Chiara Daveys is living a good life in England - if you ignore her constant struggle with food, lack of a guardian and how she's constantly working to pay the bills.
At 17 years old, she's been unaware of her 6 brothers who have spent the 14 years o...
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Three days stuck in this boring hospital. I'm going crazy, I swear.
I've been sitting picking at threads on this thin as fuck hospital bedsheet for I don't know how long.
The whole time, I could feel the weight of my brother's stare on me. Every so often, I glance up and Taylor is squinting at me, focused. He's been a constant presence in the corner of the room, staying quiet for once in his life.
The pressure of his stare begins to piss me off enough that I break the silence.
"What?" I ask.
"Huh?"
I give him a deadpan look, "you've been staring at me lifelessly for ages. Come sit down or piss off."
He rolls his eyes but takes a seat in the chair beside my bed.
Guess what he does.
He stares. Again.
I throw my head back and groan, "get your beady eyes to look at something else."
"Rude," he scoffs.
I look at him for a second, "is there something you want to say? Because you should just come out with it."
He chews on his lip, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the edge of the bed.
"Taylor," I groan, "spit it out, will you?"
"How long?"
"When I asked you to speak, I thought it was clear I also wanted you to make sense," I reach forward to poke his eye, however he swats my hand out of the way.
"How long have you been suffering with this?"
I huff out a breath, sensing the serious shift in the room, "not sure. There was no clear beginning, I guess it was gradual. It wasn't this bad in England though. Oscar caught onto it and helped me avoid making it worse."
He nods, "and here? When did it get worse here?"
"It's not like I was fine in England and when I entered America I suddenly went back. I carried it with me," I shake my head and glance away.
"I'm not going to be vague with this next question. And I need you to look at me when you answer. I need the honest truth."
I turn my head and face him, wondering why he's being so serious right now.
"Did it get worse because of Leo?"
I inhale a sharp breath, slightly shocked by his question.
"Um -" I begin, still trying to find the right words to reply when he cuts me off.
"Don't lie," he shakes his head.
"Again, I'm not sure. I have the feeling he was aware of it, encouraged it maybe. But I couldn't tell you when it got this bad simply because I don't know."
"Okay," he nods his head, and I can tell he's trying to not show his anger.
He looks as though he's about to say something else when the door is slammed open.
We both quickly turn our heads to the loud intrusion and find Emilio stood there, his hoodie looking suspiciously large.
"What is up your hoodie?" I question.
He looks both ways out of the doorway before quickly shutting it and closing the blinds.
Taylor and I watch him in silence, utterly confused at his strange behaviour.
Finally, he makes his way over to the foot of my bed, unzipping his hoodie.
My mouth falls open in shock before I'm laughing.
Tail wagging, Roland is making his way towards me.
"Hi, baby," I smile, holding the sides of his face.
He licks my face in excitement as I rub his side.
"You snuck him in here?" I laugh loudly at Emilio.
"Duh," he nods, coming over to the same side of my bed as Taylor.
"Aw, thank you," I smile.
"I was very careful," he nods his head seriously.
"I'm sure you were," I reply as Roland barks.
"He's been getting his walks whilst you've been here. He really enjoys that park a mile or so from our house."
"I that the one with the small lake?" I ask.
"Yeah, he loves the water."
"I'll be sure to take him there then," I say, Roland barking as well.
Us three sit and talk for a while before the rest of my brothers gradually join us, entering the room one at a time.
In less than an hour, all seven of us are sat here.
"Ready to come home soon?" Lorenzo asks, sitting next to me on the bed.
"God, yes."
I stroke Roland's side as he lays on my lap, a heavy weight which I welcome.
"We do need to have a serious conversation though," Harry says, looking over at each of us.
I look down at my sleeping dog, I've had enough of serious conversations these past few days.
We all sit in silence, waiting for someone to speak up.
"Are you alright talking about this with everyone here?" Giovanni speaks up, looking directly at me.
I shrug, "I don't mind."
He nods, "things are going to have to change. There are different routes we can take to help you get better. Different ways to support you."
"I'm not going to one of those retreats. That wouldn't help me," I shake my head profusely.
"That's totally fine. But we could potentially get you regular sessions with a therapist? That's an option we could take if you ever don't want to talk things through with us in depth. A third party with no emotional attachment to the situation could be helpful."
I mull it over for a second, "I'll think about it."
