A Fragile Thread

Chapter 11: Burdens

I swallowed hard, my gaze flickering to Nico, who was still leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"You don't have to figure this out alone," he said, his voice low and steady. "And you don't have to be afraid to ask for help. I know that's hard for you, but we're not going anywhere, Emilia."

The way he said my name—firm but not unkind—made my heart ache. I wanted to believe him, believe all of them, but the fear I'd carried for so long still clung to me, whispering that this was all temporary, that they'd get tired of me eventually.

"You should try to rest now," Matteo said, breaking through my thoughts. He squeezed my hand gently. "The fever might take some time to go down, but we'll be here. All of us."

I hesitated, glancing between them. "You don't have to stay. I'll be fine."

Luca stepped closer, shaking his head. "We're not leaving you alone, stellina." His voice was calm but left no room for argument.

"Besides," Raffaele added with a crooked smile, "it's not like I'm going to let you get into any more trouble while we're around. We've got you."

I blinked back the tears threatening to spill over and nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything else.

Matteo stood, grabbing a damp cloth from the first aid kit. "Here," he said softly, dabbing my forehead with it. "This will help with the fever. Just close your eyes for a bit, okay? You're safe."

Safe.

The word felt foreign, almost like it didn't belong to me.

But as I looked around at their faces—at Luca's quiet strength, Matteo's gentle reassurance, Nico's steady gaze, and Raffaele's soft smile—I realized that maybe, just maybe, it could.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself lean back against the pillows and close my eyes, their voices softly fading into the background as sleep finally began to pull me under.

POV: Nico

I watched as her breathing evened out, her small frame finally relaxing against the bed. The tension in my chest eased just slightly, but the knot in my stomach refused to go away.

"She shouldn't be like this," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Luca glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "None of this is her fault, Nico."

"I know that," I snapped, then immediately regretted it. Lowering my voice, I added, "I just... I hate that she's so scared of us. Of everything."

"She'll come around," Matteo said quietly, still perched on the edge of the bed. "It'll take time, but she's stronger than she looks."

"She shouldn't have to be strong," Raffaele murmured from the floor. His usual joking tone was gone, replaced by something heavier. "Not like this."

Luca let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. "We can't change what happened to her. All we can do is make sure it doesn't happen again."

"And make sure she knows she doesn't have to be scared anymore," Matteo added.

I nodded, but the guilt still sat heavy in my chest. We'd promised to protect her, to take care of her, and yet we hadn't noticed how bad things had gotten.

"She's still burning up," I said after a moment, watching Matteo as he checked her temperature again.

"It's better than before," he replied, his voice calm. "But we'll keep an eye on her through the night. Fevers like this can be tricky, but she'll pull through."

I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms as I looked at her small frame buried under the blankets. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her breathing came a little too shallow for my liking, but Matteo seemed confident, and I trusted him.

"She doesn't know how to ask for help," I muttered after a long pause, staring at the floor.

"Of course she doesn't," Luca replied. His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried a weight that made me glance up. "She's had no one to ask for help from her entire life. She's been conditioned to believe she's alone."

"That's not going to change overnight," Matteo added, sitting back down in the chair beside her bed. His eyes didn't leave her. "But it'll change eventually. She's learning."

I scoffed softly. "Learning? She nearly let an infection take over her entire arm just to avoid 'bothering' us. That's not learning, that's..." I trailed off, rubbing the back of my neck in frustration.

"That's trauma," Raffaele said, his voice quiet but firm. "And you're not helping by acting like it's her fault. It's not about what she's doing wrong—it's about what's been done to her."

I felt my jaw tighten, shame creeping in at his words. Of course, it wasn't her fault. None of this was. I knew that. But seeing her like this—weak, scared, hurting—it was killing me.

"Raffaele's right," Matteo said gently. "The more we support her, the more she'll learn that we're not going anywhere. That she doesn't have to be afraid anymore."

"She's not going to believe that if all you do is scowl in the corner," Luca added, his lips quirking up in a faint smirk.

I shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. "I don't scowl."

"Yes, you do," Raffaele chimed in with a grin. "But hey, maybe it's comforting in a weird way. Like, 'Wow, look at my big, scary brother. He'd probably murder anyone who looked at me the wrong way.'"

"Not helping, Raff," Matteo said, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Raffaele just shrugged. "What? I'm just saying, she'll come around. She just needs time."

Time.

I hated that word. It felt so useless, so passive. But it was all we had right now.

I glanced back at Emilia, her small figure curled up under the blankets. Her hand twitched slightly, like she was dreaming, and I wondered what kind of nightmares she was battling even in sleep.

"We'll make this better for her," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else. "We have to."

"You're right," Matteo said, standing up and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "And we will."

Luca nodded, his expression softening for just a moment. "She's not alone anymore. That's what matters."

For the first time in hours, I felt a sliver of hope break through the weight in my chest. Maybe they were right. Maybe time really could heal this.

But as I watched her stir in her sleep, her face briefly contorting into a frown, I couldn't help but wonder just how much time it would take—and whether she could hold on long enough to see it through.