Chapter 650
The nurse, just finishing her rounds, jumped at the sudden sound. Her first instinct was to turn off the machine. Then, she turned to Zola and asked, “What are you doing? Your condition is still critical. You need to be hooked up to these machines.”
“Don’t try to save me. Living like this is torture,” Zola replied, sitting up. Her pale complexion made her look particularly pitiful. “Please, just give me a quick death.”
As the young nurse attended to her duties, she said, “Your situation is special here. If you need anything, just let me know, and I can call the guard outside.”
“There’s nothing special about me. I was once cherished by my parents, much like yours cherish you,” Zola sighed deeply. “Now, I can’t even see them. What’s the point?”
The nurse, already feeling empathetic, became visibly unsettled. “Please, don’t talk like that. As long as you’re alive, there’s hope you might see them again.”
Zola closed her eyes and said, “No, there’s no hope. I’m on death row, and visits aren’t allowed.”
“Death row?” The nurse’s heart sank as the gravity of Zola’s situation became clear. Sympathy mixed with the realization of Zola’s crimes.
Feeling awkward and not knowing what else to say, the nurse focused on her tasks, staying quiet to avoid delving into the heavy subject.
“Could I ask a favor?” Zola looked toward the nurse. “May I use your phone for just a moment?”
“What do you need it for?” The nurse’s pulse quickened. She was wary of potentially aiding a dangerous plan, such as an escape or an illegal communication. Negative scenarios ran through her mind, and she nearly said no.
Zola quickly added, “I just want to call the only person I care about now. You can monitor the call if that makes you feel safer.”
Zola’s expression was filled with a desperate yearning to connect with her loved one.
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Moved, the nurse pulled out her phone from her coat and unlocked it.
As Zola accepted the phone from the nurse, tears streamed down her face. Her voice choked up, making it hard for her to speak.
“I’ll be just outside the door. You have five minutes,” the nurse said. She preferred not to listen to a potentially painful conversation and stepped out of the room.
Once alone, Zola wiped away her tears and quickly made the call.
After only a few rings, the call connected. Laughter and voices could be heard in the background on the other end of the line.
“Hello,” came a familiar male voice.
Zola tightened her grip on the phone.
The man asked, “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Zola.” Zola steadied her breathing. “Kian, have you really sunk this low? Hanging out in low-end bars now instead of upscale clubs?”
The loud, tacky music blared in the background, and the chaos of the cheap bar was evident.
.