VEDA
"Dad! Mom!" I ran into Luca's house, not missing the fact that he wasn't there to greet me. Despite what I'd told him on the phone, my heart had raced the entire way there in anticipation of what he'd do when I walked in the door. But I ignored the pang in my chest caused by his absence. I wasn't here to see him. I was here to see my parents.
Running up the stairs, I made my way past his bedroom, holding my breath so I wouldn't catch even a whiff of his scent. I didn't think I'd be able to stand it. Once I was far enough down the hall, I sucked in air and paused at the last door where Enzo had told me my parents were being kept.
But when I got there, I wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted me, and I froze just inside the doorway.
My father sat in the chair next to the bed with his back to me, his shoulders hunched like he carried the weight of the world on his back. His elbows were on his knees and his head was in his hands, and I wondered if he'd dozed off. But then he lifted his head and looked over at the bed. I could see purplish swelling on the side of his face.
Reluctantly, I forced my eyes over to the bed where my mother lay still as a corpse. She was in the middle of the mattress, still wearing a hospital gown. It made her look as small as a child. An IV bag hung from a stand near the headboard, the line traveling to her right arm where the needle was taped in place inside her elbow. There was bruising around her wrist. Her other arm was in a full cast.
I could hear her labored breathing from where I stood, like she had to force herself to drag air into her lungs with each inhale. And on every exhale, she moaned softly, bitching even when she was unconscious. Her blonde hair was spread over the pillow and the blankets were pulled up, covering her from the waist down.
My feet moved without thought, taking me closer to the bed where my mother lay injured. As I got closer, I could see what had been done to her face.
"Oh my god." I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent any more sounds from escaping, horrified at what I was seeing.
One side of my mother's gently beautiful face was all purple and red and yellow, her eye swollen shut from someone's fist hitting her repeatedly. The other side looked like it had been sliced open from her mouth to her ear. There had to be at least twenty or more stitches holding her face together.
"Veda! Oh, thank god!" I was grabbed from the side and pulled into my father's arms, even though he grunted in pain as he squeezed me tight. "Thank god you're okay."
"What the hell happened?" I asked him when I was able to pull away far enough to look at him. Much like my mother, his face was discolored and swollen. One hand went to his ribs, and I led him back to his chair so he could sit down again. "Are you okay?"
He waved his other hand in the air and made a face, dismissing my question as unimportant. "I'm fine, honey. A few broken ribs." His eyes were pulled to mom. "Your mother got the worst of it."
"Who did this?" I asked him.
Dad shook his head. "I don't know. They broke into the house when we were asleep. I tried to fight them off..." His voice broke, and I held my questions until he could get himself together. "There were three of them." He turned to me, his eyes beseeching, begging me to understand. "There was nothing I could do. Two of them had me down on the floor while the other one, the big one, went after your mom. There was nothing I could do..." His words trailed off as tears ran down his cheeks. "I tried, honey. I really tried. They had guns..."
Bending down to him, I grabbed him up in my arms much as he had to me just a minute ago. "Shhh...it's okay, Dad. This isn't your fault."
"No, it's yours," a raspy voice said.
I stiffened and helped Dad as he struggled to rise from his chair and sit on the side of the bed. He took my mother's hand in both of his. "Nancy? Do you need anything, sweetheart?" he asked her.
My mother's one good eye never left my face, her lips pressed together into a white line. When my father asked her again if she needed anything, she just shook her head slightly.
I'd never felt such hatred from her. It vibrated in the air between us, thick with tension.
Lifting my chin, I tried not to take it personally. She'd just been through a traumatic experience, and in true form, was looking for someone to blame. And, as always, that someone was me. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Mom."
She clicked her tongue in disgust, and I could see the pain around her eyes just that small movement caused. "It happened because of you," she said, her voice gaining some clarity now, though she spoke while moving her lips as little as possible to avoid pulling on the stitches.
I shook my head. No. This wasn't because of me. This was because of Mario. Because of Luca. Not me. I didn't ask for any of this, and I tried to make her understand that. "What happened to you was beyond my control, Mom. I couldn't have stopped it."
Except...I could have, couldn't I? If I had just gotten Mario the information he wanted, if I'd just not gotten caught trying to find it, all of this could have been avoided. My parents would be safe and sound in their home, and perhaps I'd be the one lying in a hospital bed. Or worse. A sacrifice I would've happily made to keep them safe.
My thoughts must've shown on my face, because she narrowed her one good eye and nodded. "Because of you," she insisted.
"Sweetheart, this wasn't Veda's fault. She couldn't have known this would happen." My father, as always, tried to stick up for me.
"Whore!" she raged, her voice a sharp rasp. If she could've spit on me, I think she would have.
My father gave me an apologetic look as I backed up from the bed, a fist squeezing my heart until the pressure rose up into my throat, making it hard to speak. "I'm sorry you're upset with me," I choked out. "But I'm here to get you both out of here. We need to leave. Where are your things?" There was no way in hell I was leaving my parents here where I couldn't keep an eye on them. And I couldn't stay.
My father leaned down and murmured something to my mom, then gave her a kiss on the temple. "I'll be right back," he said as he let go of her hand.
I turned and proceeded him out the door and into the hallway, grateful to be out from under the weight of shame my mother wouldn't let me escape. He pulled it shut behind him. "She doesn't mean it," he told me as soon as we were alone.