Creed, of course, misses nothingever,so he effortlessly broke me down and made me confess what was making me look like a “sad, kicked puppy”.
The moment the words spilled from my lips, he and Asher fixed the problem right then and there. Creed cussed out the nursing staff while Asher called Lachlan, who had the two of us placed in some fancy ass joint suite together. Even though Collins was discharged three days ago, she’s never once left my side in the days since then.
She seems to be doing well, unnaturally so with just how‘okay’ she’s been acting, which is sort of terrifying. She was even okay after finally gathering the courage to remove the bandage from her shoulder. It was a rough moment for her at first, as that tattoo was one of the first things she’d done and paid for completely on her own. A symbol of her growing independence. A “fuck you” to Guy and his obsession with her “unblemished skin”.
The tattoo is gone, but the shape of it is still there, and Collins broke down only for a moment. My beautiful, strong girl had nothing to say but the most positive things like: “I thought it’d be worse,” and “It’s just one more reason to get even more tattoos when it heals, right?”
She was putting on a brave face while talking on and on about the full sleeve she already had planned out, from more flowers to a guitar neck to cover the cuts down her forearm, and so many more. She was eerily optimistic, but I could see the pain lurking just beneath the surface. I know it killed her to see something so special—so precious to her—carved from her skin. It had hurther not just physically, but the pain goes far deeper than she’ll ever let on.
It was in those moments that I promised myself that there would never be a day with her—or Creed—that I would ever take for granted. Not even when?—
“You’re not fucking going,” Creed all but growls from across the room as he storms back inside.
When we shared the news, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. He’d gone to hunt down Pippa, to tell her that she’s out of her damned mind for the care plan she and the doctor had put together.
When he got back from meeting Fletcher that day, Garrick had come back to visit Collins, and sent Asher to fetch me for her. My therapist happened to be standing at the nurses station as we passed, and tried to tell me to return to my room, but Ash was quick to tell her to “eat a dick”. I’m not sure how they tolerate Creed and Asher’s vulgarity, because while they’re all momentarily stunned by their curtness, they seem relatively unfazed as a whole.
Pippa has also been less…handsywith me, which I greatly appreciate. For being touch-starved most of my life, I’ve never actually been one for seeking out affection. Given the way my mother treated me as a child, I didn’twantcontact with just anyone. Didn’t want to have to ask for it. The only exceptions to my aversion had become Creed and Collins, because theywantedto freely give me their comforting touches with no underlying malice or ulterior motives.
The shock of Creed’s booming, pissed off voice startles me, and I drop the tiny candy that was barely hanging on for dear life between my trembling fingers. It lands in Collins’ lap. She just picks it up, silently offering it to me instead.
I take it and chew before swallowing and shifting in bed so that I’m facing Creed. He looks positively unhinged right now.His icy eyes are wide with disbelief and panic. His black strands are a damn mess with how he won’t stop gripping them at the roots and tugging. Since the moment I woke up, every time he looks at me, his eyes do this thing that they always do with Collins.
Where he’ll look up and down the entire length of my body—most likely to check that I have no new injuries since the last time he laid eyes on me—but lately the way his gaze lingers has my heart beating a million miles a minute because it feels just like before. Like…more. The same way it feels when I look at Collins…the same way I’ve started to look at Creed in return.
He’s never once met me with pity or stared at my ear or let his gaze linger on any of my bruises or fresh scars.
It’s like he only seesmebeneath it all.
My cheeks heat, and I’m sure the flush of my face is bright and visible, even beneath the bruising. I swallow thickly. “Creed?—“
“You’re not going.”
“I need to go so I?—“
“You’re. Not. Going.”
Collins’ hand sinks into the hair at my crown, the comforting touch grounding me, because while this isn’t the first time Creed is hearing this news, he’s now scrambling for an alternative to what’s already been set in place.
“Creed,” Collins rasps from behind me, “please calm down?—“
“I CAN’T!” he shouts before immediately checking himself and crossing the room. He kneels in front of me and grips my face between his palms, careful to avoid the dressing at my ear. “I can’t,” he whispers, but it’s the first display of the true pain he’s feeling over today.
Because it’s discharge day, and I’m supposed to go straight from here to a rehabilitation center, where I’ll receive one-on-one therapy, both psychological and physical. It’s a concentrated program that’s supposed to amplify recovery since I’ll be in-house.
To be completely honest, I don’t want to go. I’d asked the doctor if I could have a therapist out to our home instead, but he and Pippa both strongly recommended I at least start the first leg of therapy from the facility.
Reluctantly, I’d agreed.
But now that the day is here, I’m not fucking ready. I can’t fathom the thought of being parted from my family now that we’re all together again. Sure, we might all be a little fucked up and a lot broken, but I’d rather take us like this than to physically remove myself from them.
But I can’t deny that I need this. I need to get back to normal, in any capacity. Because what happens if I can’t drum anymore? If I can’t touch or hold onto either of them like I so desperately need to?
Would they let me go?
The thought makes my heart squeeze painfully within the confines of my chest.
Creed’s hands join Collins’ as they tangle in the hair. His eyes bore into me, and I can see the pendulum swinging within his mind. Warring back and forth between defeat and the urge to keep arguing.
