Lacey

21

"STEF." KILLIAN NODS to him.

I stand there frozen, with Killian's hand on my lower back. I can't breathe or take my eyes off him. Seeing Stefan out in public is a feeling that I can compare to seeing a lion when you're camping in the forest.

It's wrong; it shouldn't be there, but you know that regardless, something bad is going to happen.

Confusion, fear, and anxiety.

"Ian." Stef greets back.

Killian guides me—basically pushes me—into the entrance of the house, where Stefan is putting on his shoes.

He turns to me, "Maya, right? From the club?" He sends me a smile that makes me nauseous; to anyone else, it would look friendly, I suppose.

I nod, unable to bring myself to form words. I can feel my hands begin to sweat. I wipe them on my dress.

Killian asks Stefan something about why he's here, to which Stefan responds by pulling up his shirt and showing a series of scratches all along his abdomen. "Wanted to make sure they weren't infected."

A small sense of pride fills me, knowing I was the cause of them.

It's squashed by the fact that he probably feels ten times the amount of pride I do, since I look ten times worse.

When he asks Killian the same question, he simply gestures to me. Stefan looks over my face and body, which is covered by my dress but leaning into Killian for support. I see that pride flash in his eyes, and I'm positive if I could build up the physical strength to strangle him, I would. "Gosh, you look horrible, what happened?"

I stare into his eyes for several seconds before speaking barely over a whisper, "I don't remember."

"Hm." He hums, glancing at Killian. "Probably better that way. Wouldn't want to relive the trauma," he says.

I nod and look away with a gulp. "You guys have a good day, yeah?" Stefan bids us goodbye.

"Bye." Killian says shortly with a nod, walking us further into the house.

"Our shoes." I point out, "We should take them off like Stefan did, no?"

"It's not necessary." He doesn't even glance down at me, just keeps guiding me through the large house.

"What are we doing h—" I'm cut off.

"Ian!" It's an old woman, probably in her seventies. I see Killian actually smile. "Mira," he says, adoration shining in his gaze.

"O que você vai ficar aí parado? Me dê um abraço, meu amor."
What, you're just going to stand there? Give me a hug, my baby.

Stefan lets go of me and envelops the fragile old woman in a hug. "Senti sua falta, mamãe."
I've missed you, mama.

She pulls away and slaps his chest, "Porque você nunca me liga! Nisha me liga todos os dias. Até Micah para me verificar. Mas não, não o filho que acolhi, criei como se fosse meu, alimentei com meu pouco dinheiro..."
Because you never call me! Nisha calls me every day. Even Micah checks on me. But no, not the son I took in, raised as my own, fed with my little money...

She speaks in an animated way, as if she's being dramatic or making a joke. She looks comically sad, even wiping away fake tears.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, gorgeous smile still plastered on his face, "Já se passaram duas semanas, mamãe. Nisha e Micah têm muito tempo disponível. Eu deveria dar-lhes mais trabalho."
It's been two weeks, mama. Nisha and Micah have too much time on their hands. I should give them more work.

I recognize the names Nisha and Micah, but otherwise, I stand there like an idiot, waiting for the moment to be over. "Não revire os olhos para mim, seu palhaço."
Don't roll your eyes at me, you buffoon.

She slaps his chest again, and that's when she looks over at me. "Quem é? Ela é linda. Ela é sua namorada? Meu bebê tem namorada?"
Who's this? She's pretty. Is she your girlfriend? Does my baby have a girlfriend?

I smile at her awkwardly, not having a clue on the world what she's saying, but she's smiling so it must be good. "Ainda não," Killian says, walking over to me, "This is Maya, a friend of mine."

I grin, feeling a little giddy inside. Friend. The word feels so foreign to me lately. "Does this mean I can call you Ian?" I whisper to him.

"No," he whispers back.

"Maya." She smiles, opening her arms for a hug. I look up at Killian, then at her, knowing if someone tried to hug me right now, I'd probably pass out from pain.

"Ela está ferida, Mira. Sem abraços."
She's injured, Mira. No hugs.

She drops her arms, holding out her hand instead.

I send Killian a thankful look and shake her hand. "Hello, Maya. I'm Mirabella, but call me Mira, please."

I smile, "Hi Mira, it's lovely to meet you."

"Onde está papai?" Killian cuts in.
Where's papa?

"Porão, querido." She answers.
Basement, honey.

Without another word, Killian guides me away from her and to a staircase which takes me too long to get down.

When I finally do, I come down to a medical-looking room. There are three patient beds, and medical supplies everywhere. It looks like a real doctor's office.

"Papa?" The man beside me calls. An old man emerges from another room and says something in what I think is Portuguese before directing me to a bed.

"What's going on?" I ask Killian in a whisper.

"Abilo is going to look at you," he explains. I send him a look. "He's a doctor. He'll look at you and give you the right pain medication."

I nod.

҉

I feel much better an hour later as I hop back into the truck. My pain is mostly gone, and I'm confident that with my new painkillers, I'll be able to head to work tomorrow, no problem.

I turn to Killian as he drives, "So friends, huh?" I can't help but grin.

"Shut up."