Chapter 33
The Words of Silence
Maliyah
I knew three things when I came to: I was alive, I hurt everywhere, and by the sound of soft snores, someone was in the room with me.
The beeping came into focus first. Steady, rhythmic. A monitor tracking something—my heartbeat maybe? Then the smell: antiseptic, sterile, that unique hospital scent that clings to everything.
I tried to open my eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead stabbed into my skull even through my closed eyelids.
My head pounded with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat—relentless, brutal.
Only one eye cooperated. The left stayed stubbornly closed.
I knew it was because the lid was too swollen—the pressure behind it was sharp and wrong.
Through my open eye, the room took shape slowly. White ceiling tiles. Fluorescent lights dimmed low. An IV pole beside the bed with clear bags hanging from it, tubes running down to my arm.
Slumped in a chair by the window, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each quiet breath, was Reed Morrison—the source of those gentle snores.
I took the time to look him over. His neck was resting at an uncomfortable angle. His clothes were wrinkled, blood-stained by the look of them. Dark stubble covered his jaw. He looked... haggard.
I tried to speak. My jaw wouldn't open. My chest constricted, lungs suddenly unable to fill. The walls of the room seemed to press inward, the ceiling lowering inch by inch, and I could feel sweat beading along my hairline as my good eye darted frantically around the shrinking space.
I tried again, harder this time. Nothing. My jaw was locked shut, held by something I couldn't see. Wires. Metal. I could feel them now, taste the metallic tang in my mouth. My breath came faster. The monitor's beeping accelerated. I knocked over the water and jug on the table next to me.
Reed's eyes snapped open.
"Maliyah. Sweetheart." He was on his feet, moving toward the bed but stopping short of touching me. "You're okay. You're in the hospital. Your jaw is wired shut from the surgery, but you're safe."
Safe. Was I? Was I really safe? I tried to sit up. Pain exploded through my core—ribs, I remembered now. Broken ribs. I fell back against the pillow with a sound that wasn't quite a moan, muffled behind my clenched teeth.
"Don't move too fast." Reed's hand hovered near the call button. "Let me get the nurse."
He pressed it before I could object—not that I could object, or would object for that matter. I couldn't speak. I couldn't open my jaw. I couldn't do anything but lie here and hurt. Then panic hit.
I clawed at my face, desperate to force my jaw open.
But my left arm hung useless in a sling, fingers immobilized in a splint, while my right hand caught in the web of IV tubing.
Trapped. My jaw remained sealed shut, metal wiring biting into bone.
My lungs seized. The walls closed in. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't draw breath—
A sound ripped out of me. Guttural. Animal. It vibrated against the metal wiring, rattling my teeth and sending white-hot pain through my jaw.
The nurse appeared within seconds—middle-aged woman with kind eyes and quick hands. "It's okay, honey. It's okay." She caught my wrists gently but firmly, holding them away from my face. "You're at Mass General. Just breathe through your nose. Slow breaths. You're going to be okay."
I couldn't. My chest heaved. The monitor's beeping accelerated into a frantic rhythm.
"Look at me," she said, her voice steady and calm. "I'm Carol. You're safe. Your jaw is wired shut from surgery—that's why you can't open it. It's supposed to be like that. You're not choking. Your airway is clear."
Her words filtered through the panic slowly. Wired shut. Surgery. Supposed to be like that.
"Good," Carol said as my breathing started to slow. "That's good. You've been awake a couple times already, but you were pretty out of it then. This is probably the first time you're really aware of what's happening."
I stared at her. Tried to ask how long. Made some kind of sound that didn't form words.
"Your jaw's wired shut," Carol repeated gently, checking the IV line. "Six weeks minimum. I know it's disorienting. You have a concussion too. That's why the lights are dimmed. You might feel foggy, nauseous, dizzy. That's normal."
"I’m sure you have things you want to say. For now, we have a tablet you can use to communicate, but you can always use your phone too."
She produced one from somewhere, set it up on the rolling table, positioned it within reach. Opened a notes app and handed me the stylus that was attached with a cord.
My right hand shook as I tried to balance the tablet. My left arm was useless in its sling, so I had to rest the tablet against my thigh, making the stylus harder to control. I erased my writing three times before I turned it toward her.
How long here?
"You came out of surgery this morning," Carol said. "About six hours since you woke up in recovery, but you were pretty out of it then."
