Chapter 13
Lark
In the end, I had to stay in the hospital for a month. A month filled with a lot of surgeries and unbearable amounts of pain. God, the pain was so intense and many times it brought me to the brink, testing my limits.
Everyone warned me that my burns would get worse before they got better. But still, on the second day in the hospital when the nurse came in to change my bandages, I had cried so hard after finally seeing the extent of them and how bad they were.
Like the doctor had said, the worst of my burns are all on my left side, and surprisingly, only on the upper part of my body.
They start a bit below my temple, go down and around a section of my cheek, as well as a bit on my ear.
Then they go down the side of my neck and they flare out slightly at my shoulder and along my collarbone.
The burns continue down the top and on both sides of my arm and end with a small patch on the top of my left hand.
For some reason, the underside of my arm and my palm was slightly better protected and wasn’t as badly burned as the top of my arm.
Thanks to the grafting procedures, my skin doesn’t look as bad as it did in the beginning, but there’s still a chance I’ll need more procedures done depending on how everything heals.
While I’m hopeful no more surgeries are needed, I also know it’ll take months, maybe even years, for my skin and nerves to heal.
If my nerves heal, that is. Even though I hate them, wearing the compression garments have helped.
As for the first and second-degree burns on my legs and other areas of my body, they weren’t severe enough to require skin grafting. The doctors think that they will heal well enough on their own. I pray that they’re right.
While my nerves were heavily damaged in the areas where I got third-degree burns, there are only a few spots where the nerves were completely destroyed.
I can’t even begin to describe how happy I was, well am, that they weren’t totally damaged.
I had sobbed in Ma and Granny’s arms after finding that out.
Throughout all of that, my life felt like it had become a roller coaster, never leveling out for too long and riddled with setbacks after thinking I was making progress.
Doctor after doctor after doctor would visit frequently to discuss my progress and setbacks.
With all the information that was given to me, my brain felt like it was going in circles as I tried to keep it all straight.
Thank God Ma was beside me through it all.
She kept a binder and put all the procedure handouts and reports I was given in it.
She also kept copious amounts of notes—something I was extremely grateful for on the days when the pain wouldn’t let me focus on what the doctors were saying.
Another thing I started doing last week is daily exercises to relearn how to do things and rebuild my strength.
I’ll see a physical therapist twice a week for a while and then the visits will level off.
I don’t know how long I’ll need to see the physical therapist, but time will tell on that.
I’m just thankful that my burns weren’t worse, because they could have been.
So much worse.
Or I could have died if we had been in there for much longer.
Since that day, I’ve often wondered why my burns weren’t worse, and the only thing I can think of is that it was because of how the firefighter and his gear were draped over me, protecting me as well as him.
I heard the firefighter wasn’t burned, but he did have to wear oxygen for a while after being released from the hospital to help his lungs clear out the smoke.
Apparently when we fell, his mask was knocked loose a bit, so he also inhaled a lot of smoke.
Ma said that she heard he is still suffering from temporary hearing loss, but the doctors are hopeful that he’ll regain it.
She knows who he is, but so far, I haven’t had the courage to ask his name.
Thankfully, Ma hasn’t let it slip because I’m not sure if I’m ready, mentally or emotionally, to know that just yet.
I shake my head, trying to shove those thoughts down and lock them away into a box to continue processing later when I’m alone, otherwise I’ll spiral if I continue to think about all that.
Especially about the firefighter and his identity.
But right now, I don’t have time to spiral because we are on our way to see our house.
With my emotions already so close to the surface, I don’t need those thoughts pushing me over the edge.
However, I’m almost positive I’ll be crying at some point today.
Okay, I know I will, I just don’t know how much I’ll be crying.
Ma and Granny have been out to see the house a few times since the fire, but this is my first time seeing it in person, though I have seen pictures that Ma’s shown me.
Today is also the day that we’ve been cleared to go in and retrieve any belongings that survived.
We had to wait because there was a lengthy investigation.
So far, everyone is suspecting it was arson.
Of course, the fire department will be there today as a precaution and to keep us from going into unstable areas.
Unfortunately, no one has seen Void yet and I’ve been sick with worry that he was killed in the fire.
As Ma turns into our driveway, a strangled cry reaches my ears and it takes me a moment to realize that it came from me.
The damage is so much worse in person.
I knew it would be, but didn’t think it’d be this bad.
Tears spring to my eyes and it’s not until a throat clears that I realize the car has come to a stop. Neither Ma or Granny are in the car anymore and someone has opened my door for me, offering their hand to help me out.
Taking the hand, I gingerly get out of the car.
I’m still learning my limits, and am in the early stages of physical therapy, but at least I’m alive.
Though there have been moments, usually when I was in unbearable amounts of pain that almost had me passing out, where I had secretly wished I hadn’t survived.
Then I would immediately feel guilty.
Ma and Granny would be devastated if I’d died, and even more so if I were to die by my own hand. Each time those dark moments creep up on me, I force myself to think of my family and then I grit my teeth and push through the pain.
Is it the healthiest way to deal with it?
Probably not. But for now, that’s what I’m going with.
Once I’m stable on my feet, I look up and immediately feel my face flush.
The man who helped me out of the car is none other than Reaper.
Since that day a few months ago in May when he stood up for me against the Coxes, we’ve gotten a lot closer.
Reaper and the rest of his club would frequently come into the supper club and usually, he and a few others would hang out on the stools Ma had installed in front of the bar and chat with me while I worked.
At first, I was nervous about how much they were hanging out with me, but as I got to know them all more, I started relaxing around them.
Especially with Reaper.
