"I didn't raise you to hide things from me." My mother whispers, her hands tangled in my hair. I lay on my bed, I don't know how long I've been laying there— but it felt as if it were forever.
I shut my eyes tightly at my mom's words, feeling my tears fall onto the pillow. "I'm sorry." I choke out,
"You can feel a lot of things, but don't ever let the word 'sorry' tangle with your emotions, Lin." My mom's voice has always been comforting, so has her words.
I flutter my eye lids open, looking up at her with teary eyes. "I was just scared, but I was never used to that feeling, so it worsened." My voice shatters.
"And then," I bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself. "I said things to Nico I never meant, only because— Dante didn't make me, but if I didn't he would've," I cut myself off, just the thought of what he would've done sickens me.
"I know sweetheart," she whispers, her voice low— hurt. "I just wish you would've told me." the pain that coats her voice kills me.
"I'm gonna come running to you like a child when someone breathes near me." I laugh a painful laugh, leaning my cheek against her hand.
She smiles, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. Her free hand plays with my hair while the silence takes over.
I open my mouth to interrupt the comforting silence. "Where's dad?" I ask in a tired tone, feeling my body physically hurt.
My mom doesn't bother replying, she shrugs, exhaling a breath. "I don't know, he refused to talk to me. He left with a gun and a blade." Her voice is laced with worry.
When both my parents came downstairs which they were probably told by Lana— my dad had beaten up Dante's dead body even if it did nothing.
I was already at loss of oxygen even with my inhaler.
This had all happened earlier today.
...
I woke up to my throbbing hand that isn't stitched or even taken care of. I'm pretty sure we have everything I need downstairs in the kitchen drawer.
Only because dahlia is always scrapping her knee whilst playing outside, so she's always crying for bandages, hence why my mom keeps everything in the kitchen drawers.
I get up with a low grunt when I press down on the bruise on my upper thigh. The rest don't hurt, it's just that one in particular.
It's dark so I can't possibly see the deep cut on my palm, I just know it isn't pretty at all.
I slowly walk out of my room with zero energy. My head hurts, my hand hurts, my thigh hurts, my heart hurts. But the difference is, the pain in my heart is nowhere near physical.
Don't think about it, just let it go.
I shut my door behind me, being met with a dark hallway. I make my way to the staircase, holding onto the railing with my un-injured hand, walking downstairs slowly. It was dark down there as well, if I slip and fall— that'd be funny.
When I reach the end, I exhale a shaky breath, walking to where our kitchen is. My whole body freezes when I notice the lights inside the cupboards are open, they act like candles, with only a little light reflecting. It's still dark, but enough to find your way.
I slowly walk in, blinking when I stare at the sight in front of me.
The glass of water stills against Nico's lips. His black shirt is slightly lifted, revealing his abdomen. When he drops his hand, placing the glass back on the counter, his t-shirt covers his abdomen again.
He clears his throat, looking away from me. I curse under my breath, walking to one of the drawers which Nico stands beside.
The silence that fills the room is not comforting at all, it's uncomfortable. "What are you doing?" I ask, looking through the drawer with my un-injured hand.
I feel his still presence beside me freeze. "What's it to you?" his voice is laced with attitude, clearly initiating that he doesn't want to speak to me.
I ignore his response, biting the inside of my cheek to focus on anything else. Sometimes, I look back at the old me and see— or notice how much i've changed. As much as i'd hate to admit it, he made me softer.
I gasp in pain when the cut on my palm accidentally touches the handle of the drawer. What the fuck, ow.
I feel Nicos eyes trail me, but I ignore it. I pull out the first aid kit, placing it on the countertop in front of me.
I glance at Nico from the corner of my eye, his face is formed into a frown, his brows are scrunched— He's staring at the cupcake in front of him, it's like he's confused.
I watch him grab a fork and cut a mouthful of his chocolate cupcake. Who eats cupcakes with a fork?
I look away when he turns his head in my direction. I hop on the counter— which is difficult with one injured hand— exhaling a breath, I shut my eyes for a second, not wanting to be met with reality.
Hold it in, Lina.
When I open my eyes, I find Nico staring at my cut. "Was that when I took your dagger?" His raspy tone pulls me out of reality.
