✨Trigger Warning✨





Juliana's POV



"Still doing okay, Juliana?" The PET Scan tech asks me over the intercom. Right now I'm watching Moana while a big machine rotates around me and takes pictures of my insides.

I don't know how they did it, but they put this thing around my head that had a mirror sticking up out of it.

Then they were projecting the movie upside down on the wall so that I could watch it normally.

After going through the MRI, where I watched Baymax, it wasn't as scary. Especially since I knew what to expect.

Today has been a whirlwind of scans.

They had found something to cover up my oxygen tank, because my breathing is still shit, so that the metal in it wouldn't mess with the machines, seeing as they were all one large magnet.

This morning, around 08:30 or so, they got me an x-ray on my wrist.

Apparently, even with a broken collarbone, it wasn't normal to not be able to wiggle my fingers without pain.

Annoyingly enough, while they did notice I had a bit of a sprain to that wrist, they noticed a deformity in the bone from a previous break that healed incorrectly.

Elijah wants to re-break my arm and cast it up so that it will heal 'correctly'. His reasoning was that by the time I'm out of the cast, my collarbone should be healed.

And I'm going to have to be in a sling anyway, so why not?

They then made me order breakfast, which I got vanilla yogurt with granola and grapes. I didn't finish it, because I am not a morning eater, so they put the 'missing' calories through my feeding tube.

Yeah, I wasn't too happy about that. I can already tell this thing is going to get real old real quick.

"I'm good." I call back, because what good would telling them that this position kills my ribs, and I've needed to pee for the past hour, do?

They got my hopes up by telling me that this scan would probably take less time than the MRI, wrong.

Then they went and injected me with something almost an hour and a half ago, and wouldn't let me eat, drink, or use the bathroom.

But at least they let me have my phone for a majority of the time.

I've been trying to, unsuccessfully, distract myself with movies all day. This morning, before the MRI Elijah had come into my room with a grim looking face. Well, he was trying to play it off, offering me a smile and telling me that child life would be visiting my room this afternoon.

When I asked him what was wrong he brushed it off, telling me it was nothing I needed to worry about right now, but I pulled the, it's my body, if it's something to do with me I'm entitled to know about it.

He grimaced and finally admitted that my bloodwork had come back. Part of me got scared because whatever it was obviously wasn't good, but it was also a good thing, right?

I mean, if they knew the problem then they could get started on fixing it and I could get out of this damn hospital.

All he told me was that he needed to consult a different team, but to be ready to move rooms.

That worried me.

Especially because I was already aware that the test results should have gone through the family doctor first, then Elijah, who would tell me.

The PET scan luckily didn't last too much longer, and I was slowly rolled out, maneuvered off the bed and back into my wheelchair.

I detested the thing when I first saw it. I tried flat out refusing, begging, puppy dog eyes, and finally hiding under the covers, but it was to no avail. It was the only way to safely transport me from point A to point B.

That and I was told that I either learnt to love the wheelchair or they were gonna put a catheter in me.

That was another extremely embarrassing conversation to have. Since I was a little disabled at the moment, I couldn't really walk myself to the toilet, and thanks to my collarbone, crutches were also a no.

That left me with two choices. Either call a nurse, who would transfer me to a wheelchair and help make sure I didn't hurt myself while I was doing my business. Or get a catheter.

Both were embarrassing, both seemed unpleasant, but the nurse seemed like the lesser of the two evils.

At least this way I was able to keep a little bit of self reliance. Even if it did require a small amount of assistance.

We wheeled through the moderately busy hallway, my eyes squinting as I tried to adjust to the sudden bright light.

I liked the screening room. They kept all the lights off and had decked the whole thing out in LED lights.

This was definitely the imaging floor, and even if I didn't already know that, it would be pretty obvious because all you saw was different patients (kids) of all ages being led into different rooms with a multitude of intimidating machinery.

It was kind of intriguing seeing all the different ways people got around. On their own two feet, in wheelchairs, on crutches, even being pushed in hospital beds.

Dan, the PET tech was a nice enough dude. He was a little annoying as he kept speaking to me and wanting answers, but I couldn't always give them.