The few weeks prior to the fire, I kept thinking he might ask me out, and if he had, I would have said yes, but he never did. And now, I don’t even know if he’ll still want me because of my scars.
Reaper clears his throat again, and my gaze snaps back up to his.
His piercing bluish-grey eyes almost seem like they can see straight into my soul.
That thought has my face heating even more.
I lower my gaze, and immediately, I want to clamp my thighs together.
His tight black t-shirt is stretched across his chest and over his arms. His black blue-jeans hug his thighs and there’s some soot smudged on his black biker boots.
Worried about the soot, I look closer at his cut and am relieved that none of his patches appear to be smudged, even though his hands are covered in it.
Hopefully, his cut won’t get dirty. I’ve learned that the guys always take excellent care of their cuts. Almost like they are sacred to them.
Wait, why is he here? And why is he covered in soot?
“T-Thank you,” I manage to get out and then internally wince, hoping that I don’t sound like a total dork. Ever since the fire, my voice has been raspier than it used to be.
“Anytime, Darlin’.”
My gaze snaps up to his in shock at the use of the nickname. Since that night in May, he’s always called me Lark and never used a nickname. Why is he now?
And the way he said the word ‘Darlin’...
His voice is a bit more gravelly and lower than usual, but it wraps around me in a protective embrace, and I find myself leaning a bit more into him.
His eyes seem to darken as we stare at each other, the intensity doing funny things to me and making my core pulse with need.
It also doesn’t escape my notice that he doesn’t look the slightest bit disturbed at the sight of my scars.
Since I’m looking up at him, I’m not able to use my hair as a curtain to hide them like I’d been trying to do this past month anytime someone was around me.
“I don’t need no assistance. I may be almost eighty years old, but that doesn’t mean I’m an invalid,” Granny huffs, and I turn, her voice breaking the spell between Reaper and me to see that the fire chief was trying to offer his arm to help her walk through what’s left of the main floor.
“May I?” Reaper asks, drawing my attention back to him as he wraps my good arm around his and I can’t help but nod. He smiles then, and that smile does even more funny things to me.
While I’m still curious about why he and the rest of his club are here, I’m grateful nonetheless. Plus, I think I’ll need his strength for this.
Needing to break the spell before I do something that will surely backfire on me, especially since I’m so confused by this turn of events, I look back toward the house. My eyes start to sting again as I take in the mostly destroyed exterior of our once beautiful home.
“We got what we could out of the unstable sections of your house that were still intact and have set them all aside for you to look through,” Reaper says as he points to our detached garage that seems like it only has minor damage to it.
My throat tightens when I see a few stacks of partially burned pictures and portraits leaning up against the wall.
There are also a couple of rows of boxes which look like they contain knickknacks, books, and things like that, but it’s such a small pile compared to what I know was all in our house. Not to mention all the history.
Reaper’s hand tightens on my arm and I turn back toward the house to find we’ve reached the steps. He stops as someone approaches and after taking what they hand out to him; he turns toward me, studying my face.
“I’m not sure if this will hurt you or not, but you need to wear a mask while inside.”
Glancing down at the mask, I bite my lip before looking back up at my house. Determination fills me and has me standing taller. “I’ll wear it no matter how much it hurts, but I may need to take breaks.”
He nods. “Just say the word, Darlin’, and we’ll step outside for a break for as long as you need and as frequently as you need.”
My mind tumbles in shock, again, at his declaration, but I choose not to dwell on it right now.
I need to talk to him about this ‘Darlin’ business, however that will have to wait.
I don’t want to talk with an audience around.
Taking a deep breath, I reach for the mask, which he’s taken out of the packaging for me.
After a few tries, I finally get it in place. It hurts, but I need to do this, too.
Turning back toward the house, I take Reaper’s offered arm again and carefully take each step one at a time.
The skin around the burns on my legs and hips is tight, which limits my mobility, though it isn’t as tight as the skin on my face, chest, neck, arms, and hand.
Still, I’m relieved that Reaper goes at my pace and doesn’t try to rush me.
Stepping over the threshold, I inhale sharply as I look around at what’s left of our living room.
The couches that Ma and I had just reupholstered earlier this summer are almost completely burned to ash.
A few remnants of their wooden frames are still laying on the floor.
There are a couple more of Reaper’s club members in here and they are helping take things off the walls and bookshelves.
When they see me, they all stop, then step back.
Their small, sympathetic and nervous smiles and half-smiles have my chest tightening.
“Where would you like to see first? We’ve cleared out the old stairs and laid down a temporary floor and steps so that you can get upstairs.
The basement has already been emptied.” His voice trails off and I look up at him to find he’s looking down at me, concern and worry written all over his face.
“I need to warn you though, very little in your room survived.”
It’s a little hard to hear his voice because of our masks and from him talking quietly, but then the words finally register.
Reaper has been here long enough, or often enough, to know which room is mine.
That he’s seen the extent of the damage throughout the house to know which rooms are worse than the others.
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “Where... What are the worst rooms? Where was the worst damage?”
In my gut, I know this was no accident, and I’m almost positive we were targeted. A small part of me doesn’t want to hear his answer, but I need to know.
Reaper grimaces and I feel my entire body tightening, like the muscles in my body are as taut as one of my bows that I’ve just attached the cable to.
He clears his throat a couple of times as his gaze darts around.
“Your room and your side of the house were damaged the worst, with most of the rooms almost completely destroyed by the fire or the water. Emma and Lottie’s rooms were heavily damaged, along with the study, and a room that looked like a hobby room, but none of them were as bad as the living room, kitchen, the guest rooms, another hobby room, and. .. your room. Yours was the worst.”