Blue surrounds her, pressing into her chest, filling her lungs, making her eyes water, and causing her to cough out a deathly series of blue.
She yanks the string meant to inflate her life jacket once more, fighting against the waves that pull her under. Just moments ago, she had experienced the most exhilarating thrill of her life. Her mother had finally booked a skydiving session for them. Overjoyed, she had always dreamed of skydiving, but her mother's constant worries about safety had kept her from experiencing it until now.
She had felt no fear when she jumped from that plane—nothing but pure adrenaline and freedom, her companions flying alongside her as they soared through the sky, watching everything below turn into tiny blobs of different-colored land. But now that she is in the water, she can't help the way her lungs expand with fear, her body getting crushed by the weight of the water that surrounds her.
She prays that the boat that was supposed to pick her and Damien up when they landed in the ocean can see her desperate flailing, the orange color of her parachute as the waves take her away. But every time she pushes herself to the surface, she sees no hope of being rescued, no boat in sight, and she wonders if she has landed too far from the designated spot.
A moment later, a huge wave crashes into her, pulling her under once more before she can take a large gulp of air. She feels herself being pulled deeper, her limbs aching as she fights against the waves. She senses the darkness creeping in on her as her limbs give in to exhaustion, her midnight blue eyes, much darker than the water, looking up at the sun shining above the surface as she sinks. Fear finally grips her; her inevitable drowning now feels all too real as she kicks her feet, but she has no energy to move, her limbs jerking as the ocean pulls her down.
There's movement—frantic and rhythmic—that captures her attention, even as fatigue begins to weigh her down, or is it the water in her lungs? She watches the flurry of motion until she can make out the face she least expected to come to her rescue.
Her eyes widen, though she can't do much as Damien approaches her, his arms wrapping around her before he pulls her weighted form up, breaking through the surface of the water. She tries to breathe, but there is no space left in her lungs for air. Water drips from her mouth as Damien squeezes her hard against his chest. "Fuck," she hears him cry as he pulls off his life jacket, putting it on her to help her stay afloat.
Her vision goes in and out of focus, her consciousness slipping as she chokes on water. She breathes into focus to find herself on a boat, coughing up water, with Damien hovering over her, his eyes bloodshot. He pumps his hands against her chest, making her cough up even more water. "Fuck, are you okay?" He slaps her cheek softly as if to wake her. If Serafina could frown, she would, confused by the worry marring his features. But she's too tired to do anything, coughing some more as he straightens her up, patting her back to ease her coughing.
"I thought I died," she wheezes, the situation feeling oddly funny to her now that the fear ebbs away. She's too tired to even lift herself off her husband's shoulder, coughing as more water leaves her lungs in momentary bursts.
The men behind her are apologizing profusely, their accents thick as they repeat "sorry" over and over again. She can't focus as Damien tells them to hurry and that she needs a hospital, her body shutting down due to fatigue. But this time, she isn't scared as she grasps the front of Damien's wet jumpsuit, holding onto him as she lets go.
"Did you do it?" she asks Damien later when they leave the hospital, her emergency exam and the legal paperwork having taken up most of the day. Now the sun is about to set, and she feels famished. Regaining her energy also means she can think—really think.
This is the first incident that has ever happened with the skydiving school they booked. Her legal team will be dealing with the issue henceforth. The fact that the boat was in the wrong place could be a coincidence; accidents happen. But Serafina can't shake her suspicions, her sixth sense telling her Damien has something to do with it.
"Do what?" Damien answers nonchalantly, the previous worry and tightness in his face gone. He is back to being his cocky self.
Serafina allows herself to feel a little bad, remembering how frantic Damien had looked when she opened her eyes on the boat, yet suspicions cloud her heart. She wets her bottom lip. "Did you plan it? Me drowning? I can't help but be skeptical. Why was a boat at your landing location but not at mine?"
He lets out a dry chuckle, rolling his heterochromatic eyes before peering at her, amusement in his gaze. "Why did I save you then? The divers didn't locate you, princess. I did," he shrugs as he starts the car, driving out of the hospital.
"I don't know. But you can't be innocent in all this; I refuse to believe that," she grits her teeth, taken aback by his laid-back attitude.
"Well, believe what you may, angel. But I didn't do anything," he shrugs, his hands rising in a surrendering position before they settle back on the wheel. "Darling, the day I want you dead, you won't see the next dawn."
She gulps, watching as the red light turns green, rubbing at her arm as if cold, trying to mask the goosebumps that dot her skin due to his threat. "So it isn't a matter of 'if'; it's a matter of 'when'?" she asks, only getting a smirk in return that enrages her even more. "So what, you're threatening me now?" she bristles.
"Not a threat, kitten. It's a promise," and she feels her blood run cold.
"When will this honeymoon be over?" she hears her whine, huffing begrudgingly like a child as she settles into the fresh linen sheets of her bed.
"Are you asking me, or is it a rhetorical question?" he asks, preening at the huff she lets out. He dips his cigar in his whiskey, perched in the armchair in front of the open balcony doors, carefree, yet weighed down by thoughts—a consistent buzz of contradicting emotions.
"I'm tired of sharing a bed," she grumbles to herself, hugging a pillow as amber and blue eyes study her, watching her twist and turn as she looks for a comfortable position to lie in.
"Yet, you are out like a light on all the few nights that we have shared that bed," he muses, not wanting to tease her but unable to help himself. The side of her face he can see from his position on the chair reddens, a blush dusting the top of her cheekbones and the tip of her little ear. He bites his lip to suppress the chuckle that threatens to break free.
Surprisingly, Serafina Phoenix Falcon has a cute side, one that he can't help but exploit now that he has discovered it.
"God forbid a girl is tired," she pouts to herself, hugging the sheets tighter. This time, Damien doesn't reply, letting her frown to herself in expectation of his retort before those midnight blue eyes close, succumbing to sleep.
He exhales a breath of smoke as he rests his head back against the headrest, rocking as amber-blue eyes peer at the wooden ceiling.
A beat later, he hears the sound of fear-filled gasps filling the space as her cherried lips part, straight brows furrowing as her sweet face scrunches under the influence of pain-laden dreams.
Scarlet tattooed hand flexs over the armrest of the rocking chair, a shot of pain flashing across the length of his right arm and he takes another sip of whiskey, pulls a puff of poisonous smoke as he closes his eyes, ignoring the call within him that urges him to comfort the whimpering form in his bed.
*