HEARTBLOOD - Paul Lahote

THIRTEEN

The house was unusually quiet, a thick, weighted silence that seemed to press down on everything. I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling like I was trapped in a fog I couldn't shake. The fight with Paul kept replaying in my mind, each word feeling sharper, more painful than the last.

"You're too broken to fix."

I'd replayed it a hundred times, wondering if he really meant it, if he could see something in me that I didn't. But every time I thought about it, it hurt all over again, like picking at a scab that wouldn't heal. I felt as if I'd unraveled completely, each piece of me scattered too far to gather again. I didn't even have the energy to reach out to anyone—not Emily, not Leah, not even Dad. So I stayed in my room, hoping that if I stayed hidden long enough, maybe the world would forget about me, and I could forget about it, too.

The sun shifted outside my window, its light dimming and brightening as the days blurred together. Hours passed, one bleeding into the next, and I let them. I didn't want to think or feel. I just wanted to disappear into the quiet.

A soft knock broke the silence, and I stiffened, curling up a little tighter under my blankets, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave. But the door creaked open anyway, and I heard Emily's soft voice.

"Nicolette?" she asked gently, her footsteps tentative as she stepped into my room. I heard her set something down, and a warm, familiar smell filled the room—soup, maybe, or something she'd baked. I knew she was hoping I'd look at her, but I kept my eyes closed, willing myself to be as still as possible.

I could feel her sit on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She sat quietly, not forcing anything, just letting me know she was there. Her hand reached out and settled on my back, her touch so gentle that it almost undid me.

"Nic, I know you're hurting," she said softly. "But we're here for you, all of us. You've been so strong for everyone else... let us be here for you now."

I felt a tightness in my chest, a mix of gratitude and frustration. I didn't want to burden anyone else with my problems. I'd always been the one taking care of everyone else. It felt wrong to let myself fall apart now, even though Emily's presence was strangely comforting. I kept my eyes shut, my throat tightening as I fought back the urge to cry.

Emily sighed, her hand rubbing slow circles on my back. "I brought you some tea," she said, her voice warm and patient. "I'm going to leave it here, okay? Just in case you want it."

She stayed a little longer, her hand never leaving my back, as if she was determined to remind me that I wasn't alone. Eventually, she stood up, her footsteps soft as she left, and the door clicked shut behind her. I exhaled slowly, a small, shaky breath escaping me as I opened my eyes, staring at the spot where she'd left the tea.

I stayed that way for what felt like hours, watching the sun dip lower, casting long shadows across my room. Another knock sounded on my door later, this time more assertive. I wasn't surprised to see Leah standing there when the door opened. She didn't wait for permission to come in, her expression soft but determined.

"Emily said you were holed up in here," Leah said, leaning against the doorframe. She crossed her arms, her gaze sharp but filled with concern. "You don't get to do this alone, you know. Not after everything you've done for us. I may not like Emily but you're family"

I turned away, hoping she'd let it go, but Leah wasn't one to give up easily. She walked over, her footsteps heavy and confident as she pulled up a chair and sat beside me.

"We're not leaving you alone, Nic. You're family," she said firmly. "And family doesn't walk away just because things get tough."

Her words struck something in me, a spark of warmth cutting through the fog. I didn't know how to respond, didn't have the words or energy to explain the tangled mess of emotions inside me. But Leah didn't seem to mind. She stayed there, offering a quiet strength that I didn't know I needed until she was there, steady and unmoving.