"Why does it matter?" I snap, frustration lacing my tone. I dont know why I'm pissed— I just know I am.
"It doesn't." He eyes me, his brows still furrowed. "I never mentioned that it matters, I was just curious." He says while I pull out everything I need to heal this shit.
There was no cotton— (I didn't bother looking) so, me being me, I just decided on pouring the rubbing alcohol straight onto my cut.
A loud groan escapes me, my head falls back against the cupboards behind me. I drop the bottle to the floor without thinking, tightly shutting my eyes at the insane amount of pain.
"What is wrong with you, woman?" Nico whisper yells, immediately bending to catch the bottle. I'm gasping for air— I'm in too much pain to be comprehending anymore.
"My hand!" I yell in a whisper, focusing on my breathing while Nico stares at me like he's found a demon. "You're not supposed to do that." He states, placing the bottle on the counter next to where I'm sat.
His stare is locked into my palm, he's frowning. It's clear that he wants to do something— but he won't because he's stubborn, I know him.
"Do you want me to—" he takes glances at my palm before looking up at me. His eyes meet mine, making it feel like the whole world was quiet.
I look away, "No I can do it." I clear my throat, reaching for the first aid kit. Before I could even grab it, he takes a hold of my wrist.
"I study medicine," I know baby. "let me help, I know what to do." Even after I had hurt him, he's still willing to help me.
"Okay." I force out, my voice quiet.
If he'd let me, I'd kiss his whole face, wrap him up in my arms, play with his hair until he falls asleep against my chest.
Nico grabs the first aid kit, his eyes land on mine before they drop to my bare thighs. My heart stops for a quick second. He looks back up at me again, his brows furrowed this time.
"Open." His voice is demanding, and his eyes drop to my thighs once again. Oh.
I suck in a breath, but decide on obeying. I'm only doing this because I want to get over it. The closer I am to Nico, the more the pain ruins me. I hate it, I hate how caring he is— especially after all I've done.
"Can I see?" He whispers in question, placing the kit in between my legs before holding his hand out for me. I show hin my palm, not maintaining any sort of eye contact with him.
I tense when he gently holds onto my wrist, slowly starting to inspect my palm. It still burns, especially since my dumbass decided to directly pour rubbing alcohol on it.
"It's not that deep." He says, grabbing a cotton pad and starts to gently wipe my cut. I suck in my breath when he pulls a needle out.
He holds the needle in his free hand, cursing when he can't move any closer. He's basically glued to the counter. "Can you come more forward?" He clears his throat, taking a quick glance at me.
"Hold for a second." he commands, shoving the needle in my free hand. I hold it, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
"Why are you helping me?" I blurt the question that's been stuck in my throat ever since he stood in between my legs. "I thought you didn't care."
He looks up at me with a strange look, "I don't care about you," a quiet laugh escapes him. "This is called human decency." He stares at me as if I'm stupid.
My heart beat meets my ears, and it beats erratically. "Tone down the attitude, I don't care either." I lie, hating myself for it. I cant admit to loving him if he admits to not caring.
"I know." He says, still staring at my palm. If people would see him they'd think that this whole time he was in love with my palm— not me.
"Can you move forward?" He asks again, still staring at my palm.
"How do you want me to move forward when your holding my hand captive, making me hold the needle, and placing shit on my thighs like I'm a table?" The unexpected attitude leaves me without a thought, that was unintentional.
A quiet gasp escapes me when his hand touches my back, pulling me on the edge of the counter— to his liking.
He snatches the needle from my hand, taking a hold of my wrist once again. As soon as the needle touches the skin of my palm— my head is thrown back against the cabinets behind me with my eyes shut tightly.
"Nick." I groan in pain, I unintentionally reach out to grip his t-shirt with my free hand. He lets out a sound in surprise, but still keeps going.
My heavy breathing fills the space between us. "God." I grunt, when he keeps going with this stupid stitching thing. I don't even know what I'm doing— all I know is I'm holding onto his t-shirt for dear life.
He's probably enjoying this— you know what? I bet the reason he volunteered to help me was to see me in pain.
The more he goes the less it hurts.
"Why'd you kill Dante?" The question mixed with my heavy breathing comes out of me before I could stop it.
