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I am hurt by his words, but only because they’re true. They only reminded me of the damage I caused by my careless actions. If I had just taken a fucking taxi that night. Better still, called off the dinner with Maddox and went home to Jax.
I don’t deserve his comfort. I damn sure don’t deserve his loyalty or love. My actions have caused him so much hurt and pain. He will never get to know his child because of me.
I rub at the raw, burning pain in the center of my chest. It hurts so fucking much. But even I’m sick of my internal monologue of whining. I’m sick of listening to my own self-pity.
Jax
They took Zoey off the rest of machines a few hours ago. The only sounds in the room are the sounds of our breathing. Zane sits in the corner doing something on his phone. I’m sitting by her bed wishing she’d look at me again.
I’m such a goddamned idiot. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just don’t want any more apologies. I specifically don’t want Zoey to apologize. She doesn’t have anything to apologize for.
Yes, I’ve been angry and hurt by what she’s done, but the anger has been directed towards myself. She experienced something so vile, that she didn’t know how to handle the fallout. She has openly claimed selfishness because she didn’t want to see Zane or I in pain. I can see the truth though. She didn’t want us to see her pain. She doesn’t want anyone to see that she is emotionally bleeding out.
In a matter of hours, I feel like we took one step forward and ten steps back. Her frail, thin body hasn’t moved from its curled position facing the window. I am trying so damn hard to keep it together for her. I'm trying to show her I can hold her up, keep her safe.
Zane stands, stretching his long body after sitting too long. “I’m going to find some food. Want me to bring you anything?”
“I’m good,” I say flatly. I’m not. I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat in over twenty-four hours, but the thought of food makes my stomach turn. I know I need to take care of myself. I have a job to get back to that requires me to be in top physical form. I need strength to take care of Zoey. I just can’t seem to make myself eat. Or sleep really.
“Zoey, want some non-hospital food?” he asks her softly. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even move to acknowledge he said anything. I hear him mutter a string of curses I’m sure are aimed at me and my callous words before he heads out the door.
I run my fingers through her short, bleached locks. She doesn’t react which I decide is a good sign. At least she isn’t still flinching from my touch like she was a couple of hours ago. After several minutes, I notice her breathing has turned shallow. Her shoulders are much more relaxed. She’s asleep, and, for the first time since waking up, without the drugs the doctors keep prescribing.
I take a moment – just a short one – and pat myself on the back for being able to do something for her. Then I’m back in my state of beratement.
I look back on the last year without her. All the women and the alcohol. I can’t judge her for anything she’s done when I’ve done pretty much the same. I don’t have the excuse of being violently assaulted and traumatized. My only excuse is that my girlfriend ran after she was.
Instead of trying to drink my hurt away, I should’ve been looking for her. Instead of fucking any woman willing, I should have been doing everything in my power to find her. I’ve never felt like such a fucking failure in my life.
My phone buzzes, drawing me from my pity party. My brother’s name flashes across the screen. It’s been days since I’ve spoken to him. The day I got here in fact. I promised to keep him informed, but I’ve even failed at that. I slide the green icon to answer his call. “Hey, Rory,” I say quietly.
“I haven’t heard from you in a few days,” he starts getting right to the point.
“I know, man. It’s been a crazy few days.”
“How’s my girl?” he asks making me chuckle. It seems my girl wormed her way into being everyone’s girl long ago.
“She’s not good, Rory. All I want to do is fix it. I want to make all of this go away for her, but I can’t. I can’t even say the right fucking thing.”
I hear him sigh on the other end. “Are you bringing her home?”
I shake my head even though I know he can’t see me. “She has to stay here in the hospital for at least two weeks after she is released from her injuries.”
“What can I do, Jax? Tell me, and I swear to you I will get it done.”
“I wish you could do something, Rory. But unless you have a time machine, there isn’t anything. I just wish I didn’t keep screwing up.”
“What the fuck does that mean? You haven’t screwed up anything, Jax.”
“But I have. I didn’t look for her when I should’ve. I fucked random women and stayed drunk when I wasn't playing ball. Then I keep saying the wrong things. Tell me how that’s not screwing up?”
I hear my brother grinding his teeth through the phone. “Jax, you were hurting. No one can blame you. I’m sure Zoey hasn’t been a saint. Just the fact that she’s there should tell you that.”
My eyes close and my jaw clenches. I count to ten slowly in my head before speaking. Somehow, I manage to keep my voice low in spite of the anger I feel towards his remarks. “You can’t compare anything I’ve done to Zoey. She was hurt, Rory. What happen to her left deep scars that can’t been seen.”
“Calm down, Jax. I’m just saying you’re being too hard on yourself.”
I feel a tear slide down my face. I don’t know why my brother always seems to be able to get me to let them fall. “I just feel so fucking helpless, Rory,” I say with a crack to my voice. “It’s always been my job to protect her. To make everything better, but I can’t do a damned thing about this. I can't change what happen. I can’t stop the nightmares. I can’t do anything.”
