51 | Apologies
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Being at home isn't less weird than being at hospital. The walls are too familiar, hold too many memories, glimpses of the past. My mom still waits on me hand and foot, refuses to go back to work until I'm better - I don't know when she deems that is.
My friends message at this weird distance, like bombarding me with texts is not enough but seeing me in real life might be dangerous enough to break me.
Somehow, I end up lying in my room, staring at the white walls with a dizzy head just like I was a day ago.
Instead of medical equipment surrounding me it's every evidence of my life up until this point.
Stuffed animals, photos, clothes. It's all me, or I think it is. I feel so detached from myself it's hard to discern which parts of me still exist. When I close my eyes I don't see darkness, I see my dad getting shot, or Xavier with his hand on my thigh, or Nolan with that gun.
The worst bit is him. Nolan. He won't go away, not anymore.
My brain fills in every blank with his face, those discerning hazel eyes and sharp features.
I turn in bed again, at the edge of giving up on resting properly, but he's still there.
His teary expression when he said he loved me, his knuckles painted in raw blood, that softness every time we kissed.
I miss him and I hate that I do. Maybe a sane person would never want to speak to him again, he technically got me kidnapped, didn't he?
But I can't shake away the rest of it, he was manipulated, forced into a corner, trying to right his wrongs.
And when he had the chance to take out a bloody revenge, he didn't.
Whether it was for me, or himself, he chose to be better.
And then the other thoughts come. I want to kiss him, hold him, be held by him. Spend another night in his bed like everything's how it was. Those days before everything shattered were some of the happiest of my life. Because of him.
After another ten minutes of unsuccessful attempts at a nap I push myself up, grabbing a hoodie and snaking downstairs. It's quiet, late afternoon, a faint clock tick the only thing in the room. My mom's voice calls from the living room the second I slip my shoes on.
"Ava? Are you okay?"
"Yeah...I'm fine," I call back, ignoring the headache starting to rip me apart, "I just need some fresh air."
I can see that living room again, the wooden floor and withered furniture. The chair I was tied to that felt like daggers against my back. My bandages hurt less but they're there, a constant reminder. I blink at the material, air suddenly sucking itself out my lungs.
I can't be inside anymore.
I can't breathe.
"Do you want me to come with you, I can-" My mom starts.
I cut her off sharply, "No. I'm good... I just need to be outside."
My hands scramble for the door before she can say anything back and I shoot outside. The cold air hits sharper than I thought it would. I inhale, trying to calm these weird nerves that have sprung up on me. But I can't slow it, it won't stop.
I only get to the end of the driveway before my chest tightens so much I forget what's happening.
A ragged sob slips through my uneven breaths, my head aches at full speed.
When I look down my hands are shaking, I'm frozen in place.
Something worse than nausea has swept over me, like an inescapable sense of dread.
I don't know if it's the memories of that room, of Nolan, of that entire night. Maybe it's all of it.
My breaths feel useless, like a thing I'm doing for a sense of control. The panic coursing through me has a mind of its own, one that has prevented all my senses from functioning. My vision darkens, a hazy black spot.
For a terrifying minute I'm genuinely convinced I'll never form a cohesive breath again. I survived being kidnapped but a stupid fucking panic attack is going to kill me.
"Hey, hey, hey," A distant voice cuts through the noise, "Ava?"
I don't know who it is. I barely feel their hands reach my shoulders, barely hear whatever words they're trying to calm me down with.
"Shh, it's okay. I've got you, you're okay."
"I- I can't...breathe," I stutter out, every gasp heightened as my vision continues to bob unevenly.
The voice stays calm, "I know, it's difficult. But you've gotta just push through it, okay? I promise you'll be fine, Ava."
Suddenly I'm moving gently, being led from standing uselessly in the driveway to somewhere else.
The touch, even through the noise, is somewhat comforting.
A lifeline in my irrational mind. I blink, breathing raggedly, until my back hits a wall and I sink down, landing on my butt with my knees against my chest. Whoever's with me does the same.
A hand finds my cheek, carefully enough that it doesn't startle me, "Try and listen to what I'm saying, inhale for me..."
I shake my head, "I can't..."
"I know you can," They mutter back, like they know me more than I know myself.
