My eyes flutter open, sunlight streaming in the window. With a groan, I bring my hand up to my head which feels as though it was hit by a brick. What happened?
It doesn't take me long to remember what happened earlier. I was driving recklessly and paid the price, thankfully, it didn't cost me my life. Feeling something soft underneath me, I finally look at my surroundings. Our bedroom. How? How did I get up here? I remember passing out on the floor. Catching a glimpse of my hand, there is a large white bandage practically going from my wrist to my forearm. I know I definitely did not do that. What is going on?
Pushing the covers off of me and to the side, I tentatively put my feet on the floor. A hiss escapes my lips as my left foot touches the floor, pain ricocheting up my leg. Looking down, it is also covered in a white bandage tainted red with my blood. Ignoring the pain, I put my hand on the nightstand and, putting most of the pressure on my right side, stand up. My body sways unsteadily and I fall back on the bed. Huffing, I try again and this time I am successful. I hobble to the closed door and slowly open it up, half my body leaning on the wall behind it. Opening it fully, I limp to the stairs. Stairs never seemed to be a problem before, something I mindlessly did, but staring at them now, they may as well be Mount Everest. There is no way I am getting down them, at least not without falling two thirds of the way. Once again frustration bubbles up inside of me. This is all my fault. I will never learn. Deciding to be self-destructive, I use my right foot to step on the first stair. I grip the railing with a death grip and place the toes of my left foot on the stair next to my right foot. I continue this process until about halfway down when I step too hard with my left foot, the pain once again shooting up my leg. I lose my balance, my right foot slipping off of the stair.
"No!" I yell my body free falling, my grip no longer on the railing, but shielding my head as much as possible.
I hear footsteps running towards me. Who is that? Did the boys find me? How did they know I would be here? Instead of feeling relief, I only feel dread at the thought of them being here to see me like this. I am nothing but a burden to them and the one time I try to leave their lives I almost kill myself in the process. So pathetic.
My ribs hit the first steps and I wildly tumble down the rest of them, my breath being knocked out of me for the second time today. My body finally lands at the bottom of the steps in a heap. My breaths come out in pants, pain radiating throughout my body. My bandages, some pure white, are now painted red. Blood is leaking out from underneath the bandage on my left leg which is definitely not a good sign. What in the hell did I just do?
"Rose? Rose!" Damon's panicked voice comes closer to me, his footsteps harshly hitting the ground as though he is running. "You're okay. You're okay." He murmurs when he reaches me. "Brandon!" He shouts, his voice urgent. Footsteps follow his plea, increasing their pace as they get closer to us - to me.
"What happened? I thought you were watching her!" Brandon exclaims as he sees my limp form on the floor.
"I left for just a minute, I swear! She wasn't even awake."
They continue to talk as though I'm not there and maybe I'm not. Maybe this is all some bad dream. Moving my hand the slightest bit, I groan, but pinch my other arm. Nope, definitely not a dream.
"Rose, you need to stop moving, okay? You're really hurt. We need to look at you."
Damon moves closer to my feet, Brandon by my head. "On three."
They slowly raise my body as if I'm going to break with a soft breeze. At this point, maybe I will. Who knows. They gently place me down on the couch and Brandon rushes off to the bathroom to get a wet towel and the first aid kit.
"Why would you try to get downstairs by yourself?" Damon asks, annoyance clear in his voice. His eyes are on fire, a silent storm brewing, the blue never so dark.
"I am not an invalid."
"Really?" He scoffs. "You weren't with us for two hours and the next thing I know I'm coming into my house and you're half dead on my floor laying in broken glass! So do not tell me you're not an invalid because clearly you cannot take care of yourself or anyone for that matter." His voice is venomous. With his nostrils flaring, he puts his hands in his hair and turns away from me looking at the wall. I feel tears prick at my eyes. He's right of course. I know he is, but he was always my safe haven and I feel as though the one person I can always count on is no longer willing to be.
I don't know what to say. I curl into myself even farther trying to be as small as possible, maybe I can just disappear if I try hard enough.
Isn't that what you tried to do in the first place? Isn't that why we are in this situation now? You're a silly little girl. Completely helpless.
No. No! I am better than this. The voices left!
Before I know it, the first sob wracks my body, pain from my ribs making everything hurt more, but I can't stop. It's like everything that has happened to me is finally being released in the form of tears. They run in rivets down my cheeks, soaking them instantly. I try to catch my breath, but it seems impossible. I can't breathe, I bring my hands clawing at my neck, darkness clouding my vision. No! Not again. Not again! I try to fight it. I see Brandon walk into the living room, panic coating his features.
"What did you do?" He roars at Damon, rushing to my side, but it's too late. The darkness takes over.
___
The next time I wake up the sun is no longer in the sky. The house is dark aside from a small lamp in the living room which casts shadows against Brandon's haggard face. He looks exhausted. When was the last time he slept?
Being as quiet as possible, I sit up and everything hurts, but I stifle my groan so I don't wake up Brandon. Moving my legs to the floor, I put as much pressure as possible against the couch and on my right side. Standing up, I continue to use the couch as my crutch and then the wall and anything else I can find in my path to the kitchen. Once in there, I lean against the counter, panting. Damn, everything takes so much effort now!
