VOICES.
So many voices thunder around me.
All familiar, all so loud. I want to tell them to shut up, to stop arguing, but my mouth won’t move.
One is louder than the others, angrier, hiding fear behind a wall of rage. “Why the hell isn’t she waking up?”
“I don’t know,” a calmer voice, one I can’t place, replies.
“You said she was okay!”
“I said she was stable,” the calm one amends. It says something else but I lose track of the words. They get muddled in my brain, a string of useless letters that I can’t decipher.
Someone else is talking too. A serene, lilting tone that makes my heart thud. They’re right beside me, so close I can feel their breath, whispering foreign words I can’t understand but I recognize the desperation instilled in them, the pleading and the hopelessness.
“Querida,” they rasp, sending prickles down my spine because I know that word, I know it so damn well. I yearn to open my eyes, to reply, but my body won’t obey. “I need you to wake up now.”
I’m trying, I want to yell. I’m really trying.
“I need you to tell the bright white light to fuck off, okay?” The voice is trembling, so full of pain that it hurts me because I somehow know that I’m the source of it. I feel pressure against my forehead, hot wet droplets burning my skin. “Please, Amelia. I need you. Please come back to me.”
I’m trying.
Everything hurts.
Pain radiates throughout my body, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. I swear, even my eyelids and my fingernails ache.
With a hundred times more effort than it should take, I peel one eye open, then the other, only to swiftly close both with a mangled whine when bright, offensive light pummels me.
Try again, an inner voice urges.
Another inhuman noise scratches my throat as I force my eyes to re-open, blinking rapidly to clear the groggy film blanketing my senses.
A white-tiled ceiling greets me. A beeping noise rings in my ears like an insufferable alarm. Something heavy sits on my leg, weighing me down, while something cold pinches my hand. I’m in a hospital, that much I know, but everything is terrifyingly unfamiliar, confusing to the point of hysteria, but when my head flops to the side, a wave of comforting calm washes over me.
Passed out in the uncomfortable-looking armchair poised beside my bed, his hand clutching mine, is Cass. Scruffy and exhausted, he looks like he’s had a falling out with his bed and his shower. I almost feel bad for waking him but my need to know what the hell is going on wins out.
I try to squeeze his hand but my weak one won’t cooperate so I croak his name instead. It’s barely audible yet still, he jolts awake. Sleepy disorientation clears the moment his gaze lands on me. “Holy shit,” he exclaims, shooting upright. “You’re awake.”
A choked cough comes out instead of the reply I intended. Instantly, Cass helps me sit up, snatching up a plastic cup from the bedside table. My parched throat screams in relief as I greedily chug blissfully cold water. When I’m done, I slump back onto the bed again, my body spent from even the simplest of movements.
“Where’s Nick?” I successfully manage to croak out. I know he was here before; I heard him, I felt him.
“He just left,” Cass informs me softly. “Your dad is here too, he stepped out to speak to the doctor.”
My dad’s here? Why is my dad here? Did I know my dad was here? A million questions run through my mind, each of them met with a black hole of oblivion. “What happened?”
Cass stiffens, frowning slightly and avoiding eye contact. “You don’t remember?”
The second the question leaves his lips, it all comes flooding back.
Dylan, Atlas, getting in my car, someone following me. I remember the song, and then the blaring sound of a horn.
And then, nothing.
“Car crash?” I weakly seek clarification. Cass nods solemnly and my throat tightens. “Is the other person hurt?”
In the blink of an eye, Cass’ expression turns dark. Devious. Downright scary. “I fucking wish.” The venom in his voice confuses me until he continues, “It was Dylan.”
Another hazy detail comes back to me, the moment I recognized the car, that I suspected it was him. “Oh.”
Fear seizes my body as the sick reality that I am never going to escape him sets in. He’s going to follow me around for the rest of my life, a dark foreboding presence never allowing me to be happy or safe. Even a restraining order can’t keep him away.
When I start writhing in panic, Cass clutches my shoulder to still me. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.” I try to argue but he shushes me, continuing with an explanation that freezes me completely, “Amelia, he hit you on purpose. They have witnesses and evidence. That on top of violating a restraining order and drunk driving…” He trails off but his point is clear.
I don’t have to worry about him anymore.
The permanent knot of terror sitting heavy in my stomach eases but a tiny shred of doubt and disbelief refuses to be banished. “What kind of evidence?”
“There were some texts.” Cass sits back in his seat, hands clenched tightly in his lap as he recites the threats that someone I once thought I loved, someone I once thought loved me, made.
