While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

The morning sun stung June's eyes.

She was propped up against the stiff hospital pillows, staring at the screen of her phone.

The headline of the entertainment news site glared back at her: The Golden Couple of the Compton Empire.

Below it was a high-resolution photo of Cole and Alycia from the gala last night. They were laughing, their heads close together.

The door to the private room was shoved open with a violent force. It hit the wall with a loud bang.

Cole strode into the room.

He was still wearing the tuxedo pants and dress shirt from the night before. His tie was loosened. The sharp scent of expensive scotch and Alycia's floral perfume clung to his clothes, filling the sterile hospital room.

He didn't look at the medical chart hanging at the foot of the bed. He didn't look at the IV line taped to her pale hand.

His jaw was clenched tight. He stopped right next to her bed, glaring down at her.

"Are you done throwing your little tantrum?" Cole demanded, his voice dripping with venom. "Using an emergency room to get my attention? You've hit a new low, June."

June looked up at him.

His face, the face she had loved for four years, suddenly looked completely foreign to her.

"Get out," June said. Her voice was weak, but the tone was absolute ice.

Cole's eyes narrowed. He was used to her begging. He was used to her quiet submission. This sudden defiance felt like a direct challenge to his authority.

He leaned closer, his large hand snapping out to grip her chin. His fingers dug into her skin.

"You are my wife," Cole sneered, his breath hot against her face. "I have every right to be in this room."

June tried to pull her face away, but she was too weak. "Don't touch me."

Cole let out a dark, mocking laugh. "You staged this entire drama to drag me here from the most important night of my year. Don't pretend you didn't want me to touch you."

He let go of her chin and suddenly shoved her shoulders back against the pillows, his weight pressing down on the bedframe. The movement was rough, a punishment for her defiance.

Panic seized June's chest.

"Stop!" she screamed, her hands flying down to protect her freshly sutured abdomen. "I just had surgery!"

Cole's prejudice was a thick filter, blocking out all reason. To him, this was just another lie, another dramatic act to manipulate him. He reached across her, his knee pressing hard into the mattress to gain leverage, intending to intimidate her into silence.

The sudden, jarring pressure on the bed radiated directly to her torso. A sharp, tearing sound seemed to echo in June's head.

A blinding flash of agony ripped through her stomach. The stitches holding her flesh together snapped under the indirect but powerful strain.

"Ah!" June shrieked, her back arching off the bed. Her face turned the color of ash.

Cole froze. He felt her body go completely rigid beneath his hands.

He looked down.

A dark red stain was rapidly blooming across the white hospital gown, right over her lower abdomen. The blood seeped through the fabric, staining the pristine white sheets beneath her.

Cole stepped back quickly, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second.

But the shock quickly vanished behind a wall of cold indifference. He adjusted his cuffs, refusing to believe he had done any real damage.

"Is this what you wanted?" Cole sneered, looking at the blood. "To make a mess? You're pathetic."

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a custom ringtone. Alycia's ringtone.

Cole pulled it out and answered immediately. The harshness in his face melted away instantly.

"Hey, Alycia," he said softly, turning his back to June. "The doctors are saying it was just a minor scare, she's being dramatic. I know. I'm leaving right now. I'll be right there."

He ended the call and glanced over his shoulder at June.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered coldly. "Stop embarrassing the Compton name."

He walked out of the room, letting the heavy door click shut behind him.

June lay on the bed, gasping for air. The physical pain was excruciating, but the nausea churning in her stomach was worse. She felt physically sick at the thought that she had ever let that man touch her.

She reached out with a trembling hand and slammed the nurse call button.

A nurse rushed in seconds later. When she saw the pool of blood on the sheets, she gasped and ran to the hallway, screaming for a doctor.

The medical team rushed in. They ripped the gown open and began applying pressure to the torn surgical site. "She's hemorrhaging again! Get the crash cart! Page Dr. Evans, now!"

Through the chaos, June didn't make a sound. She stared at the ceiling. Her eyes, once soft and pleading, hardened into sharp glass.

Once the bleeding was stopped and she was stabilized for the second time in less than twelve hours, the doctor left with a stern warning that she was to remain on strict bed rest for at least another week. Any sudden movement could be fatal.

June waited until the room was empty. Every muscle in her core screamed in protest, but she ignored it.

She reached into her small handbag on the nightstand. She pulled out a folded stack of papers she had prepared weeks ago.

The divorce agreement.

She reached over and ripped the IV needle out of the back of her hand. A drop of blood welled up and fell, landing directly on the signature line of the paper.

June grabbed a pen. Her hand was shaking, but she pressed the tip hard against the paper, signing her name over the drop of blood.

Then, she looked at her left hand. The massive diamond ring felt heavy. It felt like a handcuff.

She pulled it off. It slid easily over her knuckle.

She placed the ring directly in the center of the divorce papers, leaving it on the nightstand where it couldn't be missed.

She picked up her phone and texted her best friend, Vera.

I'm done. I need out.

June didn't wait for a reply. She ignored the doctor's orders. She pulled her own clothes out of the small overnight bag Mrs. Lynch had carelessly packed.

She dressed herself, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood to keep from crying out in pain. Each movement was a slow, agonizing torture.

She walked out of the room, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

When she finally pushed through the sliding glass doors of the hospital lobby, the cold New York wind hit her face.

She looked back at the building one last time. She swore to herself, right then and there, that she would never bleed for Cole Compton again.