It’s been two weeks since I woke up from the coma.
The first week was spent in the hospital and passed in a blur of tests, rehab, and a lot of fucking noise.
It was filled with pitiful looks from the friends I grew up with all my life and with meaningless, needless sympathy.
There was a jumble of motion, words, and sensations. I barely remember anything aside from Mum’s tears and the innate need to put a stop to them.
She was both happy and sad, and I still have no clue why she was sad.
Was it the fact that I was hurt or did she see the look in my eyes?
Did she peek beneath the surface and uncover the façade I used as camouflage?
I didn’t get to ask that question after I was discharged a few days ago. My parents brought me home with them and I didn’t protest. At least this way, I can escape the faces dripping with pity.
I can stay away from their mine-filled conversations that always somehow lead back to how I got shot.
Or more like the person who shot me.
Her.
My nemesis and my damnation.
I’ve successfully avoided the subject by pretending to be tired or sleepy. A privilege I’ll soon lose since my wound is healing—the stitches have almost all dissolved into my skin, leaving a hole near my upper chest.
“A few centimeters to the right and the bullet would’ve gotten his heart,” is what I heard the doctor tell my father.
And I’m left here wondering why those centimeters didn’t happen.
I wanted to die.
I should’ve fucking died, so how come I’m still breathing?
That question has been living in my head rent-free ever since I woke up and I still can’t find an answer.
Which is why I’m ‘recuperating.’ Though I’m not sure that’s the right word with the world war atmosphere I find myself in.
As the rain hammers down outside, I sit in the playroom downstairs, my fingers patting a surprisingly docile Tiger. I brought him with me from the island, despite Brandon’s protests.
He FaceTimes me every day and I just show him the cat because that’s what he’s interested in.
It’s mind-boggling how Tiger remains soundlessly asleep in the current situation.
My grandparents from my mother’s and father’s sides have come to visit. At the same time.
And to make things worse, Grandpa Jonathan, Dad’s father, thought it was a marvelous idea to play a game of chess against Grandpa Ethan, Mum’s father.
They’re supposed to be friends, or were some sort of friends, but that’s not the current atmosphere. Probably because Grandpa Agnus, Grandpa Ethan’s husband, can’t and won’t stand Grandpa Jonathan. A known fact since I was a kid.
I sit across from them, sipping some herbal drink Mum gave me and choosing to be engrossed in the scene in front of me instead of getting lost in my fucked-up head.
Grandpa Jonathan pushes his rook a few rows forward. He’s an older version of Dad and Eli with his black hair that’s streaked with white and his merciless gray eyes. “You were never able to win against me, Ethan. Give it up.”
“At your funeral.” Grandpa Ethan blocks his move with his rook and grins. He looks the youngest of the three, despite being the same age as them.
It’s probably due to his blond hair, which he passed down to Mum, and the generally pleasant expression he wears at all times.
Grandpa Agnus is the most silent and absolutely unapproachable out of the three. He has a generally grim expression, never smiles, jokes around, or allows anyone to get close to his husband unless they’re ready to suffer a severed limb.
He’s always been my favorite. Probably because we silently understand one another.
While everyone was fawning over me, he methodically kicked them out so I could rest. Grandpa Ethan still manipulated him to let him and Mum come see me, though.
“That was a rookie mistake.” Grandpa Jonathan grins with pure mischief as he eats the white knight.
Grandpa Agnus, who’s sitting on the armrest of Grandpa Ethan’s chair, leans over and whispers something in his ear.
“No cheating, Agnus,” Grandpa Jonathan says. “Two to one is not happening.”
“Who says it’s two?” Grandpa Ethan interlinks his fingers with his husband’s and smiles with mischief. “We’re one.”
A rare smile twitches Grandpa Agnus’s lips and Grandpa Jonathan’s expression pulls downward. “Such a revolting sight.”
“Someone is jealous. Maybe you should join your wife outside.”
“You might want to wipe that, Jonathan,” Grandpa Agnus says with a neutral expression. “It’s dripping all over the floor.”
“Are you sure it’s not your jealousy that’s messing up the floor, Agnus?”
“Mine?”
“If I remember correctly, I received a bunch of drunken texts from you not too long ago.”
“Texts?” Grandpa Ethan stares between them. “What type of texts?”
“Since when do you even check your texts?” Grandpa Agnus asks with a tight voice.
“Since they’re from you. I admit, I was thoroughly entertained and even learned them by heart for a moment like this.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“They said, and I quote, ‘Fuck you, Jonathan, for being able to share all those threesomes with Ethan. I’m surprised I didn’t kill you.’ Another one went on like this, ‘You knew my feelings very well and still provoked me. Rot in hell. I know I’m going there, too, but I’ll make sure I have a room opposite yours so I can watch you burn for eternity.’ My personal favorite, however, is ‘Bet you thought I would never make him mine, you bloody sod. Touch him again and I will kill you.’ I must say, I fancy drunk Agnus. He’s much less dull than the one in front of me.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Grandpa Agnus deadpans, then stares down at his husband. “And stop smiling.”
