(All) Star crossed lovers - Dayasco

Chapter 21

The next few days were indeed a blur. Bosco's world narrowed down to the confines of the apartment, the couch, and the pain that seemed to never end. The bleeding was like a never-ending tide, draining the color from her face and the energy from her body. Mrs. Betty had become a constant presence, bringing her food she barely had the appetite to eat, and helping her to the bathroom when she could manage to stand.

The showers became a ritual of sorts, a painful cleansing of what had been. Each time Mrs. Betty helped her into the tub, the warm water washing away the blood and the tears, Bosco felt a little more of her dignity slip away. She had never felt so vulnerable, so broken.

"You're okay," Mrs. Betty would murmur, her eyes filled with a mother's love. "You're okay."

But Bosco wasn't sure she believed it. The reflection in the mirror showed a girl who had made a choice she wasn't sure she could live with, a girl who felt like she had failed in the most fundamental way.

One afternoon, as Mrs. Betty was helping her out of the shower, she saw the look of defeat in Bosco's eyes. "You haven't lost anything, baby," she says, her voice firm. "You've made a decision, a hard one, but you're still you. And you're still worthy of love."

Bosco nods, trying to hold onto those words like a lifeline. "I know," she says, her voice weak. "But it feels like I've lost everything."

Mrs. Betty dries her off gently, wrapping her in a warm towel. "You haven't lost anything that can't be found again," she says. "When you're ready, you'll pick up the pieces and build something beautiful."

The bleeding slows, and with it, the weight of despair starts to lift. Bosco's appetite returns in small doses, and she begins to move around the apartment with more ease. Mrs. Betty is always there, her support unwavering, her love a constant presence.

One evening, as they sit on the couch watching TV, Mrs. Betty brings up the scrapbook again. "You know," she says, her voice gentle. "You guys have a whole life ahead of you."

Bosco nods, her eyes on the flickering screen. "I know," she says. "But it's hard to think about that right now."

Mrs. Betty nods, her hand finding its way to Bosco's. "I know it is," she says. "But you're not alone. You've got me, and you've got Daya."

Bosco squeezes her hand, feeling a spark of hope. "I don't know how to tell him," she says, her voice shaky. "How do I tell him how much I hurt?"

Mrs. Betty squeezes back. "You tell him the truth," she says. "You tell him how much you love him, and that you're hurting. And he'll be there for you, just like he's always been."

The conversation lingers in the air, a gentle reminder that she isn't alone in her grief. The silence between them is comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that comes from shared pain.

Finally, Bosco looks over at Mrs. Betty, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. "I'm going to tell him," she says. "When he gets home."

Mrs. Betty nods, her smile proud. "That's my girl," she says. "Now, let's get you into some clean pajamas."

As she helps Bosco change, she can't help but notice how her ribs stand out, stark against her pale skin. She feels a pang of sadness, mixed with a fierce protectiveness. "You're so thin," she says gently, her voice filled with concern.

Bosco looks down at herself, the fabric of the oversized shirt hanging loosely on her body. "I guess I lost a bit of weight," she says, her voice hollow.

Mrs. Betty's eyes are filled with a mother's love as she pulls her into a tight embrace. "You're still beautiful," she whispers. "Inside and out."

They sit there for a moment, the silence a comforting blanket around them. Then Mrs. Betty pulls back, her expression serious. "Bosco," she starts, her voice tentative. "Do you think you'll ever tell your dad?"