My throat was still pretty jacked up. Even though the painkillers they had been pumping through me since the day I got here did ease the pain, it was still annoying. Think, mid strep throat, before the penicillin starts kicking in.

Not to mention that I sounded like a dying frog when I tried to speak.

Dan started the long and confusing walk, or should I say wheel, around the first floor while I sat back, wishing I could go to sleep already. Away from prying eyes.

From the information I've gathered from the night nurse, this hospital has different wards and floors for just about everything. Which explained why it was taking so long to navigate it.

Okay, well hospitals. Seeing as there were two right next to each other.

The first one was known as the "outpatient" hospital. Aka, the one we're leaving right now.

That hospital had four different floors.

The first floor included check in, imaging (such as MRI's X-rays and PET scans), and labs (aka, blood draws). The Emergency Room is also on the back of that floor.

The second floor held the psychiatric unit. Aka, the grippy sock vacation ward. From what I heard, this was one of the largest, and most occupied floors. Which was very sad in my opinion.

The third floor is where you would go for outpatient services such as: Cardiology, Neurology, Sports Medicine, Pediatrician visits, anything that did not include you being admitted long term.

The fourth floor was the rehabilitation floor. This was the floor where people who, for example, had been in a car accident and needed to relearn how to do basic everyday functions. Or let's say you were a kid who had to get a prosthetic. They helped you learn how to walk, or use your new arm.

So I guess the fourth floor of the "outpatient" hospital was more of an inpatient floor, but other than that people were normally in and out.

Then there was another, slightly larger, hospital right next door to that one, which everyone considered the "inpatient" hospital. That also happened to be the place I was staying right now.

This hospital included four main floors and a ground floor.

The ground floor included physical, occupational, and psychiatric therapies. The chapel, the door to the garden and playground, along with the cafeteria.

The first floor included a check in up front, and the surgery ward and the ICU towards the back.

The second floor was Labor and Delivery, along with the NICU. While I didn't expect for a children's hospital to have a labor and delivery unit, I guess it makes sense. I mean, they are delivering babies, which counts as pediatrics.

The third floor held inpatient kids. Well, the nurse let it slip that normally the kids on this floor didn't stay very long. Typically kids came in for observation after coming from surgery, or the ICU.

People also stayed when they needed to pass kidney stones, or had pneumonia and weren't expected to stay more than a few days, to a week or so. It's also the "testing" floor. That's for kids who needed to stay for like, sleep evaluations, heart monitors, neurology studies, etc.

The fourth floor was the oncology and "long term" inpatient floor. Apparently, if you got sent to this floor and weren't a cancer patient, you were in for a pretty long stay.

They had almost completely reserved this floor for cancer kids, or anyone who was going to practically live in the hospital for some time. Apparently, this floor had almost a "hotel vibe" to it.

At least, that's what Patricia, the night nurse, told me. Getting sent to the Oncology floor didn't always mean you were being admitted. I didn't fully understand that, but she said not to worry about it. She looked a little edgy about it, like she didn't really want to talk about it so I dropped it.

Dan rolls me around the first floor, smiling and waving at different patients and doctors along the way. He takes me out the back doors, so instead of having to go down the sidewalk of a busy street, he goes to the courtyard of the two hospitals.

Yes, the two hospitals are connected at the back. Smart, if you think about it, and while it was nice to be outside, it was also kind of miserable.

Not that it was raining or anything, but it was hot, and very bright. Not murky or cloudy, or anything like I was feeling. It's like the sky was mocking me.

He rolls me around on the ridiculously shaped sidewalk. Like, did they have to make the path a maze? Could he not have taken me on the small sidewalk protected by the overhang that went straight from one hospital door to the next?

My mood only worsens as I see all the other people out here. Kids are drawing on the sidewalk with chalk or playing on the playground. There's even a small group of older kids, older than me, huddled around some tables playing card games.

Families are eating at tables, parents are walking with their kids through the gardens, and the whole thing somehow only depresses me further.

Sure some are like me, bound to a wheelchair at the moment, though most of those kids look a lot more sickly than I do.

