“Listen to me, Toma. I understand why you thought you had to hurt me. And I want to forgive you. I just?—”
“You don’t have to forgive me.”
“Enough.”
I snap my mouth shut though my eyes widen at her dismissive and sharp tone. My heartbeat kicks up in recognition. My thorny rose has bloomed.
“Enough with the self-deprecating shit,” she says. “It almost cost you your life. It hurt me. I won’t tolerate any more of it. You forbade me once to talk badly about myself. You’re forbidden from it, too. I’m mad at you. You’ll have to earn my forgiveness, but I love you.” Her lip trembles. She clenches her jaw. And I look on, in awe. “I love you, Toma. I can’t let you sabotage us again.”
“Anything.”
“What?”
“Anything. I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness.”
She sniffs and sets her shoulders back, satisfaction pouring our of her as she gives me a small smile. A real one. My whole body surrenders, going slack with her by my side telling me she loves me.
“I love you, Lucie Ventura. From the first time I saw you, I’ve loved you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to show you how sorry I am. I never meant any of the hurtful things I said. But I’ll work hard to prove it to you. Anything you want, it’s yours.”
I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers, groaning in pain. A peachy hue travels up her cheeks. Then she clears her throat.
“Well, first of all, you’ll let me care for you. You’re hurting just to kiss my hand.” I nod. “Then, you’ll work for Dante. Anything he asks. However, you’re meant to be doing desk jobs, no going around killing anyone. You’re out of soldier duty. Forever.”
I nod again, and a grin spreads on my cheeks. She knows what it means to me to become more than what my fate was supposed to be.
“Third is therapy.”
I groan at that. “Ružica moja.”
“Don’t ‘ružica moja’-me. You’re going to go to therapy to talk about what happened to you when you were young.”
I avert my gaze. A full body shudder travels its way through me. It’s not only what happened in my youth. It’s what Petar put me through over the past month. The deaths. The executions. The torture.
The rapes.
“Lu, I?—”
I exhale, full of anguish and terrified. My brain knows it’s not my fault but my heart and my soul are terrified it will push her away. She’ll hate me if she knows.
Lucie glides her hand on my cheek and I lean into her, smelling her floral scent at her wrist and kissing it.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she whispers. “I love you. Nothing can change that.”
Then I tell her. Everything my mind remembers, the soul deep shame, how holding her hand is a relief and a torment all at once. How being in a hospital gown is too close to being naked and makes me feel dirty and too vulnerable. How I hoped for death.
When I’m done, we’re both crying, cheeks red and heart hammered down.
“Can I climb in and lie next to you?” She asks.
I hesitate. “Can you… Can you get me some clothes first? I… I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do skin to skin right now.”
She swallows and her lip trembles but she doesn’t hide it behind a smile. “Of course,piccolo. Let me get a nurse, too.”
“No,” I snap. “No nurse. Just you.”
She nods.
Carefully, she slides a pair of black joggers up my legs, mindful not to touch my legs more than necessary. Holding my breath, I sit up and she unties the gown at my back. My injuries are extensive and my shoulders are too stiff to move. I can’t put on the sweater she brought so we opt for a henley shirt instead. It’s nothing I’ve worn and I look ridiculous.
