“W-who cleaned me?” I hold out my arms as Maeve covers me back up with the blanket.
“Nurses,” Maeve says.
“After they checked you out, they told me you'd want to feel clean and get everything off of you.” Luca offers me more water, and I take a few sips.
“Well, they were right.” I rest my head back. Maeve grabs a washcloth from the bathroom and brings it over to dab at my forehead.
“It's going to take time, Iz. To heal, to get your strength back. But you will heal. You will be strong again.” Maeve's voice is soothing.
Five months.
I still can't wrap my head around it.
Five months and I'm back to square one. If anything, I'm further back than square one. I had it bad with Daniel, but never to this extent.
Daniel.
He's still out there. My eyes widen and my head whips to Luca, making my vision spin a bit.
“My mom?”
“I'm sorry, Iz,” Luca nibbles on his lip ring. “We haven't found her yet. We don't know where Daniel or Dakota is. We haven't been able to track them down at all. All the 'leads' we followed, we don't know if they were real or if they were because Gideon wanted us to do his dirty work and put false leads out there.”
I nod in understanding. I can't blame them.
They didn't know, how could they?
Not with Jace saying one thing and then doing another.
“Why don't you get some rest?” Maeve rubs her hand up and down my arm. “I'll wake you up when your soup gets here.”
I yawn and agree.
“I'll go check on where it is.” Luca stands, kissing my cheek, “Glad to have you back, pretty girl.”
The next week is...annoying. There's no better word for it. I still can't get out of bed without help, and even sitting up feels like scaling a mountain. If I move too fast, the room begins to swirl.
Lifting a cup of water? Exhausting. I have to focus just so it doesn't slip through my hands.
Meals are tiny. Small cups of chicken broth with a few soft noodles floating inside. My stomach can't tolerate more than a few sips, and even those make me nauseous.
Everything hurts.
Everything is bruised.
During one of the sponge baths—warm water, gentle hands, the soft drag of cloth, and clean-smelling soap— I caught another sight of my reflection in the portable mirror. Or what's left of me.
Bones jutting out in every direction.
Skin mottled in purple, green, and yellow bruises.
Cuts and scabs all over.
I look… hollow.
Most of the time, I sleep. The IV drips nutrients into my body that I desperately need. But sleep isn't restful. It never is.
Nightmares drag me under—thrashing limbs, sweat-soaked sheets, someone shaking my shoulder, soothing tones pulling me out.