That bitch is gonna pay.
If I can’t have her, no one can.
I’m gonna make the whore bleed.
I wince at the crude words.
God, I spent a year of my life with an unhinged man.
“And witnesses?”
Cass rattles off a list—a long list. Some pedestrians who saw him speed up and run a red light. The houseful of people who saw him drag me onto the guys’ front lawn all those months ago and raise a hand to me. All my friends who saw the aftermath of his rage, heard his threats. The medical staff who treated me, both times. Even my neighbor, Atlas, provided a statement.
My head falls back against the pillow as I let it all sink in. He’s gone. For real this time. Or at least, he’s on track to being gone. Hopefully, for a long, long time.
And just like that, the dark cloud dissipates, leaving nothing but solace.
And a million questions.
“How long have I been out?”
“A couple of days.” Cass swallows hard, scrubbing a hand over his face, an attempt to hide the vulnerability written across it. Dropping his gaze to our joined hands, his admission summons burning tears. “I really thought you were weren’t gonna wake up.”
In unison, we erupt into sobs.
I know we’re both remembering the last time we were in a hospital together, the last time we held each other and cried in a hospital bed, the last time we almost lost each other forever. Clutching each other tightly, we silently relive our trauma, old and new.
My chest heaves, jostling my pained ribs, as hot tears aggravate cuts and scrapes I can’t see. But when I try to rein them in, one look at Cass’ wet cheeks and somber gaze has me crying harder.
“Stop crying,” I demand through wails.
A strangled noise escapes him, a cross between an indignant scoff and a sob. “You stop crying!”
“You started it!”
We’re sobbing hysterically now, hints of strangled laughter mixed into the awful sounds escaping us. Like two cats dying. Two very loud, slightly unstable cats.
Loud enough to be heard through a closed door, apparently, because it suddenly flies open and a barrage of panicked people pile in. My dad is at the front of the crowd, eyes wildly flitting around the room. His worried expression drops when he spots Cass and I clinging to each other.
Confusion, surprise, and pure joy flicker across his face as he rushes to my side. “You’e awake,” he mutters, stooping to kiss my forehead. “How long have you been awake?” I don’t miss the pointed look he shoots Cass that screams ‘you’re in trouble.’
Unfazed, Cass swipes beneath his eyes and slumps back in his seat, still grasping my hand. “Not long.”
“You should’ve gotten someone,” Dad scolds, brushing tears away from my face while simultaneously scanning my injuries.
“I was about to!”
Dad scoffs and returns his attention to me. “How’re you feeling?”
“Sore.”
‘That’s normal,’ Dad assures me before he starts to check my injuries thoroughly. That is until one of the actual hospital staff still lingering in the doorway coughs pointedly and he’s forced to step aside, crossing his arms and all but stomping his foot like a scolded child.
The doctor and the nurses descend on me, asking a million questions, shining lights in my eyes, poking and prodding my tender skin under I’m ready to slap their hands away. I shoot Cass a desperate ‘save me’ look but he shrugs, too busy tapping away rapidly at his phone.
After what feels like forever, I get the all-clear. Well, almost. They tell me I still have to stay for a couple of nights for observation. Apparently, I hit my head pretty hard and I had some internal bleeding that they’re still worried about. Dad kisses my forehead and offers me an apologetic smile before following the doctor out of the room, both of them talking in low voices, leaving me and Cass alone again.
“Great,” I grumble, irritated because I’m dying to get out of here. I hate hospitals. Too many bad memories, and now I have one more to add to the pile. I want to shower and sleep in my own bed, preferably with a muscular Brazilian man as a pillow.
“He’ll be here soon,” Cass promises with a grumble when I ask for the umpteenth time where my boyfriend is. “God, he’s going to murder me.”
“Why?”
“I made him go home.” Cass grimaces through a mouthful of Jello. The Jello one of the nurses brought for me. “Told him nothing was going to happen if he left for an hour. You have impeccable timing, you know. The first time he leaves and you happen to wake up.”
A small smile stretches my lips for a moment before they flip downward. “Wait, what do you mean the first time he left?”
“Hasn’t left your side once, Tiny,” he confesses, adding that the nurses took one look at his tear-stained face and relented. “He’s a mess. Barely eating or sleeping. I had to tackle him into the shower.” Cass nods his head towards the other door in the room, presumably leading to a bathroom.
God, I didn’t think it was possible to feel more awful than I already do.
