Chapter 18
Riley
DAY OF DISCHARGE (ONE WEEK LATER)
I’m struggling as much as I’m simultaneously in heaven while hand feeding Collins M&M’s one at a time as a form of grip therapy.
It’s also my attempt at keeping her calm in the wake of the news we received a few days ago.
After the nurse was entirely too terse with Collins last week, it made her feel like she wasn’t welcome in my room anymore, which royally pissed me off.
I didn’t want to cause problems, but I wanted her back with me.
Collins, never one to make waves, had always waved it off and put her best face on to prove she was okay.
I could see straight through it, though.
The first thing I focused on outside of therapy was to wean myself from the pain meds. I hated how they always knocked me out, because every time I wake up, I hate how it feels like I’ve missed out on time with her and Creed.
The first night I spent without her, I woke up from several nightmares all night because she wasn’t there.
The next day, psych came in to talk to me and told me what I’m feeling is a symptom of PTSD, that my brain has formed some sort of a trauma bond to her…and that it wouldn’t be healthy for me to constantly give in and put myself in her vicinity.
I didn’t like that either.
The thought of distancing myself from Collins makes me feel nauseated.
Creed, of course, misses nothing ever, so he effortlessly broke me down and made me confess what was making me look like a “sad, kicked puppy”.
The moment the words spilled from my lips, he and Asher fixed the problem right then and there.
Creed cussed out the nursing staff while Asher called Lachlan, who had the two of us placed in some fancy ass joint suite together.
Even though Collins was discharged three days ago, she’s never once left my side in the days since then.
She seems to be doing well, unnaturally so with just how ‘okay’ she’s been acting, which is sort of terrifying.
She was even okay after finally gathering the courage to remove the bandage from her shoulder.
It was a rough moment for her at first, as that tattoo was one of the first things she’d done and paid for completely on her own.
A symbol of her growing independence. A “fuck you” to Guy and his obsession with her “unblemished skin”.
The tattoo is gone, but the shape of it is still there, and Collins broke down only for a moment. My beautiful, strong girl had nothing to say but the most positive things like: “I thought it’d be worse,” and “It’s just one more reason to get even more tattoos when it heals, right?”
She was putting on a brave face while talking on and on about the full sleeve she already had planned out, from more flowers to a guitar neck to cover the cuts down her forearm, and so many more.
She was eerily optimistic, but I could see the pain lurking just beneath the surface.
I know it killed her to see something so special—so precious to her—carved from her skin.
It had hurt her not just physically, but the pain goes far deeper than she’ll ever let on.
It was in those moments that I promised myself that there would never be a day with her—or Creed—that I would ever take for granted. Not even when—
“You’re not fucking going,” Creed all but growls from across the room as he storms back inside.
When we shared the news, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. He’d gone to hunt down Pippa, to tell her that she’s out of her damned mind for the care plan she and the doctor had put together.
When he got back from meeting Fletcher that day, Garrick had come back to visit Collins, and sent Asher to fetch me for her.
My therapist happened to be standing at the nurses station as we passed, and tried to tell me to return to my room, but Ash was quick to tell her to “eat a dick”.
I’m not sure how they tolerate Creed and Asher’s vulgarity, because while they’re all momentarily stunned by their curtness, they seem relatively unfazed as a whole.
Pippa has also been less… handsy with me, which I greatly appreciate.
For being touch-starved most of my life, I’ve never actually been one for seeking out affection.
Given the way my mother treated me as a child, I didn’t want contact with just anyone.
Didn’t want to have to ask for it. The only exceptions to my aversion had become Creed and Collins, because they wanted to freely give me their comforting touches with no underlying malice or ulterior motives.
The shock of Creed’s booming, pissed off voice startles me, and I drop the tiny candy that was barely hanging on for dear life between my trembling fingers. It lands in Collins’ lap. She just picks it up, silently offering it to me instead.
I take it and chew before swallowing and shifting in bed so that I’m facing Creed.
