Empathy

Chapter Eighteen

Gemma and I spent the majority of the morning in my room, but not before taking showers and getting into clean, new, and cozier clothes. We talked for hours on end with the sun just overlooking the horizon and coming in through my window, the light shining in beautifully. My sister had gotten nail polish from the bathroom and started to paint her toenails and fingernails in a dark shade of red and black, giving her nails in almost demonic look.

My eyes dropped down to the floor in sadness. Demonic. That word, demon. It made me feel dirty and wrong. It made me think of the way all of my peers at the party looked at me with such disgust and hatred in their eyes. They were all physically wounded, but one person stuck out more in my mind than anyone else.

Aiden.

Would he ever forgive me for hurting him like that? How badly was he hurt? Would he ever want to see me again? Would he still love me after all the damage I've caused?

"You're thinking about something really bad," Gemma broke in, causing me to break away from my horrible thoughts. "I don't have to be an Empath to know what you're thinking. It's about the party last night, isn't it?" I nodded, unable to find the words to speak. "Marvel, everything will be okay. Aiden will be fine and, if we're really lucky, we can all play it off like they were all drunk off their asses."

I laughed, a small one, letting me forget for an instant that I didn't just physically wound the boy that I loved. "I hope no one got my mini explosion on tape. Because that would be hard to explain to anyone."

"Marvel!" my mom called from downstairs. Gemma and I perked up at the scared tone in her voice. We looked at each other, brown on brown, as we got up from my bed ad dropped what we were doing.

"Coming!" I shouted, opening my door and rushing down the hallway to the stairs. Gemma followed, but not close behind because her nails were still wet and she didn't want wreck the nice cover she had going. Once in the living room, I saw my mom on the phone, her form disheveled. Her hair was messy and sticking up in all sorts of places, dark bags under eyes, similar to the ones that Gemma had. She had the house phone gripped in her hand tightly, her face pale and her hand white from tightness. "What's wrong?" I asked, fearing the worst.

It could be anything, I thought. It could be anything. It could be Uncle Mickey, it could be Aunt Beth, it could be Nonno or Nonni. It could be anything as long as it wasn't Aiden. Please, don't let it be Aiden.

Mom looked over to me, her eyes wild and frantic. "Yes, I'll tell her. Thank you, Mr. Thatcher-Ames." Mom hung up the phone. Her eyes never left mine. My own eyes widened in shock and fear.

No.

She ran a hand through her hair. "Apparently, something happened at the party last night and Aiden was knocked unconscious. He was badly bruised and cut. People called 911 for an ambulance and Aiden started to seize in the vehicle. He doesn't have a lot of oxygen to his brain and he has fractured ribs that are poking into his lungs and heart. He's in surgery right now, getting him patched up. It doesn't look good, so we are going there as soon as we're all washed up," Mom explained. She looked away from me. "I'm going to go shower. And then we're going to St. Patrick." And with that, our mother went up the stairs to take her shower.

Alone with Gemma in the living room, I could feel myself hyperventilate. My breathing coming frantically and harsh. "Breathe, Marvy, breathe," Gemma said, taking deep breaths for me to copy.

"I did that to him," I panted out as Gemma rubbed my back in soothing circles. I hurt Aiden. I hurt him so badly that he needed surgery. He wasn't looking good before he went into surgery. What have I done?