I tapped the screen again, my hand steadier now. Bryce?
Carol glanced at Reed. He stepped forward slightly, still maintaining distance.
"He's gone," Reed said quietly. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."
I stared at him. At the exhaustion in his face, the careful way he held himself. Like he wanted to come closer but knew better.
I killed him. The words sat there on the screen. Stark. True.
Reed's eyes softened. "Self-defense, Maliyah. Nothing more." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "If you hadn't fought back—" His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. "I wouldn't be sitting here now."
I turned to Carol. Easier than facing Reed's words. Carol adjusted something on the IV. "Your pain medication is due. This will help you sleep."
No. My fingers were clumsy but insistent as I wrote. Too fuzzy. Want to be awake.
"Honey, you need rest—"
Less meds. Please.
Carol glanced at Reed. He squared his shoulders. "Don’t look at me. She wants less medication. Her body, her decision."
"I'll talk to Dr. Pettit," Carol said. "But you need some pain management. The ribs alone—"
IV Tylenol. No narcotics.
Carol looked at me in surprise. "They don't usually like to prescribe just IV Tylenol—it's significantly more expensive."
I tapped the tablet again, emphasizing this. Erasing it, I then wrote:
Narcotics itchy, foggy, and bad dreams. IV Tylenol. I'd fought this battle before—after Lucas's C-section. The nurse then taught me IV Tylenol works just as well for me without the fog or nightmares.
Carol sighed, "I'll see what we can do." She made a note on her tablet. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"
I hadn't thought about it. But now that she mentioned it, my throat was dry, scratchy.
Water.
Carol held a cup with a straw to my lips. The thin plastic slipped through the gap in my wired teeth, but water dribbled down my chin at first. Swallowing sent pain shooting through my jaw, but the cool liquid soothed my parched throat.
After she left, silence filled the room. Just me and Reed and the monitors.
I shifted against the pillows, trying to find a position that didn't hurt.
My left shoulder throbbed with every breath, the sling keeping my arm pinned against my chest. The splint on my wrist felt like dead weight.
I couldn't hold the tablet and reach my face to wipe away tears at the same time.
I felt like I couldn't do anything without help.
Reed reached forward and helped me shift. I didn’t even complain—I just let him. What other choice was there?
He settled back into his chair. He didn't try to talk or ask any questions. He was just... there.
I closed my eye. Exhaustion pulled at me despite the fear of sleeping, of not being alert. My body didn't care about my fears—it demanded rest.
When I woke again, the light had changed. The sun had set completely, leaving only the dim glow of the monitors and the light from the hallway filtering under the door. The room tilted slightly when I opened my eye, and I had to wait for it to steady.
Reed was gone, leaving the chair empty.
Relief and something else—something I didn't want to name—twisted in my chest.
Then the door opened and he appeared with two coffee cups.
"Felicity's on her way," he said, lifting the coffee cup to show he'd picked one up for her. He settled back into the chair, saying, "I texted her that you were more alert."
I reached for the tablet.
You don't have to stay.
He looked at me for a long moment. "I know."
But he stayed anyway.
Why are you still here?
Silence stretched between us. His bloodshot eyes never left mine, his knuckles white on the chair's armrests. When he finally spoke, his voice caught, broke, and roughly, he said, "There isn't anywhere else in this world I would rather be than right here with you."
His words cracked something open inside me. I looked away, blinking back tears. Not yet. I couldn't face this—couldn't trust—not now.
Twenty minutes later, Felicity burst through the door like a hurricane, eyes red-rimmed, makeup smudged. She took one look at me and her face crumpled.
"Oh, Mal."
Reed stood. "I'll give you two some time. Need to grab something to eat anyway."
He left before I could type anything.
Felicity sank into the chair he'd vacated, taking my hand gently. "How are you feeling?"
I gestured to the tablet. She leaned closer so she could see.
Like hit by truck. Driven by a fucking psycho.
Felicity's laugh was half sob. "Dark humor. That's a good sign."
How are my babies?
Her expression shifted. "They're okay. Worried about you. They want to visit."
Everything in me seized up.
No.
"Mal—"
No. Don't bring them here. I can't.
My fingers trembled so badly I could barely hold the stylus. My chest tightened until it felt like my broken ribs were crushing my lungs. I erased, tried again, my heart hammering against my bandages.
Can't see me like this.