Less than Perfect

27. Awake {part two}

"I remember," she whispered, watching Jules intently as he stepped out of the shadows in the room. "I remember everything."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. I wish we could have stopped that wretched man before he'd hurt you." Leah's voice broke, and she cleared her throat. "We should have been more careful."

Skye shook her head, numbly taking in her mother's words. With a shaking hand she reached out and brushed a tear off Leah's cheek. "It wasn't your fault. I'm the one who walked into his trap. I should have gotten help. I was just so scared. I thought he'd kill Rachel."

"It wasn't your fault either, Skye. You did nothing wrong." This time it was Jules who had spoken, his low, tender voice startling Skye. "The only person at fault here was Johnny. He—and only he—was responsible. No one else."

Skye's heart raced when she looked at Jules again. He was closer now, only mere inches away from her, and she could feel his breath on her face like a warm reminder of just how real and good he was. "What happened to you?" she asked him, letting go of Leah's hand. "I—I thought Johnny had . . ." Her voice caught in the back of her throat.

"The Sheriff got to him first. I thought Johnny was going to be the end of me, but when the Sheriff shot him in the shoulder, I took the opportunity to revive myself and pushed him off of me." He shuddered. "He got my leg with his knife though, before one of the officers on the scene took him out for me."

Skye's heart stopped.

"Took him out for you?" she repeated, dumbfounded. "You mean . . . ?"

"Johnny's dead, Skye." Leah's voice was small but carried a heavy amount of disdain. "Officer Welch fired the fatal shot."

She turned her attention back on Leah, astonished with the promises of the words she'd last spoken. Her heart began hammering in her rib cage, so hard she thought it might burst, and little butterflies fluttered in her stomach. The thought of Johnny . . . dead, gone, out of her life for good, was almost too much to handle. She wanted desperately for it to be true.

"He's not going to hurt me again." She meant for the words to come out as a question, but they were too final, too . . . real to be questioned. "He's really gone."

"Yes, Skye," Leah said, sniffling. "He's gone, and he can never hurt you again."

"What about Rachel?" She swallowed the urge to cry, suddenly filled with so much relief, so much hope, all of her previous fears and discomforts fell into the back of her mind. "How is she?"

Leah wiped at her teary eyes, and smiled a thin, timid smile. "She's doing all right. Joe says she should be out in a couple days, and that—apart from the scars she'll always carry inside—her wounds shouldn't scar too badly. She was very fortunate Johnny didn't do anything worse."

"But how is she . . . coping?" Skye swallowed hard, clearing a lump in her throat. "Have you talked to her?"

"No, I haven't." Leah rubbed her hand over her face, and for the first time since she'd began speaking with her mother, Skye noticed how tired and run down she looked. Her eyes were not only red and puffy from crying, but there were also dark circles under them, and her entire appearance resembled that of someone who hadn't slept in days. When she spoke again, Skye could hear her exhaustion in her weak, straggled voice. "I did talk to her father, though, and he said that she hasn't been speaking to him a whole lot. She spoke to Officer Brandon and the Sheriff for a little while, along with Joe, but other than that she's seemed to prefer the silence."

Skye's heart ached to comfort her friend, to hug her and tell her everything would be okay, but she knew it wasn't an option. For the time being, she knew she had to stay where she was and rest, allowing herself time to heal. And as much as she hated being stuck in a hospital bed, hooked up to numerous noisy machines, with bandages all over her beaten body, she knew it would all help her in the end.