It almost makes me feel like a poser. I'm not sick, I shouldn't still be here, yet for some reason I am. That makes me both uncomfortable, and maybe a little mad. I just want to go home.

Then there are others who still look pretty healthy. Though I'm well aware that means nothing in the world of healthcare.

Sure, some are probably siblings, but others are kids that have been admitted. You can tell by the hospital bracelets adorning their small wrists.

I can't help but wonder how they seem so happy. Maybe it's because they are young, and don't understand how depressing hospitals are supposed to be.

Before I can dwell on the concept of people any longer, Dan finally pushes me into the hospital. I shiver as my face gets blown with A.C, a stark difference to how it feels outside.

Either he finally realizes how shitty I feel, or he finally realized he has another patient he needs to scan soon, he finally stops wasting time and gets me back to my room on the third floor.

He hands me over to the grouchy day nurse, who helps me get out of the stupid and itchy hospital gown, and into some of my own clothes before transferring me back to my bed.

She gets started on taking my vitals and logging things in my chart. Even though I haven't done much, I fall asleep before she's even left the room.

"It's okay Juliana. Everything's alright. It's just a dream." The voice soothes, and I shutter as I come back to reality.

"Another one?" My mom asks. We're laying in my bed, back in New York. She's got her arms around me, holding me protectively. I nod as I look over to see dad standing in the doorway.

He's got a sad look in his eyes, but when he notices me looking he changes his expression. Hiding everything away and giving me a brave smile.

I must have had another nightmare. I didn't used to get them, but now it's like everything has changed. Like there's unknown trauma catching up to me.

"I'm sorry baby. I wish I could take them from you, but just know we'll always be right here when you need us." I don't say anything, I don't have to. I simply tuck my chin, resting my forehead against her chest.

Physical touch isn't something I normally like. Except with Gino. But there's something about a mother's embrace.

"Is everything alright?" I hear Jameson ask dad quietly. Dad replies with something hushed that I can't quite make out.

I feel the bed dip, and a hand rubs my shin. I look up seeing Jameson staring at me sorrowfully.

He is one thing I've had to come to terms with. Seeing him everyday has been hard. Having to interact with him as though the past 9 years never happened was difficult, but eventually we got there.

He's trying to change, and holding a grudge against him wasn't helping his progress. I can't fault him for attempting to become a better person.

Ever since mom and dad got back, he's been trying to be a better brother. To make up for everything he put us through.

I know he hates moments like these. As recurrent as they seem to be these days.

Having to see the lasting effect of his actions and truly admit to himself that he is the reason I'm like this. But I guess that's something he has to come to terms with also.

"Is Jules okay?" I hear a small voice ask. His voice brings an immediate smile to my face. I peek my head up, looking out my door to the strikingly bright hallway. At least, in comparison to the cold dark paradise I call my room.

In the light from the doorway I see the shadow that is my father turn and put his hands on his hips. He looks down, and I can practically see the look of skepticism.

"Jeramiah, should you not be in bed?" Dad asks, and I'm able to make out Jeramy giving dad a guilty smile.

"I heard Jules scream. She okay?" He asks cutely and dad shakes his head, probably creaking a smile as he tells Jer to check for himself.

Jeramy walks over to my bed, standing tentatively at the edge. He looks suddenly nervous and I hold out my right arm, my left trapped by mom.

Jeramy smiles, slipping around Jameson and climbing over mom's hip to get to me. He plops down, all 62 pounds of his nine year old body, between mom and I. I wrap my arm around him, similar to how mom was just doing to me. He smiles at me, bringing his hand to the side of my forehead.

"Julie okay?" He asks sweetly and I smile, nodding.

"Julie's okay." I whisper back.

He smiles, content, before yawning and placing his head on my shoulder. I look up at mom as she places her arm around the both of us, shooing the other's out of the room.

Jameson says goodnight to me and mom, leaning down and placing a soft kiss to Jaramiah's forehead before leaving the room. Dad walks over and places a kiss to moms forehead, making me scrunch up my nose.

"PDA!" I whisper screamed, pretending to gag. Mom pushes my head back down and dad scoffs at me.

"See you in the morning drama queen." He whispers, flipping me the bird behind mom's back.