"He has a video of me." His reply makes my blood boil. So if it were a video of just me, he wouldn't have cared?
"Us." I correct which turns into a groan when he stitches deeper, at this point, he did that one on purpose.
I'm quiet for a few moments, "Wh—"
"Stop fucking talking." He breathes out, his voice laced with emotion. He drops the needle— and my hand carelessly. My other hand immediately drops from his t-shirt.
He turns around so he isn't facing me anymore, dropping his head to his hands. From the way his muscles move it was clear he wasn't breathing correctly.
I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling my eyes sting with tears that want to pour. "Nico," my voice is soft— which is new. Yes, I'm softer with him— but never like this. "My hand hurts." I whisper, staring at the needle in my hand.
He immediately turns around, not bothering to maintain eye contact— or even look at me. "Fuck, Lin." He holds my hand, pulling the needle out which I gasp at. The nickname the nickname.
It feels like my heart is being crushed into a billion little pieces.
He quickly finishes it up— which takes less than a minute. He throws the needle in the bin, opening the sink which is right next to me.
Still holding my hand, he gently rinses it over the cool water. "I don't think you get into medical school if you drop your patients hand.." I whisper jokingly to lighten up the mood.
If anyone's in the wrong, it's me. I ruined our relationship and I have to be the one to fix it.
When he doesn't reply, I feel my heart physically hurt. I can't blame him for protecting himself after I've hurt him countless times.
I know it's for the better.
He gently drops my stitched palm on my thigh. He grabs a gauze, scrunching his brows. The side of his mouth curls up, one of his dimples slightly making an appearance. "That patient happened to be my ex." He says, grabbing my hand again.
My baby. My smile. My dimples.
I shut my eyes, holding back my tears while he wraps my hand. I don't bother looking at him.
When he drops my hand again, I slowly open my eyes. "Wash it at least 2 times a day, clean it as close to the stitches as you can." He quietly mutters, not paying any attention to me— more on throwing everything in the trash.
"Okay." I hop off the counter, brushing my hair out of my face. Ew, this is not Lina. Stop being soft.
He turns around to stare at me, a sad expression written across his face. "Can I talk?" I ask, although I'm going to talk wether he likes it or not.
He shakes his head, furrowing his brows. "No, I don't want to listen." He makes a move in attempt to leave.
I physically feel my heart hurt.
"Please," I beg like a pathetic child, taking a hold of his wrist before he could make a move to walk away. And I don't fucking beg— but I'm beyond desperate.
"What? Do you want to tell me how unlovable I am?" He laughs in disbelief. "Or wait— what was it again? How you wished I never existed?" He tilts his head, his words stinging me by the second.
Another laugh escapes him, "Hold on, it was something like 'Nicolas, get the hint." he pulls his hand away. "No it was definitely, me not being fucking enough."
"Wasn't it all of the above?" His voice is laced with hurt— he can't hide it anymore, he's letting it out. His hand is shaky— and I want to hold it. I want to hold him.
I close my eyes for a second. "I didn't mean that." I admit, rolling my tongue in the inside of my cheek to distract myself.
I feel so weak.
"It came out of your mouth, they were your words. Accept the fact that you don't deserve to be loved." As soon as those words leave his mouth, goosebumps run through my whole body.
He doesn't mean that, I repeat to myself— holding back my tears.
"So you don't want me?" I sum up all his initiating, tilting my head out of curiosity— but I already know the answer.
"Catalina, walk away." His voice is desperate. I used to like it when he used my full name, I don't think I do anymore. "don't complicate this more than it already is." He continues, turning his head away from me.
I breathe through my nose, holding back the tears that might cascade down my cheeks at any moment. "I love you." I quietly say, biting down on my bottom lip.
"No you don't." He says almost immediately, shaking his head— stopping, thinking.
"I love you." I repeat the three letter world as if it's my salvation, meeting his eyes right there and then.
And for a second, he stops. His eyes shut, his head slowly shaking. He takes a deep breath before his eyes slowly open— he's fiddling with the chain on his neck. When his eyes meet mine, he blinks. "I loved you too."
...
mimi 🤝 cliffhangers. ok gn i'm sleepyz.
i'm too lazy to double check so just tell me if u see mistakes plz💔