The One Who Loved Him

It's Too Late to Apologise

"Why didn't you come talk to me after you found out?" Jocelyn asked, twirling her fingers while she stared at the ground.

"I didn't want you to find out." I said quietly. "You might make me abort him."

She sighed, turning her head to look at me. "This is my grandchild. I would never make you do that."

"But you hate his father." I paused, then slowly added, "like you hate his mother."

"I don't hate you. Or Jonathan."

This time I twirled my thumbs. "You sure act like it."

"I hate what Jonathan became; he hates me with a burning passion, and I don't understand why."

I didn't say anything, just sort of rubbed my growing belly. He fluttered, and I gasped. Jocelyn's hand rested by mine, feeling her grandchild move. Her green eyes were wide, the horror and wonder chasing each other across her features. He kicked fiercely, causing her to yank her hand back in surprise.

"I told Jonathan." I said quietly.

Her green eyes widen more, if possible. "You did what?"

"I didn't know what else to do."

"What did he say?"

I went quiet for a moment, my throat beginning to close up with tears. "He told me I was a dirty bitch, and that he wasn't his child."

"He said what?"

My head nodded, tears filling my eyes, nearly falling past the lids. A huge sigh escaped my lips, followed by violent sobs that shook my body. Her arms encased me, holding me close to her chest as she stroked my head and whispered soothing phrases in my ear. I cried long and hard into Jocelyn's shoulder, my blubbering interrupted by the occasional flutter of movement.

After a while, I pulled away and rubbed my eyes, smearing snot and tears across my face. Jocelyn reached for the tissues and wiped it away. I tried to gather my wits, staring at the comforter of Magnus' bed in an attempt to help.

"Are you alright?" she asked, rubbing my leg.

"I'll be fine."

She smiled, hanging her head before staring up at the ceiling.

"What?" I questioned, crossing my arms against the cover.

"Nothing. I'm going to see Luke."

"Anybody else here?"

"Uh, no. I told them they should go eat."

"Can I go? I don't want to stay here alone."

"He'd like to see you." Jocelyn said with a smile.

I tossed the covers aside, grabbing a coat and scarf from Magnus' closet. She held the door open, following me out of the apartment.

"Do you need anything?" she asked before locking the door.

"No, my phone's in my pocket."

"Alright. Come along then."

* * *

The steam from the freshly brewed coffee between my hands rose in small wisps, disappearing into the cold air of the jail cell that served as Uncle Luke's recovery room. Jocelyn's hand held his tightly, and while she recalled the times of their past, I studied the dirt in the corner of the cell, listening to every word she said. They said he would be fine, though the recovering period would be long, but they forgot to mention it would be excruciatingly long. Light was dim, but I could make out his sullen face, the sweat beading his forehead even though it was chilly. He twitched from time to time, and with each time, I could tell Jocelyn prayed that it was him stirring.