Open your eyes, Ana Maria. I know you can hear me...

That voice was low, with an agreeable trace of love and care. I knew that voice, it always soothed me.

Open your eyes baby, we're late.

My eyes fluttered open, staring at the face levitating above me. My beautiful mother smiled; her dimples curved like gentle commas. Her natural hair cascaded to the top of her cheek. She had a radiant face with brilliant shine and a high arched nose.

"Mommy?"

"Good Morning my baby, we're late for your appointment with the doctor. Get up!" She shoved the heavy, silk covers off my body and pulled me out of the bed. "Your father is having breakfast downstairs in the dining room, waiting, get in the shower!"

I groaned and sat.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "How is your heart?"

Running a warm hand across my chest, I gently massaged. "I feel okay."

She walked away – her elegant kitenge dress swinging from left to right – to the window and pulled back the drapes. The sunlight bounced into my inner sanctum of discarded clothes and empty coffee cups, illuminating the pink tiles.

Something didn't feel right. Was this a sick joke?

My mother turned to me and smiled, that beautiful smile I had missed so much. I couldn't shake the sickening feeling etched in my gut. Something was wrong. I fell back onto my bed like someone pulled my body in the opposite direction. Away from the person I loved the most.

"Mom!" I screamed, clutching onto my chest. She ran towards me without hesitation and pulled me into a hug. "What's happening to me?"

She grabbed me by my face and forced me to look into her eyes. "It's gonna be okay. I love you so much, my little girl. I need you to open your eyes."

I fought to get out of her arms. "What's wrong with you, my eyes are open."

"Open your eyes Maria...open your eyes for your mother."

"Mom!"

"Open your eyes..."

"Mommy, stop! "

"...Maria"

"My baby..."

"...Open your eyes."

I opened my eyes to a plethora of lights; blinding and uncomfortable. I couldn't think of why my heart pounded as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into my veins. I strained in the light.

"Mom?"

There was no answer.

I tried to move, to sit on my bed, but couldn't. Pain throbbed in my guts, deep and warm, but unpleasant. My head pounded, my legs felt like they had been tied to a post and my ribs like I had rammed into a wall repeatedly.

"Mommy?"

It took me another second before I registered, I was in unknown territory and panic gripped me. I wasn't home, in our house, with my mother. I'd lost that years ago. A heaviness filled my chest as everything started falling into place. She wasn't here, my mom hadn't been to my room to wake me up like she had done every morning. It had all been a bad, cruel dream. I was still all alone.

The fact that I wasn't in my flat either hit me a few seconds later. The last thing I could recall was that I headed home. Where was I?

Gordon.

I had finally been kidnapped by the neighbourhood drunk. He had kept his word and taken me to be his wife by force. Fright consumed every cell in my body, swelling them with terror. I strained my vocals, but nothing came out.

Suddenly, strong hands grabbed my shoulders. Inching a little nearer, I breathed in their scent which was nothing not all like Gordon's, who always had a hint of tobacco smoke and alcohol lingering about his person. This person's scent was glamorous, sumptuous and unique. It made the situation worse. At least with Gordon, no matter how crazy he was, he wouldn't hurt me.

I kicked into the air.

"Will you relax." A deep voice ordered, and I became rigid. "You're in the hospital. You were involved in a car accident. I won't hurt you."

Suddenly, everything made sense; the sticky anti-septic smell, the bright fluorescent-lit room and the perpetual beep-beep-beep. Leaning back, I stared into the small eyes that met mine – glossy and brown. I found myself mesmerized, getting lost in them. The face could be described as "rugged", stern, even a little melancholy. He had a commanding bone structure, a square even brow, a nose that appeared to end in a blunt plane rather than a point.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

He was uncomfortably close to me, if I puckered my lips, they would touch his.

"My name is Edward."

I had no idea why he was whispering too.

"Edward..." His name danced on my tongue. I sought his eyes under the fluorescent light, taking note of the dark cloud in them. "You're crowding my space, Edward, and it's creeping me out."

"Sorry."

