Not broken, just bruised. My ribs. They still hurt like hell and it's incredibly uncomfortable to move, but I should be grateful. Despite drowning and technically being dead for a few seconds, I came out of this incident with far less damage than from the car accident. I don't need to wear a cast or brace or anything, just rest. The concussion is being observed and if the pain is too much, I can always request for more painkillers.
I don't.
The pain keeps me angry, and anger keeps me focused.
We had a plan to go back for my birthday, just to fuck things up big time for Laura as I wouldn't be her responsibility anymore. But we can't wait that long anymore. It is evident Laura is desperate to get rid of me, and she's most definitely making sure I don't survive. I fear she won't send Dean or come herself to get rid of me this time. I can't give her a third chance.
In my country we always say, la tercera es la vencida. The third time is the final one. Kind of like the baseball analogy of the three strikes, but instead of being out it means you always succeed at the third try. And like hell I'm giving her that chance. I know I've been lucky for surviving already two times, but I don't want to test my luck any further.
I am a witness now, an although I know I can't trust the police because Laura can easily buy their higher-ups, I can still tell the world who tried to kill me. Even if I have no concrete evidence, some people will listen to me, to the heiress who came back from the dead. I'll put pressure on Laura, I'll taint her name, I'll make people doubt her even if I can't get the police to make justice.
However, police do show at my door the next morning after I woke up, and I'm surprised to actually see a familiar face. The two police that come are a young man and a stern looking woman. The man I've seen before, at the bar for New Year's Eve. The one who I thought was hitting on me.
"Good morning," they greet together, not in sync like one would expect, but more like overlapping each other. "We come to get your statement," the woman immediately says.
"We meet again," the man adds, tilting his head almost imperceptibly. "So you really are Blanca Escobar."
"If Laura sent you I'm going to scream so hard... my friends and the doctors won't let you harm me," I threaten, although I'm not sure.
Can Laura buy the local policemen to kill me? Is that even possible? Should I be scared of every person I don't know? I don't think I can handle this paranoia.
"Who is Laura?" the woman asks, frowning and taking a seat to start writing. I guess my statement.
"My stepmother. She was the one who did this to me. Twice," I explain, still watching them carefully. "I've been hiding in this town after the first accident, but she found me and came for me. I saw her, she beat me and pushed me off the river. It was her."
The two police officers look at each other, I notice almost imperceptible nods as if they are confirming something.
"Was your stepmother alone? And how do you know your first accident was orchestrated by her?" the man asks while the woman keeps writing.
"Dean was the one driving back then, and when I woke up that time, before the car crashed and went down hill, I was all alone there. He had left the car prior that," I explain what I haven't told any other authority.
"His statement for that accident affirms you were stopped, he was attacked and the attackers sent the car to the edge. He had the medical confirmation of all his injuries," the policeman refutes, raising his eyebrow as if testing me.
"Well, that's a lie! Isn't it weird I didn't wake up if we were stopped and attacked? I woke up when I was already all alone and I know what it feels to be drugged now. I can assure I definitely wasn't drugged back then. And there was no struggle prior the accident. It's all lies! Like the fact I'm dead. Don't you see me breathing and kicking? But a body was 'found' and a bloody funeral held! So you tell me, if I'm dead why can't his statement be a lie?" Raising my voice still hurts so I will myself to calm down before I continue. "I know I don't have evidence aside from my word, but shouldn't the police find the evidence? Or am I supposed to do your job?"
Insulting them isn't wise, but I'm fed up. I want someone who knows how to do this, who has the tools and everything to help me instead of just giving up because the leads don't take them anywhere.
"Oh right, that's because you're being bought to not do your job so I have to do it myself," I mumble, clenching my fists over my lap, my eyes focused on the white covers of my bed. As I tense my muscles I feel the needle of the IV and for a second I imagine breaking it, the tip travelling through my veins and piercing my heart.
Wouldn't Laura be happy if that happened?
I unclench my fists then.
"We have not been bought," the man explains. "I did recognise you and started to dig up. I was aware your case was closed but I just couldn't understand. Many doors were shut in my face, so it's evident something is fishy." I stare at him, understanding why he was behaving like that at the bar. Not hitting on me, but actually recognising me.
Oh... so he started digging up. No wonder Laura found out where I was. It was this guy's fault for trying to find out how someone who is supposed to be dead could be at his local bar.
"We'll find the evidence to find the person who tried to kill you. If that person was indeed your stepmother, miss Escobar, then we'll prove it. Even if our higher ups tell us to close the case."
"You'll have to excuse me if I don't believe your words. For months the police have proven to be nothing but corrupt."
I can see the way he tenses up when what I've said hits him, but I don't apologise. Where is the lie in my words? Police should've stopped Laura from having someone else to pretend to be my body. Police should've found the evidence to charge her as guilty. Police should've found the lies in Dean's statement. Police should've protected me, instead they ultimately exposed me.
"Can you explain with as much detail as you can what happened the night of your most recent accident?" the policewoman asks, breaking through my thoughts and making me stop the glaring to the policeman.
I focus on her and comply, retelling everything I remember with all the details. The pain, how I felt every hit, the panic, the taste of drugs numbing my body and mind. And when everything disappearing, darkness taking hold of me. I tell them all, feeling like throwing up every time I can see Laura's face in my mind.
Her downfall is what I want the most, so badly it makes me feel full. Even later, when the police officers have left and Nora is allowed back inside, along with Clarisse who brings Sammy and Cata with her, I can't eat. Nothing goes past my throat and even water is hard to swallow, but Nora insists. I can't just give up on food because I'm so enraged with the situation.
