When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Don't Let Go

TW// Hospital setting, grief, mention of amputation

—

I spend the rest of the day in and out of consciousness, aided by as many painkillers as they can possibly spare.

My tears stop quickly. Part of me believes that I should be crying nonstop, that there must be something wrong with me if I don't feel anything, but just can't do it. It's like everything in me has been drained dry, like I've been sucked of any emotion. Exhaustion is all I know.

A dull noise forces me to wake for what feels like the millionth time. Even now, my surroundings feel so surreal. Drugs course through my system, probably the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely. I like the distance. It's much easier then for me to just lie here on my own.

The noise grows louder. It echoes in my static-filled head — an irritating thud, thud, thudding that seems to stop right next to me.

'I told you, Doc, I'm fine. Just...'

Trailing off when I realise who it is, I turn my head away. My jaw clenches and my already balled fists bunch up the itchy blanket.

The chair screeches as it's pulled back. A quiet sigh carries, just above the breeze that wafts in through holes in walls and the draughty corridor outside. 'How are you?'

My arms fold across my chest in a gesture of defiance and I scowl, reluctantly meeting Kane's anxious stare. I bite on the inside of my cheek in attempt to render any cutting remarks silent. 'You heard what I said. I'm fine.'

'Wren, you just lost your sister and your leg within the same twenty-four hours. You're not fine.'

Rage swells within me. Still, I fight to keep it at bay. I can't lose it. If I do, I don't know if I'll be able stop.

Shrugging, I try to sit up in the bed. It only brings a wave of nausea over me. I swallow thickly, forcing that awful bitter taste away again. '"Fine" is relative. With my lot in life, a "fine" for me is probably a "really bad" for you.'

'Wren, just give me a chance to explain myself. Please.'

Thats how he says it: "please." He doesn't ask. He has never truly asked. He only tells, demands. I know his reputation from the Ark and I doubt it will have changed. He's still the same coward: Jaha's lapdog, the man who ran away from his own flesh and blood, the man who fears commitment and yet has no problem being in power.

After a moment of silence, avoiding his pleading eyes, I nod begrudgingly.

He leans forwards, waves of dark hair falling across his face. I already hate how little it takes for me to recognise my own face in his. Her face. 'I was young when I got Drea pregnant. I was arrogant and reckless and... I panicked. I should have been there for you and—'

'What are you doing?'

Pausing, his eyes dart around the room in confusion. A thin line now gashes across his stubbled face due to the pursing of his lips. 'I'm... apologising. I should have been a better father.'

An ache starts to spread up my leg — or the space where my leg once was — and I wince. I hug myself in an effort to bring some comfort as I feel Kane's eyes bore into the side of my face.

'I never needed a father. I never wanted one. I was perfectly happy with just my mom and— What my family needed was support. Mom raised three teenagers with just one income and a friend who could only drop in a couple times a week. She didn't deserve that. The least you could've done was pay her child support, and I know damn well you could've afforded to.'