't want to admit it.
Instead, I push myself up slightly on the bed.
"Okay," I say suddenly.
Kiara blinks. "What?"
"I'm leaving."
She stares at me. "No, you're not."
"Yes, I am."
"Luna—"
"I'm serious."
I swing my legs slowly over the side of the bed.
The movement pulls at my side, but it's manageable.
Barely.
But enough.
Kiara immediately stands. "You're insane."
"I'm bored," I correct.
"Same thing."
I ignore her, pushing myself to stand.
It takes a second.
My body protests.
But I do it anyway.
Because I need to.
Because I can't stay here anymore.
"I'm fine," I say, more to myself than to her.
"You're not fine," Kiara argues, hovering like she's ready to catch me.
"I'm fine enough."
I take a small step.
Then another.
Slow.
Careful.
But steady.
My heart beats a little faster—not from pain, but from something else.
Freedom.
Even if it's just a few steps.
Even if it's temporary.
"I just need to remind everyone," I murmur quietly, almost to myself, "that I'm not breakable."
Kiara sighs dramatically behind me.
"You're impossible."
I don't respond.
Because right now—
for the first time in weeks—
I don't feel stuck.
And maybe that's reckless.
Maybe it's stupid.
Maybe Adrian is going to lose his mind when he sees this.
But I don't care.
Because I've spent three weeks being careful.
Three weeks being still.
Three weeks being watched.
And I'm done.
Almost healed.
Almost free.
Almost back to myself.
And that "almost"—
isn't enough anymore.