He looks positively unhinged right now. His icy eyes are wide with disbelief and panic.
His black strands are a damn mess with how he won’t stop gripping them at the roots and tugging.
Since the moment I woke up, every time he looks at me, his eyes do this thing that they always do with Collins.
Where he’ll look up and down the entire length of my body—most likely to check that I have no new injuries since the last time he laid eyes on me—but lately the way his gaze lingers has my heart beating a million miles a minute because it feels just like before.
Like…more. The same way it feels when I look at Collins…
the same way I’ve started to look at Creed in return.
He’s never once met me with pity or stared at my ear or let his gaze linger on any of my bruises or fresh scars.
It’s like he only sees me beneath it all.
My cheeks heat, and I’m sure the flush of my face is bright and visible, even beneath the bruising. I swallow thickly. “Creed—“
“You’re not going.”
“I need to go so I—“
“You’re. Not. Going.”
Collins’ hand sinks into the hair at my crown, the comforting touch grounding me, because while this isn’t the first time Creed is hearing this news, he’s now scrambling for an alternative to what’s already been set in place.
“Creed,” Collins rasps from behind me, “please calm down—“
“I CAN’T!” he shouts before immediately checking himself and crossing the room. He kneels in front of me and grips my face between his palms, careful to avoid the dressing at my ear. “I can’t,” he whispers, but it’s the first display of the true pain he’s feeling over today.
Because it’s discharge day, and I’m supposed to go straight from here to a rehabilitation center, where I’ll receive one-on-one therapy, both psychological and physical. It’s a concentrated program that’s supposed to amplify recovery since I’ll be in-house.
To be completely honest, I don’t want to go. I’d asked the doctor if I could have a therapist out to our home instead, but he and Pippa both strongly recommended I at least start the first leg of therapy from the facility.
Reluctantly, I’d agreed.
But now that the day is here, I’m not fucking ready. I can’t fathom the thought of being parted from my family now that we’re all together again. Sure, we might all be a little fucked up and a lot broken, but I’d rather take us like this than to physically remove myself from them.
But I can’t deny that I need this. I need to get back to normal, in any capacity. Because what happens if I can’t drum anymore? If I can’t touch or hold onto either of them like I so desperately need to?
Would they let me go?
The thought makes my heart squeeze painfully within the confines of my chest.
Creed’s hands join Collins’ as they tangle in the hair. His eyes bore into me, and I can see the pendulum swinging within his mind. Warring back and forth between defeat and the urge to keep arguing.
“I only just got you back.” His voice breaks at the end, and he swallows, tightening his grip on me. My hands come up to grip his wrists, anchoring him to me. “The thought of leaving you makes me physically sick to my stomach. You’re my boy, Ri, and I won’t let you go through any of this alone.”
My eyes sting at his words, and I do my best to blink the tears away, but they gather faster than I can manage and they fall anyway.
“Creed, the facility is over three hours away from home.”
“And you think that’ll stop us from coming to see you every fucking day?” His words echo Collins’ from last week.
“The rehabilitation center has a strict ‘no visitor policy’ to ensure optimal progress with minimal distraction.”
The words that chime in from across the room burst the bubble that had cocooned around us, and Creed immediately stiffens at the sound of Pippa’s voice.
She stands awkwardly and shuffles a bit nervously at the entry to the suite, her eyes on me.
“What the fuck?” Collins whispers behind me, and I feel her forehead pressing into my back a moment later, knowing it could be a shit show now that Miss LeRoc has blurted this painful bit of information that absolutely none of us were aware of.
Creed pushes to stand, blocking my view of the conversation. It’s clear he doesn’t like her or her proximity to me. I don’t think Collins does, either, but she only carries this quiet disdain that’s almost imperceptible if you don’t know her well enough.
“You want to run that tidbit by me again?”