The emotions in his eyes disappeared behind a shutter as he straightened up and squared his shoulders. The grey jacket that he had over his attire revealed the kind of weather engulfing the city. He radiated an air of quiet confidence, but I detected no arrogance in his demeanour. The three-button suit tailored underneath the jacket precisely matched the contours of his body, giving him a lithesome appearance, yet there was nothing effeminate in his bearing.

"How are you feeling?"

"Worse than I look, I'm sure." I glanced down at the hideous hospital gown covering my frail body in disgust. "Are you the doctor? What happened to me?"

He shifted his weight between the heels of his feet. "I did."

I glowered at him. "Thank you so much, Edward, for clarifying everything for me. I mean here I was confused, a million questions running through my mind, but your two words just put everything into perspective."

His lips quirked into a faint smile. "Sarcastic? I'll take that to you scaring me to death."

"Why would I scare you? I don't know you."

"I happen to be the unfortunate gentleman that hit you with his car."

I tried to sit but a gush of pain ran through my body eliciting a guttural response. Giving up the battle, I met his gaze. "I was...what? I don't remember."

"Everything happened so fast..."

My hand jumped to my chest, fingers running past the scar across.

"Your heart is fine," he said. "Your doctor said that you were very lucky. He told me about your heart condition."

"Yes. I was born with congenital heart disease, specifically the valvular insufficiency."

"Is the scar from your heart transplant?"

I nodded.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

He rubbed his beard. "About two weeks."

I tried to stretch but the agony in my midsection registered without delay and I groaned. I held my breath until the pain subsided. The room looked like an expensive coffee shop. There were flowers, beautiful paintings, leather chairs and a beautiful musician cooing in the back through the speakers. On the wall was a plasma screen. The bed too comfortable for it to be public. Was I in a private hospital?

"What hospital is this?"

He sat in the leather chair. "Aga Khan."

Immediately, I pushed the covers away and extended my hand for a little help. "Sir, I have to get out of here."

He caught my gaze, surprise registering on his face. "Why?"

"I can barely afford a full day's meal. I can't even begin to imagine what will happen when they realize that I can't pay for the two weeks. I can't..."

"I took care of it," he cut me off.

I lay back, astounded. I didn't know what to say. He knew nothing about me, yet he had paid for my bill. There had to be an explanation as to why he felt obligated to do that. Good people like that didn't exist anymore and if they did, they were very few and far apart.

"Why?"

"Hospital policy prevented you from being treated. I couldn't live without myself if I didn't pay. It was the only way they could treat you."

Judgement rode the tone of his voice. I was used to it by now. No one knew what I had been through the past two years, so they judged me off what I offered. Somewhere down the line, it stopped bothering me.

"Thank you." I played with my fingers. It was something I did when I was nervous, a bad habit. "Don't worry, I won't ask anything of you again and I'll be sure to pay back every cent."

"Really? At this moment, you could get anything from me if you asked."

Slow anger slithered through me. "You think I'd take advantage of your generosity because I'm a street hawker?"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. With your heart condition and the medication that you need, I doubt hawking caters for much."

"I'm not ashamed. Apart from streetwalking, I work at a hospital. Also, there are far more important things in life than money. I'm very grateful you paid for my hospital bill and stayed to ensure that I was okay. Not many people would have done what you did. I would never take advantage of that."

Quietly, he glared at me. "I have offended you."

"No shit, Sherlock," I muttered under my breath.

His inconsiderate comment lingered in the silence between us. I counted the seconds, but he showed no signs of an apology. Prick.

"Was it bad?"

He leaned back in the leather seat and crossed his left leg over his right. Even seated, he appeared menacing. "What?"

"The accident."

"Yes, you probably haven't noticed but you won't be able to walk for a while."

Suddenly, my head was a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing my mind into blackness. I sat too fast, trying to look at my legs. It was a bad idea. The pain was so unbearable that I ended up falling back on the bed screaming.

Edward jumped to my side and held me down. "Relax, it's okay."

He repeated those words, rocking my body until I stopped screaming. I clung on to his arms, breathing slowly as the pain abated. "I don't have months; I can't survive without being able to walk. It's not okay."