"You need to eat, Blanca," Sammy insists, sitting on my bed at my feet, looking at me with pleading eyes. "You won't leave this place and go back with us if you don't."
Her words actually break through my venomous thoughts, reminding me something I have neglected in my chaotic state: The Dream House. All the kids. That we are going back home has been decided already, which means I'm not going back to the Dream House, at least not for as long as I should've stayed. Even if I get better, I'll have to head to London and stay away from them as I clean and deal with everything back home.
That thought of walking away from them, from that home and family I made while hiding breaks my heart and gives me a new kind of pain I wasn't prepared for. One that hurts more than the bruises and cuts all over my body. And the fact Cata decides to grab a spoon and feed me herself doesn't help at all. I take what she's giving me and swallow past the pain, the lump in my throat and everything else, but that does not stop the tears from coming to my eyes, making the two girls become blurry.
"Does it hurt that much to eat?" Cata asks, worried because I'm tearing up.
Without an answer, she starts smashing what's on the plate, carefully, trying to mix it all and make it easier to swallow. Her concentrated expression and methodical movements only bring up more tears. These start falling as I watch her; Sammy gets so worried, almost climbing next to me to hold my face in her little hands, wiping away the tears with her thumbs.
"Don't cry, Blanca. Cata is fixing the food so it doesn't hurt."
I want to bawl, not just cry because these two precious little girls are being so innocent while taking care of me, wiping away tears and smiling so warmly. I can't help myself and bring Sammy closer, hugging her as tight as I can, ignoring the ache in my ribs and just holding her. She wraps her arms around my neck and soothingly pats my back.
How can this little girl even know how to comfort like that?
"It's ready," Cata announces, making Sammy and I pull apart to notice the bright and proud smile she's giving me, showing me what she's done with my meal.
The smile I give her in return is teary but also loving, and I reach with my other hand to pat her head, almost like a way to tell her 'well done.'
It still hurts, just swallowing does, but I let her feed me and take away the hatred burning in my guts, replacing it with this love that warms me and reminds me I shouldn't let my dark emotions consume me. I'll make Laura pay, I'll clear all this up, but I won't let that define me. The hatred and thirst for vengeance won't consume me.
❅ ❅ ❅
"Why isn't Will coming in?" Cata asks after a while as she, Sammy and I lie in bed together, spooning. "Don't the doctors let him come in?"
My eyes cast in Nora's and Clarisse's direction, seeing how both tense and look at each other just briefly. Of course Clarisse knows something's up with Will.
Carefully, I take a deep breath before answering. I am still hurt that his regret and own insecurities are keeping him away, but I can't blame him.
Now I understand that.
I can't expect him to react the same way I would. Despite the pain of his rejection, I've managed to understand him a bit. Why this is becoming so hard for him. I understand now that Will has seen his believes shatter in front of him, finally seeing that optimism and hopes won't solve anything and that the crash after being so positive hurts even harder. He finally realises we are all just hopeless most of the time and it has to be hard to deal with that.
I wish he would step inside the room and let me comfort him. I don't want to tell him 'I told you so' or anything like that, I just want to reassure him it's not his fault, the fact he couldn't do anything. He wasn't obliged to keep me save and even if he did, he's not almighty and I know that. I guess he doesn't know it.
He's still outside, I'm sure of it. I don't know if he's listening to our conversation or what he's doing. It worries me that he's alone, fighting his own thoughts and trying to find his way back to himself. But that's a thing about humans, you can't force them to accept your hand. If they don't want to take it, if they don't want you to help them, there's nothing you can do.
I wish he'd offer me his hand, but he can't do it. In fact, he needs mine more than I need his. I realise that now, after thinking about it and dwelling on the pain of his rejection. But Will isn't ready to take my hand yet. He's still at the other side of the door, alone.
"Will is busy dealing with other things right now," I explain Cata. "He can't come in yet. He's doing something important because he was also hurt. More than I did."
"Why isn't he in a bed like you then?" Sammy asks as I pull her a bit closer.
"Because his wounds can't be treated like mine. So when you go out make sure to tell him it's all right, he's a great guy," I request from them, feeling the lump in my throat tightening. I look at the door, wondering if my words can reach him through that. "Tell him I'll be waiting for him, he can come in when he's ready."
"I'll tell him that," Cata promises, brightly.
"And if he hurts too much, he can share the bed with you like us. Clarisse says when you're sick you have to rest in bed."
Clarisse and I chuckle at that as I ruffle her hair in the most loving way. Her innocence is always one of the most beautiful things I've seen.
"That's right," I conform. "Will needs a break and I can look after him." Once again, I look at the door, wishing I could reach him like this. "Let me comfort you," I whisper, willing my own words to get to him and soothe him somehow. Wishing they can wrap around him and guide him to my side.
It'd be so much better if he could be by my side, telling me it'll be all right. But it's okay if he can't, I have Nora. Who does Will have to tell him it's all right? I want to be that person for him. I just wished he would take my hand.
I'll wait until he's ready to take it.
❅ ❅ ❅
I'm sorry for the delay. I realised yesterday how tired I was from work so I just lied in bed all day and did nothing but talk to Charlotte on Skype. Well, it was mostly her, I was on my iPad the whole time.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Get 500 votes and I give you a bonus content of Will's feelings and thoughts while he waits outside Blanca's room.
Dedication to pseudonymaria for understanding exactly why Will is acting this way.
Bel, xx
~updates on Mondays and Fridays~