A Hollow Home

Chapter 3

Author's note: This chapter contains mentions of abuse and death, reader discretion is advised.

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"Buenas noches, Mija. Que duermas bien. Te quiero mucho," a quiet plea echoed down the hall, following a set of footsteps.

"Te quiero..." Amity whispered to herself from her spot on Luz's bed. The human having taught her the meaning behind the term of endearment, Amity frowned to herself, the words Luz left unspoken in return to her mother not going unnoticed by the witch.

"Good night, Mami," Amity finally heard mumbled in return, the speaker's tired voice barely audible over the click and creak of the opening door.

"Luz?" Amity whispered, the human wordlessly making her away across the room before letting herself fall face-first into bed without more than a quiet grunt.

Biting back a wave of pain that traveled up her legs as the mattress jerked under the sudden addition of Luz's weight, Amity sat up bolt-right in response, quickly composing herself lest Luz worry. Redirecting a shaky hand from its path towards her aching legs, Amity carefully touched her fingers to the back of Luz's head. Gently stroking the human's hair, a sad smile crept across the witch's face as Luz shifted, wrapping her arms around herself, and turning her back to Amity.

"Luz, are you okay?" Amity asked quietly.

"Mmm..." Luz mumbled before patting her own shoulder, a cue Amity knowingly took.

Feeling Amity's arms wrap around her, Luz breathed a heavy sigh and leaned back into her girlfriend's embrace. "Yeah," Luz finally spoke, taking one of Amity's hands in her own. "I just... I don't know" the human began, idly running her thumb over the witch's knuckles.

"It's okay if you're not up to talking," the witchling cooed, tenderly squeezing the hand she'd received.

"It's not that I don't want to," Luz answered after a moment of silence. "It's more, I don't even know where to start."

"Luz..."

"It's like... it's already been a week, you know? Since she said... implied... I was on something," Luz huffed. "And it's not like I don't know that she's sorry. She's told me a hundred times over now that she, 'didn't mean it!' and she, 'knows I'd never!' but..."

"But?"

"But I guess what gets me is that she didn't even try to hear me out. Like, I know I was panicked - we both were. But she didn't even give me a chance to try and help her understand," Luz explained. "I mean, I get it. I really do. Not being at camp because I was off galavanting in a magical realm with my inhuman girlfriend? It must have sounded ridiculous, I know, it's just that..." Luz's voice trailed.

"...It's just that she wrote off what you had to say?" Amity offered.

"No," Luz sighed. "It's just that she wrote me off."

"Oh, baby..." Amity frowned, pulling Luz in tighter, the human's silent tears raining down on her arms.

"And it's not like this was the first time either," Luz sniffled. "It's been this way for a while now whether she realizes it or not. Every time she'd find me in the principal's office, she'd never ask me why. She'd just take the administrator's word at face-value and we'd be on our way..." the human paused, breathing a deep and shaky breath. "She'd never say she was disappointed in me but the silence on the car rides home told me loud and clear. Looking back though, I'm not sure she'd care to hear my reasoning anyway."

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Luz attempted to compose herself, tears relentlessly rolling down her cheeks in spite of her efforts. Her mom had sent her away. Years of silent suffering in the face of incident after incident at school culminating in rejection by the hands of the one person she thought would always be there for her - to say that it hurt would be an understatement. And while she knew her mother was sorry, while she truly believed her mother sending her to camp was well intentioned, it ached. Despite the time that had passed since the day of her departure, despite the love and family she had found along the way, despite all of the ways she'd grown and thrived, that simple act of rejection - that final push in sending her away - was a wound that simply refused to close.