Lucy wrinkles her nose and turns, pulling Benji away with her and they walk off. I’m unable to move as I sit on the ground with my ribs aching as I try to catch my breath.
“You’re bleeding,” Tina says.
I look down at my hand and see I have cut it on something when I fell. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Stop forgiving her. Lucy does not care about you… At. All. And that is clear as she walked away without seeing if you’re okay.”
She’s right, I know it. Problem is, she’s still my sister.
“Okay, we need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?” I go to stand but scream out in pain when it hurts. “Don’t even try that again, I’m calling for an ambulance.”
Tina does as she says and waits with me until the EMTs arrive. Once they have assessed me, Tina rides in the ambulance as well while she nervously bounces her leg.
When we finally arrive at the hospital, the doctor comes in and checks me over from head to toes.
“A guy named Nicholas called. He wanted to know what happened and what hospital you’re at.” Tina hands me my cell, and I see multiple text messages from him.
I write back.
I’m fine, just an altercation with my sister
I don’t know if he replies because I turn my cell off and lay back down, trying to relax. My nerves are shot to pieces right now.
“Tell me you will stop, Thea? Please stop seeking Lucy out,” Tina pleads.
We’ve been in the hospital for hours and the pain medications they gave me have finally kicked in. They ended up stitching my hand as I cut it deeply.
“I will.”
She smiles, pleased with my simple answer, as the doctor walks back in.
“Your ribs are bruised and can take anywhere from three to six weeks to heal.”
Tina clutches my hand as the doctor finishes telling me, “You need to be careful and not do anything that will cause pain.”
“Do you want me to call Atlas?” Tina asks as we leave.
“No,” I reply, and I mean it.
We head home. I just want some sleep.
My weekend consists of me sitting on my couch and doing nothing. Tina pops in and out and brings me food when I need it, but she doesn’t stay long. She’s an event planner and has started her own business, so weekends for her are the busiest times. I thank her and tell her not to worry about me every time she slips in for a few minutes.
Flowers also come, and I’m confused as I read the card from Nicholas.
A rose for each tear.
When Monday rolls around, I call in sick. It still hurts to move, so I let the girls know as well as Sydney I can’t make it in. On Tuesday, I do the same, being stuck on my couch and in a lot of pain. On Tuesday night, there is a knock on my door, and when I finally get up to open it, Atlas is standing there, his eyes locked onto mine.
“You don’t care for work anymore?” he asks. Then, when his eyes finally move, and he sees me dressed in my robe, he states, “Are you even sick?”
“Yes,” I say while lifting one hand to shut the door, but I can’t help the grimace.
He stops me and grabs my arm. “Why do you have stitches?”
Atlas enters my home and shuts the door behind him. I take a step back, and he reaches for my robe, opening it, which isn’t hard considering it wasn’t tied. When he looks down, his eyes zoom in on my ribs and something happens, something about his eyes, and in that moment, I am utterly terrified of him.
Not hand to my throat scared, as I was when I first met him. No, more like run despite the pain. All I can see and hear is Atlas. My body ignores everything around us as I take a tentative step back, ready to make an escape from him to keep myself alive.
His fists are clenched, his brows scrunched in determination as his lips thin in anger. His nostrils flare, and his once amber eyes seem to turn completely black. When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice has dropped even lower. Now it’s dark, darker than I ever thought possible. “Who. Did. This?”
I shake my head and close the robe, snatching it away from his grasp.
“Theadora! Who. Did. This?”
“Don’t worry, it was an accident.” His brows, which were stitched together, loosen as he looks at me. “This involves Lucy, doesn’t it?” Atlas shakes his head and steps farther into my home. He walks past me and heads into my living room to stand in front of my television, and then, all of a sudden, he starts pacing back and forth. “Lucy was getting help where she was. I had doctors for her,” he tells me, and I am stunned by his words. “She was seeing a psychiatrist I paid for. Your sister has a fucked-up way of thinking.”