The thumb on my cheeks smoothes against my skin, a comforting rhythm that slows the spinning at least slightly. I blink, staring at my own knees.
"Ava, Inhale for me," The voice repeats, "You can do this..."
And this time, when I try, it almost works. It's shaky and gets cut short, but I get a rush of air that I haven't felt in minutes.
"There you are, well done... now exhale..."
I try that and it's closer to normal too.
When I go again, the gentle voice of a stranger still coaching me, I make a cohesive breath, then another, and another.
My chest stops echoing in my ears, my vision returns, my hands go from manic shaking to a tremble.
I'm aware of the rate my heart is beating, not just drowning in it.
"You're doing so well, Ava," The voice murmurs, low and soothing, "And in again...there we go."
I know that voice.
I turn my head, finally bringing this person into focus.
I must've been really fucking panicking if I wasn't even able to recognise Nolan.
As my breath continues to slow all the things that make up him in my head start forming.
That hand on my cheek, a familiar touch, his comforting tone, the way my name rolls off his tongue.
Even on the edge of a mental cliff my mind knew I could trust him, let him rewire every thought in my brain.
He doesn't acknowledge my realisation, hand slipping down from my cheek over to my chest, gently placing over my heart to feel the still-racing pulse. He doesn't move it, like he's confirming I'm really okay.
"Nolan..." I whisper, watching him.
"Just keep breathing," He hums, "Don't worry about me. You need your heart rate to go down."
When I just keep staring like he's a ghost he offers a meek smile, one that could hide all the chaos still swirling between us.
I don't know what else to say so give into his words, going silent and focusing on getting back to normal.
Slowly, pieces flood back. We're sitting on his family's porch, side by side.
I think he was trying to get me to the chair opposite us but I sank down too quickly.
When Nolan's satisfied that my pulse has stopped racing he moves to my hand.
I let him hold it gently, feel the soft trembles that still haven't left.
I expect him to let go, but he doesn't. It's a firm touch, like he's trying to individually heal all the parts of me that are still shaken.
I glance at him again and this time he looks at me properly too.
"Thank you."
He shakes his head, "Don't thank me."
"You helped me," My voice is soft, still an echo of a whisper, "I'm going to thank you."
I watch his eyes flicker to life ever so slightly. I wonder what he's thinking.
"I missed you."
It's quiet, but raw. An admittance.
I missed him too.
But I can't say it, the words don't form.
Everything's gone from 0 to 100 in about five seconds, all the heavy stuff weighing on our relationship crushing us.
I haven't seen him since that room. I haven't looked into his eyes like this, the last time I did he was someone I didn't recognise.
Pretending that was a dream doesn't seem to work.
I dodge his words, "How are you?... What happened with the police?"
"They kept me in custody for twenty four hours, questioned me a bunch," He sighs, recalling the memory, "But thankfully ruled me out. I've been back, to give more statements but they have nothing to lock me up."
Some part of me breathes a sigh of relief. They know it wasn't him. Whatever story Xavier and Diego were trying to spin clearly didn't work - the evidence against them was too strong. I wonder if it was that phone call confession or maybe Cole's statement helped. Maybe my statement.
"And the others?"
"Arrested, for kidnapping and murder. They're working on getting them tried for Maria, too. Being kept in prison until a trial date is set," Nolan seems a bit distant but his eyes don't move from mine. "Hopefully they'll be fucking put away for good."
I nod, gently, but relieved. They deserve to rot for what they did. They're manipulative, murdering assholes and finally someone might actually recognise that.
I blink, heavy-lidded, as my gaze travels from the almost-curls of Nolan's brown hair, down to his stoic brows, deep lashes and cunning lips.
I hate how pretty he looks, perfect even under all his trauma and fractured past.
My stomach nearly doubles over, betraying whatever defences I still have up.
His hand slowly stroking mine doesn't help.
"I wanted to see you, you know, at the hospital," He hums, breaking the tension.
I tilt my head to the side in reply, strands of blonde cascading down one side of my face.
"But... I thought you wouldn't want too, I didn't want to force my way into your life if it's not what you want anymore," His brows furrow, "I have so much to fucking apologise for."
I've been picturing his face in my head for days, the only respite between the bad. My chest is squirming for a completely different reason than a heart attack just looking at him. Clearly, I wanted to see him too.