Breaking Point (BWWM)

17. Disclosure

A/N: In the media is the song Lucy likes to sing (she also sang part of it in a previous chapter). I really think this version works for her story and to add to that, I imagine it's what her voice sounds like! 

Thanks again for your patience with me! It honestly means the world. I'm trying to get a hold of my time management to work on this story, I love sharing it with you! Don't forget to comment! Enjoy!

"Lu!"

Lucinda gasps as her body jolts hard, her eyes burning from how suddenly she opened them. With a wide gaze she peers up, feeling a large, warm hand on her hip. Braxton was leaned down over her body, that concerned look was alive in his sage eyes as he studied her. His thick brows were slightly pinched together.

  "You were thrashing and talking again," he clarified. Lucy rubs her eyes, they felt dry  despite having been closed. She blinks, trying to read the time, though his large frame blocked the clock on the wall. She drops her head back onto her pillow, recognizing his typical attire for work in the dimness. "I need to go take care of some things in my office. You should try to rest a bit longer." He stated, his deep voice was hushed, yet it's deep baritones still reverberated in her body. It made her want to quiver, as it reminded her of those dreadful beastly growls she can't seem to escape. She always felt the infinite echo of those gritty growls bouncing off those glacial, clammy, dark cave walls.

  Lucy starts to get up from bed, "I should go get 'Sir-" she mumbled groggily, fighting the yawn trying to surface as she began to wrestle their sheets off her body. The pressure in her ears was persistent and annoying, not to mention the hellacious weight dwelling in her lids.

  "It's late, I'll get him when he wakes up," he states firmly, his hand felt heavier on her waist. For a moment his statement confused her, though he'd been working through nights a few times since they came home from Ontario. And though he was making a considerate gesture, there were still hints of intolerance in his tone. Lucy considered herself mostly obedient to his reasonable demands, though when it came to her son she was more entitled to her decisions with him. Still, his body was in the way, and he kept his hand on her side as if to make sure she wouldn't so much as attempt to get up from bed. "Get some more sleep. I can't imagine you got much rest all night." Lucy honestly could say the same for him, he seemed especially exhausted as of late. She's found him dozing off in his office many times this week. She thins her lips, hating how easily he could find her truths. She wants to insist, but he laid a kiss to her forehead and straightened his back, resuming that stoic expression he typically wears. She watched his broad back as he shut their bedroom door behind himself, moving to his study at the end of the hall.

  Lucy sighs softly to herself, turning onto her back and staring up at their high canopy. Her stomach was turning as the last remnants of her dreams fade away from her recent recollection; though they never really leave her. She had the misfortune of dreaming about her past, and quite possibly her future. Though the resolutions are always non-existent or heinous.

...Marlene's scent was unmistakable, now. Lucy struggled not to recall her first encounter with it, hating how the familiarity haunts her.

  Oliver Greene's face kept popping into mind, despite how much she tries to forget it. She couldn't remember his voice as much as she used to, though perhaps it was for the better; he was almost unrecognizable in his last days.

  She never thought she'd empathize for a human until she met Oliver Greene - well, he met her. In fact, he actively pursued her company. Something about her muteness and apparent dissociation with everyone and everything else had always intrigued him. He had been quite a talker, witty and sarcastic, too. She found his eagerness to seek her company rather annoying in her time spent at that damned hospital that they wouldn't let her leave, especially considering how much of a mystery she was to the humans. There was always a guard outside her room, and she was kept on a high floor with bolted windows. There was no escaping it, and that included sixteen-year-old Oliver. No matter how much she avoided him, he'd force himself out of bed after his hellish rounds of chemo and treatments and drag his tubes to her room. He'd refuse to leave until a few nurses escorted him out. Even when she didn't acknowledge him he'd stay around her, blabbering about how unique she seemed.