Their Broken Angel

Chapter Twelve

I start running as soon as I'm out of their line of sight and I don't stop. I can't stop. My breaths come in short gasps and I can see spots clouding my vision, but I don't care. They hate me. I knew they would, but hearing them say it? I shake my head violently, falling to the floor in a heap.

Croakey, gasping sobs rack my tiny body. Heavy tear drops hit my arms rapidly reminding me that I need to calm down. I can't control what they think or do. I can only control my own actions. I take a few deep breaths, attempting to slow my heart rate. Key word there is attempt. Groaning in frustration as my heartbeat continues to pound so loud I can hear it, I raise my hands to wipe my eyes only to realize that I'm shaking so bad I'm more likely to stab my own eyes out than dry my tears.

One, two, three, four, five... I start counting my breaths, making sure to keep a steady rhythm going. Once I've calmed down enough, I pull on my gloves harshly and push myself to my feet. Steeling my resolve, I smooth out my clothes and school my features. They're not getting any more reactions out of me.

I walk down the hall, stopping by the bathroom to rinse my face and brace myself for what's to come. I can already hear the voices shouting from the kitchen. This is it. I'm going to prove to them that I'm not some spoiled princess and that I can and will take care of myself.

Glancing in the mirror, I can't help but stare at myself. My almost deathly pale skin gives me about as much color as a ghost and that paired with the bruising under my eye from lack of sleep and the sunken cheeks from malnutrition? I look like the walking dead. I feel like it too. Running my fingers through my wavy, red hair as much as I can without creating a frizzy mess, I sigh, this is as good as it's gonna get I guess. Squaring my shoulders and steeling my features, I exit my newfound safety net.

The closer I get the more I feel like turning right back around. I can hear their words clearly at this point and let me just tell you, it's not encouraging.

"What the fuck were you thinking? She's been here all of what, a day? And you're already fucking accusing her of shit that you know isn't real? I mean come on man! I swear we could all see it the moment she walked into that room! She's not some fucking golddigger, she's our fucking sister! It's supposed to be our job to take care of her, not attack her!" Roman's loud voice booms through the halls. He's standing up for me. Well, for now at least. I can't rely on him though. Can't rely on anyone.

"I wasn't fucking thinking," Enzo shouts back.

"That much has been made quite obvious." Alessandro's icy voice cuts in, "I expect you to find a way to fix this, brother. She was already in a fragile state." His voice oozes anger which, again, shocks me. I didn't expect him to take my side in an argument. I thought for sure it would be over. I mean, they've had all their lives to form relationships and he barely knows me...

"Alessandro, you should know, her arms, the scars..." Elijah trails off, seeming unsure of himself and definitely disgusted with me.

"Scars?" Roman demands, and I swear his voice dropped two octaves. Even though I know he's stood up for me and has shown no signs of aggression towards me, that voice sends shivers down my spine, and not in a good way. he sounds murderous. "What kind of scars?"

Alessandro sighs, "That's her story to tell, not ours."

"Wait a damn minute, you fucking knew about that shit?" Enzo cries.

"What are you talking about? What scars?" Dante asks hesitantly.

"She has fucking scars coating her arms. There's not an inch of skin that's unharmed. And the damn burns." Enzo huffs, "I don't know how she's moving with that level of damage."