Impassive

9| Phone

"Here's a phone for you," he said. "Since you lost yours."
She hadn't lost it; she had left it at her parents house so they couldn't contact her.

MATTEO

The hallway was quiet as I walked away from Ava's room, the sound of my footsteps almost too loud in the empty space. I couldn't shake the feeling of her, the softness of her voice, the way she looked at me with those eyes that were both familiar and completely foreign. The way she resisted me at every turn, even though all I wanted was to keep her safe. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the frustration build up again. She was never going to make this easy, was she?

This Ava wasn't the kind of woman who accepted help without a fight. That had been clear from the beginning. She was proud, independent, determined to handle things on her own—no matter how dangerous the situation might be. But this? This was different. After everything that had happened, after everything she'd been through, she didn't even understand the danger she was in. The fragility of her body, the vulnerability of her mind—it was all I could think about when I looked at her.

I pushed open the door to my office, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. As expected, Fabio was waiting for me. He stood there, arms crossed, his face unreadable. He wasn't going to ask about my conversation with Ava—he knew better. But I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. He could see it in my eyes, the things I couldn't say out loud. His silence told me he understood more than I wanted him to.

"How is she?" Fabio asked quietly, his gaze never leaving me as I moved toward the desk.

"Resting," I replied. My voice was rougher than I intended, but I didn't care. "I finally got her into bed." Fabio didn't need me to explain any further. He knew, just like I did, that Ava was anything but at peace. He saw the tension between us, knew that I was holding my own frustration back as much as I could.

"Do you think she's really resting?" he asked, voice low, like he knew the answer before he even asked.

"She's still fighting me," I muttered, the words bitter in my mouth. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the frustration that rose in my chest again. "She doesn't even understand what's happening to her. How could she? She can't remember anything. She's confused. She's stubborn and I can't do a damn thing to make it better." My voice faltered, and I realized I was standing too still, my hands clenched into fists.

Fabio's eyes softened, but his words were sharp. "She's not the woman she was," he said. "But is that a bad thing?"

I froze. His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn't think. Was it a bad thing? Could it even be a good thing, what had happened to her? I wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. "No," I said slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's not that it's a bad thing... it's just... it's hard." I ran a hand over my face, trying to steady myself.

There it was. The thing that had been gnawing at me. The thing that hurt more than anything. Ava wasn't just suffering physically from the attack; she was fighting something much bigger than that. A part of her had been taken away—her memories, her identity. And I couldn't even begin to imagine how she must feel, lost in her own head. The silence between us thickened as I stood there, feeling like I couldn't breathe, as Fabio's next words dropped like a weight.

"You know they'll try again, right?" His voice was calm, steady. But it hit me like an ice-cold shower, snapping me out of the fog I'd been in. He was right. I had been trying to ignore it, trying to convince myself that the worst was over, that we could go back to something resembling normal. But I couldn't lie to myself. I couldn't pretend that everything was fine, just because she was alive.