The things we never had

Chapter 28

My head was pounding, and my body felt like it weighed a ton, as if bricks had been strapped to me. It hurt to breathe, to move—everything was unbearable. My ears were ringing, an almost constant, high-pitched sound that made it feel like my mind was going to explode. I stayed as still as possible, trying to subside the pain just a little. I'd always found that remaining motionless helped more than most people would think.

The ringing in my ears finally started to die down, though it probably should've stopped much sooner. It was just one of the many annoying side effects of the complicated head injury I'd been dealing with. And honestly, it's not like I'd had the most relaxing week, or even the most relaxing month, for that matter. If life continued like this, I'd look thirty by the time I was eighteen.

Eventually, I could make out some voices.

"How long does it last?" Charlotte's voice was soft, like she was trying to not disturb me.

"She should be up in a couple of minutes," Ace said.

"Drugging her was a bit of a stretch," Atlas said softly, but there was a clear edge to his voice.

"Atlas, honey, you saw her. She was shaking, screaming... she was seconds away from either hurting someone or passing out." Her voice grew louder now, like she wanted the rest of the room to hear. "We are not to speak of this. We'll have a nice holiday, and then after, we'll arrange a visit and sort this out." Charlotte spoke firmly I always found she did.

Atlas voice cut through the tension, sharp and desperate. "That isn't necessary."

Alex spoke then, his voice firm but trying to keep the peace. "Thank you for protecting her, Atlas, but she's here now, and you might not think so right now, but this is what's best for her."

Atlas jaw was clenched, his words coming out more forcefully than before. "You don't fucking understand. I'm not trying to control her! She doesn't want to speak about it! She never fucking does! She would rather fucking throw herself off a bridge, or anyone else for that matter, than talk about it. She doesn't want to, and I've tried so damn hard to coax her out of it—every fucking day—but she won't. She refuses. She doesn't want to think about it. It's buried so deep inside her head, she doesn't even believe it anymore. She thinks it was just some fucked-up nightmare or something. So don't you dare tell me what's good for her, because I know, and I've fucking tried!"

His voice trembled with frustration, and I could feel the weight of his words even though I was barely conscious. He was right in a way—he knew me better than anyone, even though I had never been able to let him help. Every attempt felt like one more thread trying to tear open a wound I wasn't ready to face.

But despite all of his anger and all of his pain, I knew he cared. Too much. And it hurt me more than anything else that I couldn't make him understand how badly I wanted to be okay, how badly I wanted to speak about it... but I couldn't.

I couldn't.

As the conversation continued around me, I felt my grip on reality slip even further. The voices—once clear, now distorted—echoed in my mind, but I couldn't quite process them fully. It was like I was half-listening to a conversation I didn't belong in, the words floating through the air but never quite reaching me. My eyelids were heavy, the weight of my body pressing me deeper into the haze. But there was something about the words, something about the rawness in Atal's voice, that started to tear through the fog like a knife.

I had always thought the drugged state would offer me an escape. A break from the weight of the world, a brief reprieve from the pain that seemed to follow me everywhere. But now, hearing the conversation unfold, it was as though the drugs were only making things worse. I couldn't escape. Not from them. Not from myself.