Grey walls, white ceiling, pristine clean floors, beeping machines, the stark smell of bleach and blood. I was at a hospital.

Why?

Out of impulse, I lifted my hand to touch my temple and flinched at the pain.

Everything came surging at that moment. The images of last night flooded my brain like a heavy tsunami; the nightmare, the haunted look on his face, the ache deep in my gut watching him fight the unknown, the immense pain I felt when he pushed me to my demise.

Where was he?

I could smell him, I knew he'd been here. His cologne had that lingering effect that stuck to you. But I couldn't see him.

I attempted to sit up to get a better glance around the large room but a pinprick of pain knifed through my neck, objecting to my decision. I crashed back down and groaned. My body felt so sore and so stiff that it was hard to move a muscle. The door opened right then and Tristan emerged, fully dressed in loose jeans and a black vintage t-shirt with his phone in his ear.

"And I need the documents on my-" His words ground to a halt when his eyes met mine.

"James, I'll call you back." He prompted immediately and ended the call. He pushed his phone into his pocket and ambled to the bed. Closer up, I could see his eyes, they were dark and clouded. He looked sleep-deprived and emaciated.

I opened my mouth to speak but my lips were heavy and my throat was sore. He seemed to have understood me because he spoke. "You hurt your head pretty bad and needed stitches."

Oh, woah. Was it that bad?

I shut my eyes and opened them, feeling the tears that gathered in the corner of my eyes strain down my temple. "This is your fault." I croaked, my voice a dehydrated broken mess.

"I know." He admitted surprisingly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You sure?"

"I'm trying to apologize, Sienna." His voice was cool and relaxed, much more so than mine had been, it irritated me.

"You don't look like you are." I hissed.

His eyes squeezed shut and he shoved both hands through his tousled hair. And then when his eyes opened again, they were cold with a glare. "I said I'm trying to apologize, Sienna, stop being spoiled and making this harder than it needs to be."

Oh, he did not just say that to me.

"I'm being spoiled?" I repeated, outraged. "I'm the one with a busted head which I got from trying to help you!" I snapped, wanting to slap his head but feeling too weak to lift a finger.

His jaw tensed. "I never asked you to be a hero and come to my aid!" He barked right back, throwing his hands up in frustration. "What kind of moron touches someone having an intense nightmare!"

My body diluted with rage. "You asshole!" I clenched my fist and pushed myself up with all my strength but pain sheathed through me with a terrible intensity and I winced, collapsing back against the pillow.

"Damnit Just stay still, will you!" He snapped irritably at me but his eyes shimmered with genuine worry as he moved closer. "You can yell at me all you want but don't hurt yourself doing it." He bit, looking back and forth between the heart monitor and my head.

The door opened. "Mr. Larsen."

We both turned in unison to see the middle-aged man in a white coat step in. His eyes shifted to mine and his features lit up. "Mrs. Larsen. It's good to see awake." He strolled to the bed with a professional air. "How are you feeling?" He asked, turning my head slowly with his hand to examine my wound.

I groaned. "Like I got hit by a bus."

"Good," he let my head go and reached into his pocket for a penlight. "It means your nerves are active."

He leaned over me and shone a light directly into my eye. "Your husband explained to me how you tripped."

I tripped?

"Thankfully, the impact didn't cause too much damage." He continued, shifting the light to my other eye. My pupils constricted and I blinked, looking away. "And since your husband brought you in on time, we were able to stop the blood from clotting around your brain." He straightened and held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up, Mrs. Larsen?"

Well, this was ridiculous. A hysterical part of me wanted to say six just to gauge a reaction out of him but I didn't want to end up spending more time in here than I needed to. I already felt suffocated. "Three," I confirmed and turned away from him to Tristan. He was sitting on the stool, watching me intently. Liar. I didn't trip, he pushed me and he covered it up.

"When can she be released?" He asked, tearing his eyes away from mine.

"She can leave after a few hours." The doctor answered. "We still need to do an MRI to make sure there was no damage to her brain."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"It's what I do."

The first glance at myself in the steam-covered hospital mirror brought cold shivers to my spine. I looked like a vampire; not like Elena Gilbert or the kind from Twilight but like an actual vampire. My skin was pasty. I looked sickly with large eye bags and my hair at this point looked irredeemable.

My hand went to my temple and I caressed the band-aid placed neatly over my wound. Oddly enough, the injury didn't look as bad as I imagined it would. It was a good thing, it meant no obvious scars.

I stripped out of my flower print scrubs and walked with weak legs into the warm bath that Tristan had one of the nurses draw for me.

I washed up, wincing from time to time because my body hurt. When I managed to get the dirt off me, I stepped out, wiped my body clean, and helped myself into the new pair of clothes Tristan also got me.

I didn't wash my hair. I ran my hand through it and tried to untangle it as much as I could, and then I packed it up loosely. When I finished, I walked outside the bathroom and found Tristan staring at my x-ray result. He looked like he was deep in thought, so deep he didn't hear me come in.

I broke his trance by clearing my throat. He immediately dropped the x-ray and turned to me, the distant look in his eyes was gone and replaced with nothing. "Are you ready?"

I nodded my head slowly. "Yeah."

"Let's go."

We took the elevator down and checked out at the receptionist's desk. Outside, the slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange hue to the sky. The air was hot and stuffy and the streets were crowded with loud people who looked alike.

Tristan took my hand in his and pulled me closer to his body as he led me to the parking lot and helped me into the front seat.

When he entered, he reached into his compartment box and handed me a bottle of water. "Your lips are parched, drink up."

I nodded and accepted the bottle. As he revved the engine. I opened the cap and took small sips, feeling it fizz down my throat and warm my insides.

We didn't speak after that. The ride was a silent torture because my mind roared. For the second time, I saw a side of him that wasn't him and I had so many questions that I knew were dangerous to ask. Why he had such violent nightmares? Who was Madeline? Why did her name sound so familiar?

When we arrived at the port, he passed the car over to one of the handlers and helped me into the seaplane. We flew back to the resort. Upon arrival, I got down and felt dizzy all of a sudden from standing too quickly.

"I'll carry you," Tristan suggested, coming in front of me.

"No, I can...oh!" He didn't wait for my reply. He swept me off my feet and lifted me into his arms. His body felt so warm and I didn't have a strong cell in my body to protest so I let him carry me into the resort, passing multiple buildings until we reached our suite.

A few minutes later, we were inside the room and I sighed when my back touched the soft bed. The sheets had been changed and smelt like jasmine. They'd cleaned up the place, removing every trance of my accident. It was almost as if it never happened but the pain I felt was a reminder that it did and bad things happened around Tristan Larsen.

He stepped out without a word and returned, holding a tray that contained a glass of water and two yellow pills.

"I'm good," I told him, shaking my head.

"You might want to take this." He urged. "The pain gets worse at night and you want to be asleep for it." He dropped the tray and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into faint darkness.

He turned to the door and walked to it. My brows furrowed. "Where are you going?"

He stopped and looked over his shoulders. "I'll step out for a while."

"To where?"

"I have calls to make." He turned and opened the door. "Sleep, Sienna." He persuaded softly and stepped out.

But that night, he never came back.