I need to see him, I need to see him so bad, and by the time a commotion erupts in the hallway, when I hear a gruff voice cursing someone out in a foreign tongue, I’m practically vibrating with impatience.
When the door flies open and a ragged, wild-eyed man bursts into the room and freezes at the sight of me, I burst into tears all over again.
In the blink of an eye, he’s at my side, a hand gently cupping my cheek as he rakes his eyes over me. Scooting over slightly, I grab his arm and pull him down. Cautiously, he perches on the edge of the hospital bed, never once taking his eyes off me. For a moment, he stares at me intensely, fingers roaming my face like he’s checking I’m really here. Eventually, he lets out an uneven breath, and the tension in his body ebbs. “Cass said to come quick,” he rasps. “I thought…”
“I’m okay,” I assure him, side-eying my brother with a glare.
He simply blinks innocently. “You wanted him here quickly.”
Nick ignores him. Gently running his hand through my hair, he cups the back of my head with a featherlight touch, the warmth of his palm soothing my headache. “I was so fucking scared.”
“I’m okay,” I repeat.
An awkwardly clearing throat draws our attention sideways to Cass. Getting to his feet, he jerks his thumb toward the door. “I’m gonna go call Mom.” He and Nick make eye contact, some kind of silent conversation transpiring before they both nod and Cass leaves.
Immediately, Nick’s attention returns to me. “Are you in pain?”
“Not really.” The nurses hopped me up on painkillers before they left, and Nick being here is the best anodyne of all.
Nick’s gaze runs rampant over my face, wincing at every cut and bruise. He runs a thumb over my cheek where a nasty cut sits, presumably the result of broken shards of glass from my car window nicking my face. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have aggravated him, this wouldn’t have-”
“It’s not your fault.” The senseless guilt in his voice breaks my heart. “It was the restraining order.” My action was the one that sent him over the edge.
Shifting closer, Nick cradles me carefully, lips ghosting my ear. “It’s not your fault either.”
“I know.” And I do.
Finally, I do.
Three days pass cooped up in a hospital room until finally, I’m allowed leave under strict instructions that I get lots of rest and don’t indulge in any strenuous activity. I scoffed at that—like I can do anything strenuous with a cast weighing down my leg and my ribs aching like a bitch.
I feel better. Banged up to all hell, but better. There’s still an underlying ache everywhere but I don’t want to cry or scream every time I move or breathe any more, and I’m getting pretty handy with the crutches. Not that I need them; Nick has developed quite the habit of carrying me around. Yesterday, I made it a meager two steps toward the shower before he scooped me up, letting all the hard work fall on his shoulders.
I love being in his arms, don’t get me wrong, but there’s only so much staring a girl can take, a six-foot-four hulk of a man carrying a girl bridal-style definitely warrants some gawking.
If I hadn’t threatened to beat him with my crutches, he’d have carried me to his truck, probably kept me on his lap while he drove us home.
Part of me wishes he had.
The drive was agonizing. The moment he shut the door behind me, something snapped. My excitement at being free was overwhelmed by anxiety as memories of the last time I was in a car flooded my mind.
When I first woke up, I didn’t remember it all. Only the bare minimum, and the rest was filled in by everyone else. It wasn’t until I fell asleep that first night that every horrifying moment came flooding back to me. The screaming. The windows shattering and ripping me apart. The awful stench of blood and gasoline mingling in the air. The door collapsing inward and crushing my leg. The airbag deploying and slamming into my chest.
I thought I was going to die. No, I was convinced that I was going to die because there was too much blood and not enough pain. I knew I was hurt, I could see that I was hurt but I couldn’t feel it.
It took Nick hours to soothe me back to sleep after I woke up screaming and thrashing like a wild animal, almost undoing all the hard work the doctors had done stitching me back together.
And as the truck rolls to a stop, signaling our arrival home, I feel wild panic brewing again.
The hand holding mine disappears only to reappear moments later as Nick wrenches the passenger door open and gently tugs me to the edge of the seat.
“Breathe,” he whispers, smoothing his hands along my arms. His nose nudges mine as he leans forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of my mouth before dropping his head to press another on the skin above my pounding heart.
I link my hands around his neck to pull him closer, his simple touch doing a world of good in calming me. Resting my cheek against the top of his head, I smooth my hands down his back, fisting his t-shirt tightly like a freaking baby clutching a security blanket.
It takes longer than I care to admit but eventually, my heart stops racing. The nightmarish memories recede to the darkest corners of my mind. Pulling back, Nick rests his forehead against mine. “Better?”
