~Can You Fix The Broken~ [Monty De La Cruz]

.Chapter 10

"What...?" Did I hear him right? His dad killed his mom?
His head fell in his hands, "Shit. I can't do this!"
"Hey," I rested my hand on his back and rubbed it lullingly, letting him take his time, "Don't rush, Monty. This is hard for you."
   He was silent for a minute, composing himself, hiding his face from me. We had all night anyways, and a whole fridge of beer left... well half a fridge, Monty had already had most of them.
"Okay," he lifted his head up and leant back into the couch, his head resting back as he breathed shakily, "When I was younger, I can't remember how old I was, I heard my mother and dad arguing in the kitchen, in Spanish so I couldn't understand, and then I suddenly heard plates smashing and then silence...
"When I walked in, my sister behind me, we saw our mom dead on the kitchen floor, a pool of blood by her head." His voice broke and I saw a tear fall from his cheek.
   Oh my fucking god! I'd thought something was up with that family and everything, but I didn't expect to hear that Monty had seen and heard the death of his mother. That was rough. Rougher than I could've prepared myself for. I shuffled even closer than him and let my head rest on his shoulder, and he seemed to appreciate the gesture as he rested his head on mine as he calmed himself down.
  "And then, my sister tried to kill my dad, revenging my mom, but she failed, and then," he paused, wiping away the tears he was fighting, "He shot her with the gun she tried to use on him."
   I felt him break down by my side, gasping for air and losing his battle with his tears. All I could do was hold him close. I wrapped my arms around him, letting him soak my hoodie as he cried into my shoulder. It broke my heart, and I felt the ache in my chest, but I imagined it was nothing compared to how Monty was feeling. I mean, his dad killed his mom and his sister! How could he live with that?
"I'm so sorry, Monty." I said to him, feeling tears brimming at my own eyes, "Nobody should ever have to live with that."
"I should kill him." He cried, "He even threatened me saying he'd find and kill the newborn if I said anything."
   I wasn't in a place to ask him now, as it would be pushing the boundaries, and probably send him spiralling if I asked for an explanation for that too. I'd gotten an answer to a few questions, but it brought up another. Who was the newborn? It must've been his other sister. Who else could it be? But right now, I was supporting a reckless and emotionally unstable Monty who had had way too much to drink and had just explained something traumatic for the first time. I couldn't even imagine it, or even comprehend it. I didn't even understand how he was able to physically tell me, and I couldn't help but feel bad since I seemed a little forceful on his to tell me.
"No, don't do that." I said to him, hugging him tightly, "I need you to stay here with me."
"Why?" He then asked me, pulling away and looking me straight into the eyes, "I'm fucked-up. I'm fucking messed-up for life and there's nothing I can fucking do about it!" 
"Don't say that." I said to him, my right hand holding his cheek, "Everyone's fucked-up, and of course there's something you can do about it."
He scoffed, "Yeah? Like what?"
"Tell someone. Without your father finding out." I suggested, and I meant it. He shouldn't have to live like this — always fearing his father, always feeling scared about going home and having to put on this fake persona in school to avoid people asking too many questions: for example, if he gets into fights most of the time, people would just assume that's how he got his bruises and not question it.
He shook his head frantically, his eyes red and puffy as tears leaked from them, "No, he'll find out somehow. He always seems to find out."
   I pulled him back into a warm embrace, his muscular arms hugging me back, but he was weak and shaky. I closed my eyes and kept him there, letting him express the emotion he couldn't do elsewhere with anyone else. With nothing else to say, I continued to hug him in silence.

   The beer was long forgotten, and Monty was now exhausted, mentally more than physically. I gently lay him down on the sofa, and got up ready to tidy around the area we were while he slept, but his hand grabbed mine before I left.
"Stay here." He said to me, using his other hand to pat on the leather couch.
   I couldn't decline the offer: Monty needed someone there for him, and I mean, who could say no to that hottie? I pretended to way it up in my head as if I wasn't sure, then smiled as I'd 'given into him' and made my mind up. I climbed in next to him, his arm then resting over my side as my body sank into his. I felt his calm yet unstable breath on the back of my neck, sending mini electric shots though my body, and I instantly felt relaxed being so close to him.
Within a few minutes, I heard a change in the sound of his breathing. It was a quiet snore, only just loud enough for me hear. I wasn't surprised that he'd fallen asleep, and I knew that in the morning Tony would have to deal with a hungover Montgomery. I chuckled to myself at the thought of Tony having to look after Monty — I'd heard how 'well' it had gone when he had to take care of Justin for that one day. Hoping that Tony had set an alarm, I let myself doze off, and sooner or later I found myself asleep in Monty's arms, my body perfectly linked to his and cocooned by his arm.