I sigh through my nose, and reach up to tug at his shirt, my fingers fumbling to grasp the material. “Creed—“
“The fuck do you mean ‘a no-visitor policy’?” Creed snaps while backing up a step to sit next to me, giving in to my silent request. “How the fuck is isolating him going to help?”
“Sir, I—“
“He’s not fucking going there,” he angrily swipes through his hair before jabbing a tattooed finger at her. “Fuck you, and fuck that.”
He’s panicking. I can see it with every rise and fall of his chest. I can hear it with every decibel his voice grows in volume. My heart pounds in the same rapid rhythm as his when I place my hand on his wrist and feel his pulse.
Pippa looks like she wants to cry, but before shit escalates any further, the door opens and his dad walks through. I’d only met him a handful of times since coming into Creed’s life, and their likeness is still ridiculously uncanny.
Except, where Creed can be a vicious animal with his temperament and words, Garrick’s presence alone is all calm and soothing.
Silence fills the room for a beat as he looks around. “What’s going on, Creed? How come I can hear you losing your shit halfway down the hallway?”
Collins shifts around me so that she’s sitting between me and Creed. Garrick’s eyes soften when they land on her. “Hey, Sunshine.”
“Hey, Taxi Man.” She strokes her hand delicately down Creed’s arm, her eyes following the trail of goosebumps her touch leaves in its wake. I think it blew everyone’s mind when we realized that it was Garrick who saved Collins two years ago.
Her eyes dart between me, Creed, and Pippa. “Um, we just got a…a shocking bit of information handed to us and it’s a little tough to process.”
“There’s nothing to process because he’s not going,” Creed snaps his eyes still glaring fiery holes into Pippa’s forehead, but the heat behind his tone isn’t directed at Collins.
“What information?” Garrick asks, stepping around the therapist that’s still standing in the doorway.
I chime in, “I’m supposed to be admitted to an inpatient therapy center today after discharge, but I can’t have visitors.”
“Its under the code of Involuntary Protective Status, if that helps,” Pippa squeaks, clasping her hands tightly in front of her, doing her best to maintain a professional front.
“The therapy facility is designed specifically for those of higher social status, or who need extra protection. It keeps each patient’s stay and personal information completely anonymous and the experience close-lipped. ”
That actually makes more sense. It doesn’t mean that I like it, though.
Creed’s dad takes a seat in the chair across from the bed where the three of us are sitting and rests his elbows on his knees, his eyes assessing.
“What do you want, Riley?”
The question throws me off guard. He makes it sound as if I have any other option but to go. I need to heal so that I can be there. For them. For Dark Sins. For myself. But much like Creed, the thought of separating myself from my lifelines feels like a death sentence.
Stupid boy, you’re only going to hurt them. They’d be right to leave you the moment you step through those facility doors.
I slam the mental door in my mother’s face, trying to cut off her words before they can take root in my mind. I sit there with my hands trembling in my lap, my eyes trained on the fading bruises around my shaking wrists. I look at Garrick, avoiding Creed’s stare.
“I—I want to get better.” I swallow past the thick lump in my throat. “I think… I need to go.”
Collins rubs my back in comforting circles, but I can feel the heartache and fear radiating off of her and Creed.
“Alright,” Garrick hedges, then looks to Pippa. “Is he allowed any form of communication with those on the outside?”
She straightens and turns to him. “The facility doesn’t allow the use of cellphones, b-but we do have a program where he can receive weekly letters from loved ones for encouragement,” she quickly supplies, and immediately Collins perks up.
“What?” I ask, but then it hits me at the same moment that the sweetest, most excited smile breaks out across her face.
“Letters and Polaroids.” She giggles, but it gets lost in the rasp of her voice. “Now that I can do.”
My heart thumps wildly in my chest with excitement at the thought of getting my very own letters from Collins. Suddenly, the idea of therapy doesn’t seem so bad.
The road to recovery is going to suck, not gonna lie, but now that I have something to look forward to until I can actually go home? Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.