BELONGS TO ME

Chapter 39

Dual pov

Camila

A flash jolts me awake, and when I open my eyes, Hailee is there.

"Hey, girlfriend." She yawns, her upper body bent over in her chair, her head lying on my legs. She folds her arms under her cheek and smiles. "How's the head?"

"Heavy, but not excruciating anymore. My ribs are an entirely different story."

"I bet."

Glancing around the room, I spot Carl draped over the corner chair, the rest of the space clear.

"Harry and Shawn went home a couple hours ago to shower and get some sleep. Carl wouldn't budge, of course."

The corner of my mouth lifts, but I look away when moisture builds in my eyes and I don't even know why. "What day is it?"

She's quiet a moment before she whispers, "It's still December twenty-ninth. You were only asleep for a couple hours." Her tone is thick with worry.

I nod, but my lips begin to quiver, and she sits up, Carl quickly coming to my side. "I'm sorry. I don't know why this keeps happening."

"Don't apologize. It's been less than twenty-four hours since you woke up. Of course you're going to emotional, we understand, and we're just happy you're okay."

"Am I?"

Carl reaches out, but I shake my head, wiping the tears away before they fall. My chest aches with my full inhale, but I suffer through it, trying to force away the millions of emotions dizzying up my mind.

"Mila—"

"I wish Mom and Dad were here." I cry, my shoulders shaking, and Carl shifts, sitting at the edge beside me on the bed now.

"I know you do. Me too." He hugs me to him, his voice cracking. "I've tried everything, but they'll call us as soon as they're back on land. Should only be two more days, tops."

Two more days until I'll get to hear my mom's voice, until my dad is here promising everything will be okay and begs for instructions on what he can do to make it better.

I don't know what can be made better, if anything.

I'm too afraid to think past what I know, and apparently, I don't know shit. Nothing recent, anyway.

The doctor said this happens more than people realize, that memory loss, while less common than not, isn't abnormal in concussion-related injuries. He said as soon as my brain has had time to heal, things will slowly come back to me, that they're hopeful, and I should be too.

I want to be, but there's this helplessness I can't shake, and I think my twin senses it.

Sniffling, I look up, and he wipes my tears with the pads of his thumbs, attempting a smile, but it never quite breaks free.

"If you do get a hold of them, I don't think we should tell them until they're home." I try to busy his mind with something a little less about me. "They'll just stress the whole way back."

"I was thinking the same thing." He nods, rubbing his eyes like he used to do when we were little.

I reach out, gripping his hand. "Go home, Carl."

His head jerks my way, and he sits up straight. "What, no, I'm good."

"No, I'm good, I promise." When it's obvious he doesn't agree, I add, "Plus, I want to try and take a shower. Nurse Becky said I can, with help. I just have to work around my IV."