Broken and Together

Chapter Thirty: Rest

    Charlie fiddled with the white sheets covering her as she relaxed against the pillows on her hospital bed. She was about half seated, being too dizzy to properly sit up. With a sigh, she brushed her hand across her head. How did I let it happen again? she thought. I should have seen it coming. Why am I so...so... She shut her eyes against the memory, both of last night and the night Sammy died. She remembered it now, the entire thing. Parts of it blurred when she thought back, merely from the passage of time and the fact she had lost consciousness fairly early, but it pained her greatly. Even worse right now, though, was the worry over whatever had happened after she fainted just last night. She hadn't seen anyone yet, not even Michael whom she knew was also in the hospital. She didn't know any details, only assumed that he was attacked too. And that worried and frightened her.

    I wonder what happened to William, she said to herself, the thought replacing any fear and worry with pure anger. I hope Michael beat him up or something.

    A knock came at the door, drawing her attention. "Come in," she said.

    A nurse stepped inside. "Do you feel up to having visitors, Miss Emily?"

    "Yes please," she said, then inwardly cringed at how desperate she'd accidentally sounded.

    "In that case, you have a visitor." The nurse ducked out, nodding to someone Charlie couldn't see. Immediately, Michael rushed into the room and all the way to the side of her bed. She smiled as he put a hand against her cheek and leaned close, pure worry written across his face.

    "Are you alright?" he asked. "How are you feeling? You're not in too much pain, right?"

    She gave a small chuckle. "I'm fine, Mike. I have a slight headache, but my wound is being taken care of. I survived your idiot father once; I can do it again."

    He smiled back, but she noticed it just barely reached his lips and then faltered. "Good. I was worried I'd lost you." He brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Glad you're alright, cheerios. More-or-less, anyway."

    "Hmm." She took his hand, taking notice it was his left one. Her eyes trailed to his right which rested on the railing of her bed. To her alarm, it was bandaged. "Did something hurt your hand?"

    "Yes." His voice tightened. "My father, to be exact."

    Charlie bit down on her lip, silencing angry words she wanted to say and merely asking, "What happened?"

    "I came just in time to stop him from hitting you again," he said, looking elsewhere as he spoke. She recognized the rage on his face, the tightness in both his jaw and the rest of his body. "I tried to attack him; he stopped me, and uh...hurt me. We spoke a little, and then something eerie happened, and—ugh, it's hard to explain, but the point is in the end, he got away. I just...I can't believe..." He clasped her hand and pressed it against his lips, his eye shutting tightly. She frowned and watched as he drew it away, but he did not release her hand. She didn't pull away, listening concernedly to him. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to come along, shouldn't have even gone in the first place. I found out something, but I-I...I don't know if it was worth it, if there was some other way to discover it. I almost lost you; I don't know what I would have done if you died."

    He shook his head. "I failed, Charlie. I had one job, just...just stop that terrible man. I failed and dragged you down with me. I'm sorry." He pulled away from her, trying to remove his hand from hers. She tightened her grip and kept him from doing so. Glancing away, he bowed his head. "It was Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental all over again. We both got injured, and one of us nearly died. I literally had to carry you out of there, and we barely made it, just like last time. And what did it accomplish? Only getting a few answers. My father got away; the literal thing we wanted to do wasn't accomplished. He's right. This is my fault. I failed, I'm a failure. This was a mistake; I'm a—"