❝ 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 ❞ | mature
Too many arguments too much tears, they foreseed how it will end. Their break up was a mutual agreement and so was what came after.
Six months afte...
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He looked fragile. Under the lights, her eyes couldn't help but notice the new additions to his body. Every facial bone was visible, becoming sharper like those of a skeleton. His skin was almost as pale as the sheets covering him, as if his flesh was nothing but a thin, transparent coating over his bones.
He used to be more tanned, his arms painted with a rubicund shade that he now lacked. His veins, vibrant in green and blue, resembled the stalks of anemones climbing upwards, flowing straight to his heart, forcing it to work, to beat, and to keep him alive.
Although Aaron didn't seem to want it to.
Emily stroked his cold cheeks in time with the beeping of the monitor. She tried to keep her tears in, gather them with the hope they'll blur the haunting image of him, but it remained vivid and clear occupying her mind. She was pulled from her sadness by the boy holding her hand, clinging to her body.
Emily lowered herself in front of him, tearing her gaze from Aaron for the first time since they had entered the room. "Okay, so you heard what the doctor said. Your dad is resting right now, so we'll have to be careful not to bother him, okay?" she said, her voice shaking. Thankfully, Jack didn't seem to notice; he was shifting from one foot to another, attempting to get on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse of his father.
"Jack" she said softly, caressing his cheek and waiting for him to look at her.
"Can we stay here with Daddy?" he asked quietly. Emily smiled. "Of course we can. Do you want to tell him something?" she suggested, straightening up. Jack nodded and raised his hands for her to pick him up, which she had struggled to do because of her bruised ribs and beaten body, but she was determined to try again.
She lifted him up to the edge of Aaron's bed, and watched as Jack carefully pressed a short kiss to his cheek, just as his father would have done. "Good night, Daddy" he said weakly.
Emily sighed as she helped him down from the bed and settled with him on the small couch. They both watched Aaron in silence until they fell asleep.
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He slowly began to wake up, yet he felt too weak to even attempt to move. His body was so stiff and painful that even the basic action of opening his eyes ended in failure. Aaron was aware that he was in the hospital now; the smell left no room for doubt.
He was sure that the bandages wrapped around his torso weren't that tight, but knowing this didn't change the reality— he still felt as if the gauze covering the injuries on his upper body had been wrapped by inexperienced hands. Breathing, much like moving or opening his eyes, was impossible.
So he gave up on trying. His mind was the only part of him that had the energy to function, memories playing across his consciousness. It felt like daydreaming, like watching a movie, or as if he were seated on a racing train, left to enjoy the view. Everything moved so quickly, yet he still got to savor each memory his mind introduced to him, and the comfort of that was enough for him to forget about his physical discomfort.
