Page 1 of The Lies We Play

Chapter One

Livia

Now . . .

The first thing I hear is a low mechanical beep—proof I didn’t die.

Then, a woman’s voice somewhere beyond my body. Rubber soles connecting with tile.

My own breath dragging in and out like it needs written instructions, a signature, three follow-up emails, and possibly a notarized affidavit before it can commit to the simple act of keeping me alive.

Fantastic.

Even semi-unconscious, I remain project manager of a failing department.

Then pain finds me.

Not in one grand sweep, because apparently my body has no respect for structure.

It arrives in pieces, a deeply disorganized committee of suffering. First, my ribs. Then, the shoulder, followed by my skull. Finally, my jaw. Which brings me to my mouth. It tastes like pennies, plastic, and every bad decision I have ever tried to schedule around instead of confronting.

My left hand twitches against the sheet.

I open my eyes and stare at it.

For several seconds, maybe longer, I have no idea why this random hand is in my hospital bed.

Then I realize it indeed belongs to me. That should scare me. Wait . . . actually, it does.

I tell my fingers to move again.

They do, barely.

I tell my hand to lift.

It doesn’t.

A laugh climbs out of me, ugly and panicked, except it breaks halfway through and becomes a sound pathetic enough to make someone hurry over.

“Livia?” a nurse says. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Sweetheart.

I hate the tone immediately.

I don’t know why. In fact, I don’t know anything useful. I don’t know where I am, or why my body feels like someone took me apart, lost interest halfway through reassembly, then submitted me anyway. I only know this woman has two fingers at my wrist, her face is soft with professional concern, while the question inside me claws its way up through all the pain.

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

“Don’t try to talk yet,” she says gently. “We just took the tubes out. But you’re okay.”

Tubes? Okay?

Labeled folders and matching socks are okay. A calendar invite sent with a clear agenda is okay. Knowing where your hand is without staring at it like it missed onboarding is okay.

I am definitely not okay.