“Come now, this is amusing.” Grandpa Ethan strokes his hand. “If I’d known you held this type of jealousy all these years, I would’ve done something about it.”
Grandpa Agnus doesn’t appear amused as he stands, throws one last glare at Grandpa Jonathan, and leaves after a nod in my direction.
Grandpa Ethan hits Grandpa Jonathan on the shoulder. “I owe you one, Jonny.” Then he follows after his husband.
He stops at the entrance, pats my arm, and leaves.
“Bunch of little fuckers,” Grandpa mutters under his breath as he stands up.
“Did you have to do that?” I ask.
“How else will I get a reaction out of Agnus? Though I believe I might have unintentionally done him a favor and brought them closer. It’s unfortunate how Ethan never understood how to go with the flow.” He halts in front of me. “Do you need anything?”
Aside from going back into a coma and never waking up? I shake my head.
“If you want to escape your parents, come to my house.” Grandpa ruffles my hair as if I were still a child. “Get well soon, kid. I mean it.”
And then he’s out the door, probably to get my nan and leave. She’s been there with Mum every step of the way, fawning over me, and making sure I’m comfortable.
That means she’s given less attention to Grandpa.
He’s never liked sharing Nana’s time with anyone, including his grandkids. Except for Glyn. She’s always had an all-access card to Grandpa’s mansion.
Now, apparently, I do, too, since he invited me over.
I’m staring at the rain, absentmindedly patting Tiger’s head when Mum comes in carrying a plate full of all sorts of food.
She’s wearing a beautiful white dress that makes her look younger. The dark circles and bloodshot eyes eventually disappeared as I was getting better, and she’s been dedicating her life to becoming my personal chef.
Something she really sucks at—cooking, I mean—but Dad, Eli, and I choose not to tell her that fact.
It’s how I managed to eat all of Annika’s horrible dishes when everyone else avoided them like the plague.
My wound itches at those memories, tingling and burning, and it takes everything in me not to rip the stitches open.
As if feeling my distress, Tiger jumps from my lap and chooses the chesterfield sofa as his next sleeping spot.
Mum places the tray on the small table in front of me and stares at the door. “What happened? Why did Agnus look mad and Dad actually seem happy about it? And does it have to do with Jonathan’s smug expression?”
“Definitely. But you don’t want to know about it.”
“You’re probably right.” She strokes my hair away from my face. “You need a cut. Or not. I like the new look, actually. What do you think?”
“I don’t have a preference.”
“Why, of course you do.”
“I don’t, Mum.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Do you want to go back to school?”
I stare at the tiny droplets of rain that dust the tall windows. “Don’t care either way.”
“Are you mad at me, Creigh?”
My gaze slides to her wretched-looking expression and I frown. “No. Why would I be?”
“Because we hid the truth and ever since you found out about it, nothing good has happened.”
Thanks to Landon’s big mouth, Dad found out everything that went down, but Mum still believed it was a robbery gone wrong. But she had a hunch that no one was telling her the whole truth, so Eli gave her a recounting of events.
Like me, he hates to put her health in jeopardy, but we don’t like hiding the truth from her either.
After all, she’s the woman who gave me unconditional love when she didn’t have to.
“I’m not mad at you, Mum. I’m mad at myself for digging deeper, for not respecting your wishes and keeping the past where it belonged. If I had, if I’d given up after you told me to, I wouldn’t have been standing at this edge of in-between. I wouldn’t have lost…everything.”
“Oh, Creigh. You didn’t lose everything.” She grabs my hands in hers. “You have us. No matter what happens, no matter what the world, nature, or science says, you’re my son. You became my son the first day I met you in that room at the shelter. You were so scrawny and small, but you didn’t hide. You stood up from that bed on your tiny feet and stared at us with these beautiful inquisitive eyes. They held so much pain, so much torture, but they had a lot of hope, too. Hope for a different life, hope to move past your trauma, and hope to actually find a family again. You looked at us like we were already your parents, and I fell in love at first sight. And believe me, I’ve never fallen in love at first sight, not even with your father, not even with your brother—since I gradually fell in love with him during the nine months of pregnancy, but you, you’re different, baby. You’re the one I’d fall in love with over and over again if I had to. I’d kill your demons for you. If I’m ever reborn, I’d sacrifice myself if it meant I’d get to have you as my son again. So please, if you have any issues, talk to me, or your father, or Eli. Don’t just battle your demons on your own. Don’t just…leave us.”
She’s flat-out crying, my mum. Her tears cling to her chin, and that wretchedness fills her once bright blue eyes again.
