Caught Between a Mate and Love

Chapter 21: The Aftermath

Everything about my life wasn't real, or so I thought when I woke up. The lights were too bright to be real. The air was too cold. The blankets too stiff. And the voices had to be angels. Obviously this was Heaven. Well thank God. I thought my behavior would send me straight to hell. Obviously it was bright and cold, because we were in the clouds, and the stiff blanket was probably just to help me keep warm before God gave me wings. Although I expected a better reception than this, maybe some champagne or at least a better blanket.

"She's waking up," a gruff voice said from my right. Hm, maybe that was Jesus. I always thought he'd have one of those soft, welcoming voices, like a black man, or maybe just a little white pastor. He sounded like-shit, this was real life. I lived.

"Mmm," I couldn't say words. I wanted to sleep, but had to blink. Someone was pushing me back down. Dizzy.

"Take it slow," a warmer voice told me. Oh, this angel sounded like my mother. I smiled. She laughed, sadly. "Wake up, baby."

I blinked again, the room now came into focus. Not Heaven, just a hospital. I tried to think. Why was I in a hospital? My head hurt, but then it dawned on me. Some fucker knocked me out. At least I wasn't dead. Slowly, I turned my head. Only my mother and my little brothers were at my bedside. I turned to my right. Oh! On the bed next to mine was Chris, smiling tiredly at me. Somehow I managed to put out my hand to his, which he held.

"Mm," I yawned and then my brain was focusing with my body. "Where is everybody?"

Mom's eyes watered a little, "Tony's in surgery and Daddy's sleeping in the next room. His heart isn't doing so well."

I frowned, "but where's Deb and Mickey?"

I started to sit up again, but fell back with a dizzying whoosh. Chris squeezed my hand.

"Not here yet," was all my mother said. She bit her lip like she knew more but stood up, "I'm gonna call the nurse for you, boys stay with your sister and Alpha Theodore. I want to check on Hannah and Tony and your father again."

They nodded, giving me scared looks, then going back to playing their DSes. I stared at Chris. He looked so tired and sad.

"What happened?" I used my thumb to rub circles into his hand. He grimaced.

"We'll discuss it later." The nurse came in and checked my vitals. She ordered more rest and nothing crazy for a few more hours. My injury had me rattled, but I should recover fine. Chris, on the other hand, had more days to spend here. Two of his ribs were fractured, and he had a nasty cut down his leg. He should be fine as well. We were both ordered therapy. We might have had PTSD.

I stayed for another day, without gathering much more news about my friends or the rest of the fighters, only news about me and Chris, and my brother and father. Tony's right leg was sewn up, having been ripped off from the knee down; Hannah and the baby were doing fine but she needed to lower her heart rate; my father was going to need a very long time and a new, calmer way of life if he expected to keep his heart.

I went home, with a bandaged head, since the blow on the back of it was still recovering, and a few claw marks on my arms and chest. There was a permanent scar from when I accidentally nicked myself with the knife on my arm, but everything else would be fine and new soon. Even my head.

I tried calling Mickey but he didn't answer. Over the next few days, I stayed at Chris's side, sometimes visiting Tony, until he and my father went home. Together, we went to therapy, although neither of us were very talkative, yet. I was forced to talk about the nightmares I had every night about killing strangers. Chris had more dreams about me dying, since he thought I was after I got knocked out. We did a lot of invasive talking and crying, something more personal than we'd ever experienced.

I also learned about all the tragedies that occurred that day.

We had seven deaths total, including my best friend, from my pack. Chris had nine and more were killed in the other packs. All seven deaths were counted in battle, but one was fought far away from the real war. Mickey was beaten to a pulp on the border, while Debbie was forced to run home. She was kept in a separate ward, the psychiatric ward. I wasn't allowed to visit her yet, which I found stupid. She needed me.

Finally, after another mandated therapy with Chris, this time more couples therapy to prepare us for the coming struggles we'd have together, I was allowed to see Debbie. She was a wreck. A planetary wreck.

She was four months pregnant, with too skinny arms and frizzed out hair. And then there was the dead face. My Deborah was completely shattered. This wasn't my Debbie. This was a hole. A black hole that sucked away her life.

I laid on her bed with her, stroked her hair and held her hand.

"I miss him," she sniffled. I sniffled too. "I felt it when he died. I felt the bond in my heart snap and shatter and I felt him die. And I couldn't save him."

She started to cry again, making me sob with her. Mickey apparently ordered her to run and find help, but she wasn't fast enough. Or the McClellan was too fast. I never asked her about her time in the Delta basement. Talking about Mickey was hard enough.

"I hate him," she stared at me, as if I would defy her. "He was an idiot. He tried to save me, but he knew he couldn't. He left me here to raise a baby in a harsh world. I hate him."

I nodded, and stroked her hair more. "I hate him too. But I hate him because he loved you too much. I wish he loved you less, so he could let us save you and the baby. I wish he didn't love you so much, so that we could have him too."

She cried more.

They said after our meeting she started to eat more and walked around more and even talked more without crying. It would be a long time before Debbie stopped crying.

Chris was let out after two weeks. They would have kept him longer but there were too many patients and he was willing to leave. He stayed in my bed for another week, but then he had to go and take charge of his pack. There were funerals to attend and people to revive. He came to Mickey's funeral.

We sat with Debbie, across from the Rossinis and in front of the whole pack. Everybody loved Mickey. A large portrait of him and Debbie at Tony's wedding was set up next to the closed casket, and there were flowers every where. Debbie silently cried and even got up to speak about him.

"Michael Adam Rossini," she smiled through her tears. "He was the nicest boy in school--all the girls loved him. He was funny and so patient with me," she hiccuped. "Mickey was stronger than anyone I knew and the best boy I've ever loved."

She started to sniffle harder than before, but continued, "And I have the last piece of him. The best thing Mickey could leave behind for me is his son. This baby is proof to me that he loved me."

She cried for a moment, but nobody went up to help her, we knew she had something left to say.

"Mickey died saving our lives. He died protecting me and our son," She started crying and I had to get her, then take my own turn. Chris put an arm around Debbie as she cried. I didn't know if she heard a word I said. After me was the final speaker, Alpha Rossini.

"My son would have been the next Alpha," he had a hitch in his voice. "And that is why we extend our home to his mate, Deborah Rinaldo and our first grandchild."

That was the last funeral of the seven. Mickey was buried in the Rossini plot, next to his uncle and grandparents. His marker only said 'Beloved son, mate, and father. Our blessed warrior.'