Chapter 22-In good hands

Chapter 22: 22-In good hands

Very early the next morning, Aymara woke with one thought in mind, getting Nathaniel.

Today was the day, the apocalypse would begin the day after tomorrow. She had one day to get him aboard the ship, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

Yet she didn’t rush to get dressed. Instead, she stood before her wardrobe until her gaze landed on something she hadn’t worn in years.

Aymara reached for the outfit: a beautiful two-piece suit in the gentlest shade of blush. The tailored jacket fit her perfectly, and the matching skirt fell elegantly around her legs. Feminine without being childish, delicate without making her look weak.

She paired it with ballerina shoes, straightened her hair, and curled the ends.

When she looked into the mirror, she barely recognized herself from the past six years.

This was the Aymara from before Dylan, before he had convinced her that pink was childish, mocked her favorite clothes, and insisted she wear her hair in curls to look more mature.

Little by little, he had changed her, and she had allowed it. She had mistaken changing herself for love to be the greatest declaration of love, it wasn’t.

Aymara touched the ends of her hair and smiled. "I missed you," she whispered to her hair.

The woman in the mirror looked elegant, feminine, and confident. Her choices and mistakes belonged only to her.

She sprayed perfume onto her wrists. "Welcome back, old me."

Then she went downstairs and ate the biggest breakfast she’d had in days: pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, toast, sausages, yogurt, and a large cup of tea.

Today, she needed energy to face the battle ahead of her. Once she got Nathaniel, she wasn’t letting him out of her sight again.

---

By the time Aymara arrived at Angel Heart Hospital, the sun had risen. The strange heat from yesterday had vanished, and weather reporters were already calling it a temporary anomaly.

People believed them, they always did.

Aymara entered the hospital with her head held high. Several nurses recognized her.

"Good morning, Miss Ellington."

"Good morning," she greeted back. At the reception desk, she asked, "I’m here to see Nathaniel."

The nurse checked the records. "He’s in the garden with his doctor for breathing therapy."

Aymara nodded, slipped a generous tip into her hand, and walked away before she could protest.

In the garden, Nathaniel stood beside his doctor, supported by the handles of his wheelchair. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, and his pale face looked almost translucent in the morning light.

When he looked up. His eyes landed on Aymara approaching the garden.

Nathaniel froze. For one terrible second, his lungs forgot how to work. His fingers clamped around the wheelchair handles, and a sharp ache spread through his chest... not the familiar pain of his illness, but something older, deeper, and far more humiliating.

She looked nothing like the woman he remembered: soft pink suit, straight hair, gentle curls, and ballerina shoes. That was the style his childhood friend Aymara used to wear, not the version that loved Dylan.

For one absurd moment, he wondered whether his illness had made him hallucinate.

Aymara hadn’t visited him in six years. She had ended their friendship, told him to stay away, and chosen Dylan and yet there she was, walking toward him.

The sight dragged every memory back: her laughter, her hand in his, the promises she had made, and the coldness in her voice when she told him he no longer belonged in her life.

He had spent six years teaching himself not to wait for her. Now his heart betrayed him before his mind could stop it.

She stopped an inch away and smiled. "Nate, hi."

The familiar nickname struck harder than it should have to the already stunned man. For one reckless moment, he wanted to ask why she had come and believe the years between them had been a nightmare.

Then anger smothered the impulse away. Nathaniel’s expression hardened. "Go away."

Her smile faltered.

He hated that he noticed, hated that some wounded part of him still cared whether he hurt her.

"I don’t want to see you," he said, his voice rough. "Not now. Not ever."

The words hurt, but she had expected rejection. She deserves it after discarding him like used paper and never looking back once.

"I understand."

"No, you don’t." His breath came unevenly, and the doctor shifted closer. Nathaniel ignored him. "You don’t get to walk back into my life wearing a smile and pretend nothing happened."

Aymara’s fingers curled at her sides. She wasn’t pretending that nothing had happened between them, no. She knew what she had done and was more than ready to own up to her mistakes.

"You should leave."

"You asked me not to leave six years ago," she said quietly. "I listened and I regretted it, Nate."

"Then listen again," he demanded. ’It’s not like you’ve had trouble doing so in the past,’ he thought bitterly.

His chest burned. He wanted her gone, yet some part of him wanted her to stay. The contradiction only sharpened his fury.

Aymara remembered her previous life: believing Dylan’s lies, abandoning Nathaniel, and finding him again on a sinking ocean when she was at her lowest. He had still come for her, saved her, and died for her.

She tightened her fingers. "But today, I’m not taking no for an answer."

Nathaniel gave a bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "You don’t get to decide that."

"I do today."

"After six years?" His eyes flashed. "You disappear out of my life, choose him, leave me wondering whether I ever mattered to you and now you show up acting like you can simply have a place in my life back?"

The accusation struck her harder than his rejection. He wasn’t having her presence and was clearly not open to listen to her excuses or explanations.

"I know what I did was wrong and you have every right to be mad..."

"No, you know what you want now." His voice cracked, and he looked away. "That isn’t the same thing."

Aymara stepped closer. "Nate..."

"Don’t call me that."

The command came out sharp, but his hand trembled against the wheelchair.

She noticed, as she always had, only now, when it was too late. Aymara turned to the doctor. "Doctor, Nathaniel is checking out from the hospital until further notice."

"He is?"

"No, I’m not," Nathaniel said. "When did I say I was?"

Aymara nodded toward the doctor and ignored Nathaniel’s denial. "He is."

"I said I’m not." Nathaniel glared at her. "You don’t own me, Aymara. So you don’t get to decide things for me."

The words landed between them. For a moment, she looked as though he had slapped her.

’Good,’ he thought viciously. ’Let her feel what it means to be rejected.’

Then guilt followed, nearly as fierce as his anger. Seeing her go silent, looking at him with wounded and pitiful eyes, he couldn’t help but feel like he was bullying her.

"Nate, you’re coming with me," she said in a matter-of-factly tone that left no room for negotiations.

"No, I am not," for some reason, his mouth was determined to defy Aymara even though a part of him was happy she was there and was asking... No, demanding for him to go with her.

"Fine."

Before he could react, Maisa struck at his neck. The move was swift and precise without inflicting any harm on him.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened, then his body went limp. Aymara caught him before he fell.

The doctor and nearby nurse stared at her in disbelief. They were surprised by her method but didn’t dare to say anything.

"Sorry," she said.

"Miss Ellington!" the doctor exclaimed. "That isn’t how hospital discharge works!"

Aymara helped Nathaniel into his wheelchair and secured him.

Six years ago, she had listened when Dylan told her to leave Nathaniel alone. This time, she wouldn’t listen to anyone, not even Nathaniel himself.

She pushed him toward the entrance as the doctor followed. "This is how mine works."

"You can’t just take a patient, Miss Ellington!"

"He’ll be safer with me, Doc."

"Aymara..."

"I’ll take responsibility for him. I promise, I have everything he needs to live well," she assured him. "Rest assured, he’s in good hands."

Nathaniel stirred faintly, his head lolling to one side. Even unconscious, his brow remained furrowed, as though he were still fighting her.

She looked down at him. "I know you hate me," she whispered. "You have every right to and I don’t blame you. I will protect you, whether you want me to or not."

The doctor eventually stopped. Perhaps he trusted her, or perhaps he simply had no idea what else to do.

Aymara didn’t care as she and Nathaniel were leaving. "I’ve been reborn for three reasons, Nate," she spoke even though he couldn’t hear her. "The first reason is to live well in the apocalypse. Second, I want to get revenge for our deaths and lastly, I want to spoil you unconditionally like you deserve."