Is this what I do? Put darkness in the place of light?
Destroy everything I touch?
These are the thoughts she must’ve had ever since I woke up in the hospital, or maybe since she found out that I’d been shot and the reason behind it.
She probably thinks she’s not enough, which is why I wanted to die.
“I know I didn’t give birth to you, but I felt like your mother since the moment I met you. The first time you called me Mum was one of the happiest moments of my life, and I’ll always, always consider you my flesh and blood.”
“I never considered you any less. That woman who gave birth to me was never my mother, you are. And that scum who donated the sperm isn’t my father, Dad is.”
A soft frown etches across her features. “Then why were you so bent on avenging them?”
“I wasn’t avenging them, I was avenging myself. I wanted closure for the weak three-year-old version of me.” I hold my head between my hands. “But I ended up fucking it all up.”
“Oh, baby.” Mum leans my head against her chest and strokes my hair, silently offering me her support.
No clue if it’s due to that or the weight of all the events catching up to me, but I confess it all.
“I wanted her to kill me, Mum. I wanted the one person who made me feel alive to shoot me. I would’ve died and ended it all and she’d never forget about me. I wanted her to not be able to move past me. I wanted to be a stain on her life forever so whenever she looked in the mirror, she saw my shadow. I wanted to haunt her, to prevent her from being with anyone else after me. How fucked up is that?”
“You were just on a high of emotions.” Her voice is soft, soothing, and holds not an ounce of judgement.
Because that’s how mothers are.
“No.” I pull back and tap my chest, where the wound is. “I still wish I could go back in time and make her kill me properly. That way, I wouldn’t feel so fucking empty knowing I lost her for good.”
“Nonsense.” Dad leans against the doorway, arms crossed, probably having listened to the whole conversation. “There’s no such thing as losing someone for good if you put your head into it. I admit that I wanted that bloody mafia miss out of your life for daring to hurt you, and I threatened her to stay the hell away from you, by the way. But if you want her, go for it. I’ll back you up.”
“Aiden.” Mum wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “How can you say that? If he goes to the States, her father will kill him.”
“Not if I have a say in it.” Dad raises a brow. “Let me ask you, Creigh. Do you want to go after her?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“We’re ill-fated.”
“Bullshit. You’re just letting fear of rejection get the better of you. I didn’t know I had a coward of a son.”
“Aiden!” Mum reprimands again.
“It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?” he cuts me off. “You expect me to believe you’re over her when you vehemently refused to press charges against her? You were barely speaking at the time, but you begged me not to bring her name up to the police. I won’t tell you what to do, but I’ll tell you this, son. If you let her go, someone else will swoop in and take her.”
Hot fire spreads in my chest with the lethality of an erupting volcano. That thought has been plaguing my waking and sleeping moments. Images of Annika with another man have left me mad and with a sense of trepidation. Especially since I overheard Cecily and Glyn say that she might be arranged to marry some mafia man, after all.
“I just…can’t forgive her parents. I won’t. I can’t. And I know how much she loves them.”
“And you’re scared she’ll choose them like she chose her brother?” Mum asks in a soft voice. At my nod, she strokes my cheek. “If that’s the choice she makes, then she doesn’t deserve you, baby.”
“What your mother said,” Dad agrees. “If she doesn’t recognize your worth or hurts you again, you’ll know her nature and that way, you’ll be able to move on. For good.”
I mull their words over in my head as a crazy and utterly twisted idea forms. One that I’m sure Dad will help with.
Because he cares about me.
And so does Mum.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you doubt how important you are to me. I’m lucky to be your son.”
Mum holds both hands to her chest, tears glistening in her eyes. “Now you went and made me emotional. Be right back. I’ll bring biscuits; they must be ready.”
She passes by Dad, kisses him on the cheek, then disappears to get more of her creations.
Dad takes her place and grabs one of the weird-looking things she brought earlier.
“Mum made those,” I warn.
“And some of them have to be eaten or she’ll be sad.” He doesn’t even wince as he crunches on what should be a muffin. “She never wanted to learn to cook until she found out you love food so much. She tried hard to be accepted by you.” I grab a muffin, but Dad shakes his head. “You’re sick. I’ll eat them.”
“Don’t even try to be cool. I’m not that sick and I can handle these. After all, she made them for me.” I wince at the overly-cooked thing. “Have you heard the part where she fell in love with me at first sight? Something that didn’t happen with you or Eli?”
He narrows his eyes. “You get a pass for being sick.”
“That means I’m more important than you two.”
“Don’t push it. And quit channeling Eli or I’ll smack you. Sick or not.”
“I brought biscuits.” Mum rushes back in with half-burnt biscuits that look like murdered Smurfs.
Dad and I groan, but we eat every last bite.
And that idea from earlier? It’s becoming more of a reality with every passing second.
