The Heart That's Meant to Love You [COMPLETED]

Chapter 97: Hospital

Everything was a dream. A terrible nightmare that would haunt her forever. Yet, even in her waking, the nightmare didn't end.

A friend had become a monster. How else did one explain the things Oliver had said and done? Then, a man she had thought would abandon her forever had come to her rescue. In more ways than one.

If she didn't have the tangible evidence of the letter in her hands, Naomi would have thought she had hallucinated Kieran's involvement in her rescue. But there the paper sat, with Kieran's handwriting scrawled across it in the dying ink of a hospital pen.

Oliver has been arrested. You won't need to see him until his trial, as a witness. Your mother has good lawyers. They'll keep you safe.

Kieran had started the letter so dryly that Naomi almost hadn't read on. But the next sentence had caught her full attention.

I had Ms. VanCamp contact the point-person for your internship. They've given you a grace period, so don't give up on your dream. I would be disappointed.

Kieran, disappointed? Naomi didn't like the sound of that. How could anyone disappoint a man who held no expectations of them?

In that, Naomi realized that Kieran saw her differently than others. Perhaps she had always been special to him, and she hadn't been intelligent enough to see that. All the doubts, all the fears, and all the anxieties swirled around her like thick fog. She and Kieran had lost their moment, their opportunity.

And his final words confirmed it.

Go and learn. Live your dreams. Paint. Your colors deserve to be seen by the world. I won't contact you over the next two years. Don't contact me, either. I'll change my phone number to make it easier.

It isn't because I dislike you. It was never because I disliked you, but because I think I like you too much. That's why we can't be in contact. I'm not a person who can take care of you. Not yet. So forget about me if you can. And if you can't... if you really can't... and if it's our destiny... somehow we'll find each other again when we're ready to take care of one another.

He had merely signed it with his first name. No farewell greetings. No confession of the truest, undying love. Only his name, one last time, to push Naomi away.

He had left after writing the note, without so much as the courtesy to make sure that Naomi woke up.

Had it been her own imagination, then, that he held her in his arms? That he had begged for her to wake up? It must have been, or he would have stayed to see it.

Instead, he left a letter and tied up all Naomi's loose ends as a neatly-wrapped present to compensate for his abandonment.

The sad part was... Naomi understood. Their relationship had been fury and chaos, never leaving either of them time to think about what they really wanted. It had been in the middle of that chaos that Naomi suddenly realized she had somehow fallen in love with the man within the shell that Kieran had carefully crafted. She doubted she could forget him as he wished.

But, because he wished it, she would give it a try.

Kieran had a point. If they were destined, they would meet again in a better setting.

"Naomi!" Ms. Rowe came powering through the door, her face as white as a bleached sheet.

Naomi slid the letter under her pillow. Her mother need not know all that had happened. Not yet. Not until Naomi could wrap her own mind around it.

"Are you alright? What happened? One of the nurses said that Oliver was involved..." Ms. Rowe's eyes roved from Naomi's bandaged head down her torso. Her fingers checked Naomi's legs beneath the blankets. "What's going on? Oliver isn't like this."

"I think you're mistaken, mother." Naomi gave her head a bewildered shake. "Oliver is unstable."

"He's never—"

"Until now."

"But, he—"

"Mother, he abducted me, beat me, threatened me, and eventually pushed me down a flight of metal stairs. Will you still take his side?"

Naomi knew her words were sharp, but she didn't feel like being soft. Ms. Rowe had long ago taught her how to use words to make her point flawlessly. If what Naomi had said didn't get to Ms. Rowe's head, she was just as unstable as Oliver.

Mercifully, Ms. Rowe didn't argue. She merely sighed. "Where is he?"

"In police custody. I fully intend to press charges."

"My lawyers will handle it. What about your internship?" For the first time, Ms. Rowe sounded interested in what Naomi wanted to do with her life.

Suspicious.

Naomi laid it out simply and plainly. "I've been granted a grace period. I will fly out after my concussion goes away."

"I'll start the discharge procedures so you can go home—"

"That won't be necessary." It was still too early, too soon. Naomi didn't trust that house, because she had just gotten away from its confines. "Claire's going to pick me up. I'll stay with her until my flight."

In another suspicious act of acquiescence, Ms. Rowe remained silent.

Naomi couldn't think of anything to say, either. The past few years had been spent arguing at every turn, and now she found she didn't know how to hold a normal conversation with her mother. And she hated that.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like to stay for a little while." Ms. Rowe didn't look up from her hands, a mask of shame plastered on her face. Except this time, it looked real. "Just to reassure myself that you're okay."

"Are you sure that's all?"

Ms. Rowe nodded. "You're my daughter, after all. My own flesh and blood. I need to know that you'll be okay. May I stay for a bit?"

Naomi forced a half-smile. "I would like that."

They had to start somewhere, and the ability to stay in the same room without arguing seemed like the best option. If she didn't work to fix her relationship with her mother, it would remain broken forever. Though it felt awkward and suspicions darted through her head like racecars, Naomi would start with the opportunity given her.

One day, if they were fortunate, she and her mother might be able to get along like normal family members. Naomi sincerely hoped for that to happen.

And so, for an hour or more, she and her mother sat in that hospital room. One on the bed, the other in a chair nearby. Neither said a word. But both heard the intention of the other's heart.