*~Mirabelle's POV~*
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound echoed in my ears, a rhythmic ticking that pulled me out of the black. My eyes flew open, and a jolt of pure adrenaline shot through my veins. I lunged forward to run, but something jerked me back, pinning me against the seat.
I thrashed, my hands flying up to shield my face from a phantom blow, before the reality of the cold plastic against my chest registered. It was my seatbelt.
My breath came in ragged hitches as I fumbled with the buckle, finally clicking it free. I scrambled out of the car, the crisp morning air hitting my face like a slap.
The sun was blinding, high in the sky. It was morning. The scent of dew and exhaust filled my nose, and with it, the memories of the night before began to crawl back into my mind.
The parking lot beside the club. The stalker in the black car. The neon lights and the "big bad wolf." My heart skipped a beat as the heat of the room flashed behind my eyelids.
"Oh, God," I whispered, covering my face with my hands. "What have I done?"
The images were vivid—disturbingly so. The way I had flirted, the weight of him over his shoulder, the electricity when I touched his skin. The taste of him. I groaned into my palms, the shame and confusion fighting for space in my chest.
A loud, piercing blare of a horn jolted me back to the present. I realized then that my car wasn't parked—it was sitting dead in the middle of the road. I scrambled toward the pedestrian lane, my head spinning.
"What happened?" I muttered to the empty air.
The last thing I remembered was his voice, dark and promising: It's my turn now. That was it. The trail went cold after that. Had I blacked out? Had he driven me here? Was I... was I still a virgin? Ichecked myself, searching for any physical sign of a struggle or a night spent in a hotel bed, but I felt perfectly fine. Aside from the mental chaos, my body felt untouched.
Then I turned around, and my jaw dropped.
I was standing directly in front of the hospital. The same hospital that had delivered my death sentence yesterday.
"No," I breathed, backing away from the entrance. "How?"
I remembered driving away in a rage. I remembered the stalking car. I remembered the club. How could I be back at the beginning? Was it all a hallucination brought on by the shock? Was I so exhausted that I'd dreamt up a masked man and a night of sin just to escape the reality of the cancer?
Questions swirled in my mind until I felt overstimulated, the world tilting on its axis. Terminal cancer was a physical illness—it wasn't supposed to cause vivid, multi-sensory delusions. I could still feel the phantom sensation of his skin under my fingertips, the way my body had hummed in his presence. It felt too real to be a dream.
Is the universe playing a sick joke on me? First, I'm told I have a year to live, and now I'm caught in a loop. What the hell is going on?
Mirabelle!"
A voice sliced through the fog in my head, sharp and familiar. I flinched, turning to see Lisa, one of my oldest friends. The color drained from her face, her jaw dropping in pure, unfiltered shock.
"Oh my God... it's really you!"
She dropped her bag right there on the pavement and lunged at me, throwing her arms around me in a crushing hug. "You're alive! You're actually alive!"
She pulled back just enough to grip my shoulders, her eyes scanning me frantically, checking for injuries or signs of struggle. When she realized I was standing there, whole and unharmed, she pulled me back into the safety of her embrace. I finally let myself breathe, sinking into the familiar scent of her perfume.
"What happened? Where have you been?" she demanded, her voice trembling. She hurried me toward her car, fumbling with her keys. "Your grandmother has been worried sick, Mirabelle. You've been missing for an entire day! She hasn't eaten or slept. We've been to the police, searched everywhere... we couldn't find a trace of you."
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words died in my throat. Where would I even start? I found out I have a year to live, so I ran to a club, made out with a terrifyingly hot stranger who might be a hallucination, and now I have a hole in my memory.
I stayed silent. Lisa seemed to sense my fragility and squeezed my hand. "It's okay. You're here now. I'm calling Stacy."
As she spoke into her phone, her voice became a dull hum in my ears. I sat in the passenger seat, pulling my legs up to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible.
"Don't worry," Lisa said, hanging up. "I called your grandma. They're on their way with the police."
"The police?" I turned to her, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"We were terrified, Mirabelle! You've never been gone for ten minutes without checking in. We called your phone a thousand times. Where is it?"
I shook my head numbly. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen my phone.
A moment later, a car screeched to a halt in front of us. My grandmother scrambled out, followed by Stacy. Behind them, several patrol cars pulled up, their sirens silent but their lights flashing—a strobe of red and blue that made the street look like a crime scene.
And in a way, it was. I had vanished, hooked up with a stranger, and lost my memory. That felt like crime enough.
"My poor girl! Where have you been?" Nana cried, rushing toward me.
I ran into her arms, the familiar warmth of her sweater finally making the tears spill over. "Nana, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
As we broke the embrace, I looked into her tear-streaked eyes. The guilt was a physical weight in my stomach. How was I supposed to tell her the truth? Now that the police were involved, they'd look at my records. They'd see the medical report. They would find the "seven ugly words" that were currently eating my life.
I have less than a year to live.
Suddenly, a familiar shiver raced down my spine—the exact same icy current I felt when I was with him. My body stiffened. My head snapped toward the edge of the hospital parking lot. There, standing near a shadow, was a tall figure in a mask.
I blinked.
The space was empty.
"Am I going crazy?" I whispered. But even as Nana pulled me toward the car, I couldn't stop staring at that empty spot. My body knew the truth. He had been there. He was there.
I am not crazy.. I could swear I saw him just now. Maybe this stranger is really a big bad wolf.