When I open my eyes again, the lighting’s changed. It's darker outside and the noise in the room has morphed into several sounds – a rhythmic beating, the sound of outside foot traffic, and whispered voices.
I feel the irritant of plastic around my face and acknowledge it to be an oxygen cannula propped under my nose. I go to bash it away, wanting the offending item gone. I’m blindly removing it, my eyes scrunching up, but gentle hands stop me.
"Hey, hey, hey, don't move too much," Zane attempts to calm me. His hands gently pull mine away from my face, sitting gently on the bed. “You need to keep that on. You needed a little extra help.”
“Tell me it was a lie,” I say, looking up at him. “Tell me that Manuel’s alive and he’s somewhere in this hospital.” I watch as Zane struggles with what to say, with how to handle this very situation. Instead, he closes his eyes and that says more than it ever needs to. But denial fuels a fire in me and my disbelief is far from waning. “Zane,” I whisper my newest plea, begging him to make right of all these atrocious wrongs.
“I’m so sorry, Amelia,” he murmurs, finally looking at me, and I see this is hitting him just as badly as it is my brother and me. “It was just too late.”
“So, he’s really dead?” I ask solemnly. The weight that tied me down and yanked me into unconsciousness is still there, but I feel numb in allowing it to take full force of me. Especially as Zane nods his head, unable to verbalize a response. “And Gio?” I ask, my voice quivering. After years of remaining unmoved and fearless to Giovanni, my strength is cut down by the callous actions he’s used to tear our family apart.
“No one knows,” Zane replies. “He hasn’t been here, and he’s not been home. He just ran.” I sense a slice of anger piercing his tone, an anger that runs deep, but me being here is keeping it isolated and contained. “Your father and I, erm, we came home and went straight to his office. There was a trail of blood, and,” Zane pauses, closing his eyes before beginning again, “Gio was there then, but my entire concentration was on you. I didn’t pay any interest to him. I had to save you. Th-there was just so much blood, and I didn’t stop him from leaving. I couldn’t leave you,” he tells me, his voice so minuscule. This time he does openly cry. He removes himself from the side of my bed to pace, to calm, to relish some of the relief of me waking up. “I felt you slipping away beneath my hands, Amelia, and I was terrified I had lost you. I kept calling your name, but you never opened your eyes again. You were slipping away, and I couldn’t do anything to help you. I couldn’t save you. I could only stand there praying because I could feel you leaving me.” He sniffs, wiping his face in vain before continuing. “It was a mad dash once the medics arrived. There was so much chaos as your father screamed for help, as Carlo came home, as we got you all to the hospital. And it’s felt like an eternity to finally have you looking at me.”
“How long has it been?” I quiz, my brow tying together.
“Four days,” he replies.
I choke on the thought – four days? My family have been grieving for four days, and I only added to the worry and stress. Manuel’s been gone four days, which means the grief is just waiting to cause a backlash.
I feel like my breathlessness has risen tenfold.
What type of reality have I woken to?
The grief that rips through me is too intense and I feel my body begin to unravel as my mind becomes unbidden with sorrowful howls. My heart rate begins to gallop as my disbelief mounts. I shake my head, unable to comprehend the truth that is tearing my heart apart. He's gone and there's not a fucking thing I can do to change it. This cannot happen. We're meant to be invincible. We're meant to be untouchable. My lack of immortality is thrust upon, and as my head begins to spin and my chest begins to tighten, I realize that our futures aren't promised. In the blink of an eye, it could all be gone. I know it's the truth because I'm now going to be living with a piece of icy heart missing forever.
I hoped this was a state of delirium, but as the sorrowful howl emits from my soul, weeping, grieving, yearning for some glance of solace, I realize that this is very much the cold, hard reality I have grown up in.
“Amelia, breathe. Sweetheart, you need to breathe,” Zane swoops in, the hero I need as I begin to unravel like before. “I know it’s hard and this is horrible news, but you need to just breathe. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to be here for you. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. I am not letting you deal with this alone.”
“How are we ever going to come back from this?” I ask, heaving as I try to calm myself. I look at him, hoping he’ll hold every single answer I need. “How do we recover from this?”