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Chapter thirty-three
Mikaela
I blink back against the rising sun pouring in through the wide window on the other side of the room. For a moment confusion flits across my mind, dragging me through a weird limbo without clarity, and my heart hurts a little.
And then I feel it.
Ben’s hand is wrapped around mine, holding it gently against his chest as it rises and falls in deep movements, and I peek through heavy lashes to watch him sleep.
My body aches from laying on the smallest sliver of bed, as far from his bruised and beaten body as I can be, but that one point of contact... That brings me a comfort that warms my bones.
I smile to myself, closing my eyes again as I focus on the way he’s clinging to me in his sleep, before jolting upright.
“You look good, Mik.”
The sound of blood rushing seems to scream behind my ears and the thickness of my throat dries into nothing but parched heat.
“Cat got your tongue, babe?”
My heart stops for a second before picking up in a painful sprint. I glance around, aware that in the quiet lull of the early hours of the morning less doctors and nurses roam the hallways. Less families wait for results and news.
We are completely alone in this corner of the hospital.
We have been undisturbed for hours.
And I have no idea when someone will come to check on Ben.
We are alone and he is here, his head low and his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and I can’t breathe or move or scream. I can only stare and shake. I can only panic. I can only freeze.
My mind scrambles for escape. My tongue ties over words I can’t say. My fingers brush against Ben’s hand.
Ben. Ben who is bruised and broken. Ben who is vulnerable. Ben who sees me and loves me and protects me. My Ben.
Ben pulls me back to myself.
“Get away from me.” My voice is strangled; stuck in my throat. My chest seems to cave under the pressure of his presence and my hand shakes as I grab hold of myself, too afraid to move or shout or scream. Too afraid to pull Ben into this when he can’t defend himself.
“You know, I really missed you.” He doesn’t make a move to step away, he just stares at me through thick lashes as I struggle to breathe.
“You need to leave.” I can hardly hear myself.
His eyes drop to Ben, breathing deeply with his eyes closed and bruises splattering his cheekbones, and he smiles.
Matthewsmiles.
I force myself to move, to push between Ben and the man who stole who I was, and I look at him. I really look at him.
Matthew is hunching forwards as he holds his side as if he’s in pain and his lip is split. Across his neck is a cluster of scratches, surface deep but painful looking. Under his jaw is a bruise that is turning a thick black. And his arm is bruised and torn in a way I remember my chest and cheek had been after the accident. His hair, a shock of autumn red, is caked in his own blood in places.
My stomach twists as bile rises in my throat.
“How long did it take you, Mik?” His voice is splintering and my gut is churning.
I don’t answer.
“I asked you a question.” His eyes flash with liquid ice and his smirk has me sick to my stomach. “It’s Ben right? I recognise him from that dinner at your Mom’s. What was it? Eight? No, nine years ago? God. He was like a fucking dog with a bone. Should have known you’d open your legs for him eventually.”
“Matthew -”
