Page 130 of Contempt

Broken bones.

Blackened eyes.

Swollen skin.

The injuries faded as they kept him in that induced coma, sure. The swelling went down, and in some cases, the casts came off for some of the broken bones that weren’t as bad as others. His face lost that blackened color from the worst of the bruises, and it was only then that they could confirm that the hairline fracture on his orbital sockets wouldn’t need surgery. The swelling had been so bad that they thought the X-rays were not showing them the full extent of the injuries.

It had been bad.

So bad.

Thing was … Lucia just sat there talking to him. She didn’t care if he woke up and wasn’t the same as he had once been. She didn’t care how long recovery would take, or the fact that he might never be one-hundred percent the same again.

She just needed him to wake up.

And then she got mad … she got mad because look at what he did to himself. He almost fucking killed himself, and she had to sit there day in and day out just to watch him fight for a life that she didn’t even know if he wanted.

If he did want his life, would he have done what he did?

Then, the guilt would come.

Because if not him … then it would have been her brother, her cousin, and so many others being buried. He was willing to sacrifice himself for them. For people who had never given him a second glance because that’s just who he was.

Lucia couldn’t settle it.

She couldn’t settle her feelings, or confusion.

She went from anger to guilt to hope … to a million other things she didn’t understand. But wasn’t that selfish of her to feel that way? It wasn’t her lying in that bed. It wasn’t her who made the choice to let the bomb blow.

It wasn’t her.

It was him.

“I was angry at him,” Lucia whispered. “For doing what he did. I told him that I was angry at him—that I would hate him if he died.”

Jordyn let out a quiet sigh, and dropped down to crouch in front of her daughter. She set the cups of coffee to the side, and rested her arms over her jean-covered knees. God knew she appreciated her parents more than ever lately. They were always there doing whatever she needed them to do. Whether it was words or actions, they were at the ready for her.

Like now.

Lucia refused to look up at her mom. It was just easier this way to stare at her trembling hands and pretend like she wasn’t cutting herself up inside because of shit she had let slip out of her mouth when she was reacting from emotions and a bad situation.

“Lucia,” her mom murmured.

She still wouldn’t look at her.

Jordyn didn’t push, thankfully.

“For one thing—he was in a coma for over a month,” Jordyn explained, “so whether or not he even heard you is a toss-up. Second—you’re allowed to feel, Lucia. You are allowed to have feelings about this, and you don’t have to understand them. Absolutely no one, and him included, will expect you to have all of this processed just because he’s alive and awake, okay? That’s not how this works.”

“But he’s—”

“Not the only one who is dealing with trauma,” her mother interjected firmly.

Lucia blinked.

She hadn’t thought of it that way.

Jordyn smiled when Lucia finally glanced up to meet her gaze. “We’re all human, Lucia. We all say things when we’re angry or hurt that we should never say—things we wish we could take back the second they come out of our mouth. And words hurt, no doubt, but words are also just words. Words can be corrected. They can be fixed with actions, and new words. But it’s what you feel in here,” her mother said, touching the spot over Lucia’s heart with her fingertips, “that makes all the difference. It’s in there that you know what matters. I promise, he’s going to know it, too.”