Bright white fluorescent lights bled through my eyelids, making them burn a bright red. The moistness of bandages and cold sweats made the sheets stick to my skin—an uncomfortable texture that made me want to run. But, I wasn’t going anywhere. I felt pangs all over me—in my ribs, in my head, in my stomach, in my legs, everywhere. Every move or ache reverberated throughout my entire body.

There was chatter here and there, but I couldn’t understand a word. My ears still rang.

After a while of trying to piece together sentences, I realized there was one thing I could hear.

Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…

The slow beeps of a heart monitor. Every few seconds, it got slower and slower. I was fading away.

The thought of it teared through my chest and rose into my throat, and, in its pain, I shed a tear.

Am I dying? Am I really dying?

Regrets ran through my mind. How I wished I’d talked to my mother one last time…How I wished I had made better choices…How I wished I had spent this last day somehow else besides going to a bar and drunk calling my father. But, what did it matter? I couldn’t stop this, and, even if I could, how could I change anything?

In the quiet darkness of impending silence, whispers echoed in my head. At first, they were incomprehensible, nonsense words that were shifted and jumbled together, but, in seconds, they got clearer and clearer.

“Give me your soul, and I shall make things right,” a voice said in raspy tones. I felt a hand lay upon my shoulder, heavy but calming.

“Give me your soul,” it said again. This time, it was even clearer. I could make out a man’s voice, raspy and gritty and deep.

The pain in my chest grew deeper, gripping my heart and making me suffocate. Streams of hot tears slid from the corners of my eyes and pooled in my ears.

“I c-can’t give you m-my soul,” I coughed out. I could hear my own raspy voice struggling to form words. I had to hold to some of my dignity, even if this was just some odd deathly hallucination.

“I can make you live again,” he said.

“I can’t give you my soul,” I repeated.

A presence moved closer to me; though I could not see it, I could feel it. It drew nearer and nearer, getting close enough to my ear that I could feel its hot breath grace my neck.

“Then rest.”

…

Birds chirping. A breeze whisking past the trees and grazing my cheek. The fragrances of fresh flowers, earthy soil, and rain. It all reminded me of summer days camping with my mother.

For a moment, I thought it was all real—until I realized I was supposed to be dead.

Perhaps this is heaven, I thought. Blinking once, blinking twice, I opened my eyes.

No, actually, where the fuck am I? I couldn’t quite believe what I saw. Lush rose gold sheets and drapery accented with a deep browned gold. Baskets of flowers hung at every corner, and beautiful, decorative gold vases were strewn about the room. The walls were all a pale pink shade. I myself was wearing a loose white nightgown, trimmed with lace.

“Do you like it?” A voice rang, the very same voice that had whispered to me. I twisted toward the sound. There he was again—the man with the silver eyes. He was laid back, legs crossed, in velvety burgundy chair, lined with gold accents. Leaning to one side, he held his head against his hand, and the other arm rested lazily against the armrest. In the shimmering shine of the soft yellow morning light, I realized that, just like his eyes, his hair was silver, too.

Waves of silver hair curtained his face and reached just past his shoulders, falling against his supporting arm. In the sunlight, it shined so brightly that it nearly hurt my eyes. The man himself even seemed to reflect the sunlight. He wore a loose-fitting white dress shirt, which was only buttoned at the very last three, revealing his chest, and tight white slacks. His face was almost expressionless. The least I could tell was that he expected something from me.

“You or the room?” I blurted out. I tried to hide my discomfort with a laugh.

After a moment of silence, he smiled, “I’ll gladly take your opinion on either, but, for now, how’s the room?” He laid his foot against the floor, planting them both firmly onto the hardwood and leaning in close.

“Then, uhh… Who knew heaven could be so luxurious, huh? I mean, of course, you’d know, though, since you’re an angel, right? That’s why I saw you that night, just before I died?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Something like that, yes. But, I should deliver the good news, Vivian… You’re not dead.”

My heart thumped into my chest. My brows furrowed. I looked about the room. Yeah, of course, I guess. I remarked to myself. “But, I died. I mean, I got hit by a car, and then I was in the hospital, and then you… Wait, did I give you my soul? I-I thought I--” He neared me, getting even closer this time, and placed a hand against my cheek. His silver eyes pierced into mine. His presence was like an unrelenting pressure that was so calming, a force to be reckoned with, but, at the same time, a force to let in.

“Relax. I haven’t taken your soul…yet,” he said slowly.

“Are you…a demon, then?” I queried.

“Something like that.”