You did this to yourself. Don't act like the victim.
Ignoring the snarky voice, I open the fridge and grab out a water bottle. At the sight of food, my stomach growls. I rummage in the cabinets and find a granola bar. Shrugging, this will have to do. I am definitely not in a state to be cooking anything.
Sitting down at the table, I slowly munch on my granola bar, taking small sips of water in between. A dark figure with bright blue eyes appears in the entryway of the kitchen. My body goes rigid. Moving as slow as possible as though I'm afraid I'll startle him, I pick up my half eaten granola bar and empty water bottle and throw them in the trash.
You shouldn't have come here.
I know the voice is right, but I didn't know what else to do. Anything would be better than this though. Walking closer to the exit and, consequently, Damon, I try to squeeze past him, making myself as small as possible.
He gently grabs my wrist, not enough to hurt me, but I still manage to groan at the small contact. Damn my body. He drops my wrist as though it was on fire.
"Wait. I'm sorry," He whispers, head down.
"You-You're sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?" I ask incredulously.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just - it's just - you didn't see the way you looked. I thought you were dead. I have never felt the pain - the emptiness - I had in that moment. It was like my life went from color to black and white. I-I didn't know what I would do if you were dead."
My breath is stolen by his words. He feels that… for me?
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you feel that way? Why did you come here?"
He doesn't answer right away. The hesitation is killing me. Finally, as though hearing my thoughts and anxiety, his lips part then close then part again. "I-I didn't choose to feel this way," he says incredulously. "It just happened. You never failed to surprise me from the first time we met. Even then, you had caught my eye. The fire in your eyes when I knocked the door into you. The slightest part of your lips as though you wanted to yell at me for hitting you. There was just something about you. Losing you those months ago made me realize that my life never could be the same without you in it. It made me realize that you are my life. Even with the manuscript, despite how angry and betrayed I felt, I could never let you go." Taking a deep breath, everything is silent for a moment except for the pounding of my heart, as hard as it was, the sound must have been reverberating around the room. It definitely was in my ears. "I was hoping you would come here after you left, but I wasn't sure. I didn't know where you would go, but it was worth a shot. The moment I was around the bend, the skidmarks, I knew something was wrong. I have never moved faster, never felt adrenaline as potent. I needed to get to you."
He closes his eyes, looking pained. I don't blame him. Just remembering what happened yesterday was enough for a shutter to go through my body. Not for the first time in my life did I defy death. I don't think I'll be so lucky next time.
"My heart dropped as I saw the blood on the trees lining the front. My feet had never moved faster. Then the broken window, blood droplets on the porch. I swung the door open, stopping it before it hit your body. I-I thought you were dead. You weren't moving, barely breathing. It was as though I was transported back to all those months ago when I rescued you. Except this time was worse, you weren't responsive. I tried the best I could to patch your wounds, the amount of bandages and stitches," his body visibly shutters, his eyes closing once again. Lifting my left hand, I put it on his cheek, the bandage glaringly visible even in the dim lighting. Moving his face to fit in my hand, it gently rests there. "I thought I lost you. You were out for two days. I sat there for two days waiting for you to wake up. I didn't know if you would. Your injuries were- were- so extensive. There wasn't a part of your body that didn't have a cut or bruise."
Looking into his eyes, I see all the emotions visibly swimming in their depth. The one thing he didn't say aloud, shining the brightest.
"I'm sorry." Two words. Two simple words, but no truer ones were ever spoken. "I'm sorry for hurting you and making you worry. That was never my intention. I'm sorry for being so hot and cold after everything happened, I know I haven't made it easy on you. I'm sorry for being so reckless and putting myself in danger. I'm sorry for being more trouble than I'm worth," My voice tapers off at the end, my eyes cast down to the ground, a single tear sliding down my cheek.
Turning his body to face me better, he gently pulls me into his warm body, my smaller one being engulfed in his. Taking my chin in his hand, he gently tilts it so I am forced to look up at him. "Do not apologize. Yes, it has not been easy, but nothing worthwhile is easy."
Wrapping his arms around me, I do the same. We stand there in silence for what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes. Intrusively, a yawn escapes my lips, breaking the moment.
"You're tired." He doesn't say it as a question, more like a statement. At his words, I finally notice the dull aching of my body, the weakness I feel in my limbs, and the pull of my eyelids. I was tired. Exhausted in fact, but I can wait.
"Not yet."
A slight laugh falls from his lips, "come on."
Gently picking me up, he starts for the stairs. Looking up at him questioningly, he chooses to ignore it, moving down the hallway to our bedroom.
Placing me down, he goes to the other side of the bed and pulls my body towards him, facing him.
Picking up my hand, I trace the features on his face from his forehead, down the curve of his nose, his plump lips, and strong chin. I memorize every feature of his face, committing it to memory. My chest swells, a foreign feeling encompassing my being, one I have felt before with him, but never with such intensity. So intense my next words are out of my mouth without my consent.
"I love you."