I nod, craning my neck to press my lips against his, savoring the quick kiss he offers me. Blowing out a deep breath, I twist to grab my crutches, barely grazing the handle before I’m abruptly ripped away from them, scooped up and cradled against a hard chest. My squeal of surprise rings around the parking lot. “Put me down!” I protest futilely. “I can walk!”
“I know you can.” Nick smirks down at me, the mischief dancing in his gaze a stark contrast from the concern and fatigue that’s been plaguing him lately. “I prefer this.”
“What about what I prefer?” Which, despite my complaints, is definitely this.
His smirk grows. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Brat.”
A hearty laugh rumbles in his chest, a sound I haven’t heard in days, as he bends to kiss me again. Soft and slow, his lips caress mine, drawing out a smile and a rib-aching giggle when they move from my mouth to the rest of my face, scattering a dozen kisses wherever they can reach.
Somehow, he manages to keep his hold on me while reaching into the backseat for my bag. Shutting the door with his hip, he slings the bag over his shoulder and carries me upstairs, careful not to bump into anything. Despite having his hands full, he manages to jostle my apartment door open, kicking it with his boot-clad foot.
An ear-splittingly loud cacophony of noise welcomes us home.
“She’s alive!” Luna screeches dramatically, pinching Nick until he carefully sets me down. A steadying hand settles on the small of my back as Luna throws herself at me, hugging me fiercely yet surprisingly gently by Lu standards. Kate joins our hug, slipping her arm across my shoulders to help hold me up.
Over their shoulders, the guys smile at me widely, repose heavy in the air. Cass has a grip on the collar of Ben’s shirt, like he’s holding him back from joining. As soon as the girls retreat, my young friend slaps Cass’ hand away and races me for me like an eager puppy, reacting like one too when brother and boyfriend simultaneously bark at him to be careful.
My friends’ greetings are happy and greedy and completely dramatic considering they saw me during visiting hours this morning.
My hospital room has been a revolving door of visitors, each of them offering their own little slice of entertainment. Nick was a permanent fixture, somehow convincing the nurses to let him stay pretty much 24/7—it’s amazing what an alluring accent and a handsome face can accomplish. Cass was there almost as often as Nick, lounging in the seat beside me as we FaceTimed our mom.
Kate brought calmness, the eye amongst the storm. Luna indulged me with gossip while her slender fingers fixed my matted hair. Ben usually brought his ukulele and got yelled at by the nurses for making too much noise but somehow always charmed them into letting him stay.
Jackson perched quietly at the end of my bed, decorating my cast. It’s covered in various signatures and scribbles, but he did proper drawings, real artwork. The incredibly detailed faces of my friends stared up at me, kept me company when they were inevitably forced out. It’s kind of pretty, really. I might actually miss it when they saw it off in a couple months.
Nick helps me limp to the sofa and sits me down, resting my casted leg on the coffee table and propping a pillow beneath it. He plops down on one side of me, Cass on the other
“I propose a toast,” Luna announces, appearing in front of us, brandishing a bottle of Fireball that she got from God knows where, evoking simultaneous groans from everyone. Her other hand clutches a tower of shot glasses that she spreads out and quickly fills.
I’m about to protest that drinking probably isn’t a good idea for me right now, considering the host of painkillers I’m doped up on, but she beats me to it. My glass is filled with plain old water, and she hands it to me with a wink.
“To a helluva shitshow of a year.” She raises her glass. Before anyone can knock it back, she holds up her hand to stop us. “To finding love in unexpected places,” her gaze flits to Jackson, “and to finding strength in hard ones,” she continues quietly, her gaze landing on me as a watery smile stretches her lips, and I wonder if I’m about to see Luna Evans cry for the first time. “I think I speak for everyone when I say I am really fucking glad you are still here, and I love you.”
There’s a round of agreeable murmurs, tears of my own brimming as each of my friends raise a glass to me, followed by a brief moment of silence. It’s broken by Cass clearing his throat. He nudges me gently with his elbow before stretching his glass towards mine. “To Tiny.”
Grinning at him through teary eyes, a small laugh escaping me, I clink his glass before knocking back my shot of water, a chuckle escaping me when everyone else in the room winces as cinnamon-flavored whiskey burns their throats.
As the splutters turn into laughter and chatter, I sit back and simply gaze around the room at my friends. My family.
After living so long with a gaping hole in my chest, I am whole. The friends in this room, the man gripping my thigh and the brother with an arm slung across my shoulders filled the gap without even knowing it.
I’m complete.
Battered and bruised but no longer broken.