I gasp, pointing to him and mom swings her arm behind her, nailing him right in the gut without even looking.

Dad groans, holding his stomach dramatically, like she could have done any damage with the back of her hand while half asleep.

"Set a good example, Jean Carlo." Mom scolds, her eyes already half shut. Dad huffs, like he couldn't believe she was taking my side over his.

"My apologies, mi amore." He apologizes, bending down and placing another kiss to her cheek while glaring at me. I stick my tongue out at him and mom shoos him out of the room as well.

Mom is asleep within the next few minutes, the stress lines on her face slowly disappearing. One of the only times she looks at peace is when she's sleeping. Otherwise she always seems to be worrying about something.

Us kids. Work. Life. You name it.

I know I used to be a big factor of her worry, especially at the beginning. I know she still worries, even after I've proved multiple times that aside from the nightmares I'm perfectly fine. But she does. And I still feel horrible about it, but there was nothing I could have done. As she says, she's my mother. She's going to worry.

I couldn't help but feel a little grateful about Jeramy. He took some of the focus off me. Being born and raised into captivity messed him up. Being brought up secluded and immediately exposed to 24/7 violence will do that to a kid.

Not to mention he had no true idea about how the world works. He still is trying to catch up, but his therapist decided he should be able to start homeschooling next year, so we're definitely making progress.

I can't wait until Jeramy gets caught up on all the 'normal' kid experiences. But until then, I love getting to be there while he figures out what a normal life is supposed to look like.

Well, as normal as our family can ever get.

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The End

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I got rudely woken up by Uncle Stefano. Okay, 'rudely' is a bit of an overstatement, but waking anybody up should be considered rude. He's stroking my hair, talking lightly with someone else in the room.

I just look up at him, wondering what he's doing here. It takes him a moment to notice my change in consciousness, but when he does he gives me what he thinks looks like a genuine smile. I can see the worry behind his eyes though.

"Hello little lady. How are you feeling?" He asks and I shrug my good shoulder, using my left arm to push myself up further on my already propped up bed.

I look to my surroundings and realize that I am in fact still in the hospital and not in New York. I feel a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart as I come to that realization.

Have you ever had those dreams that just felt so real? Like there was no denying it had happened, yet it in reality it didn't?

I swear I can still feel my mother's hand resting on my hip. I place my hand gingerly atop my right shoulder. It was almost as though I could still feel little Jeramy's head resting there. His body tucked safely away between my mother and I.

Except I don't have a little brother named Jeramy, and my mother has been dead for nine years.

But admitting that to myself sent shock waves of grief through my heart, as though I was mourning someone I can come to know and love.

However I can't continue to be caught up on something as insignificant as a dream. So instead I look around and see Elijah standing at the computer, going through what I assume to be the nurses notes.

"You've got some visitors." Uncle Stefano says, and I turn to look at him, furrowing my eyebrows.

Who could be here that wouldn't just come right in. I mean, Justin, Hunter and Elliot all just barged right in. Everyone else was pretty good about knocking first, but they all still let themselves in.

It was more than annoying. They just could not take the hint that I didn't want to see them right now.

"Who?" I ask and Uncle Stefano gives me a concerned look.

"You don't remember? You said you wanted to see your parents."

Well shit.

I most definitely do remember saying that, now that he mentions it. I guess it's a good thing I took a nap because I have a feeling this is about to be stressful.

"Yeah, of course. I'm just still trying to wake up." I say, staring through Uncle Stefano.

I've gotten pretty good at that trick. Not actually looking at a person. It makes everything so much easier.

"You don't have to see them if you've changed your mind. I'm sure they'll understand." He says, crouching down by the bed so he wasn't towering over me anymore.

They all tend to do that a lot. They'll crouch down to my level, almost as if they don't want me to feel crowded. I don't hate it. If I'm being honest, it sometimes does make me feel better when talking to them.

Almost like I'm not so inferior.

"No, it's okay. You told them to come, it would be wrong to ask them to leave now." I say quietly, looking at my nails.

My nail polish has chipped away, and they're all uneven. That's mostly my fault because I have a horrible habit of picking at them.

With my teeth.

"Juliana, eyes over here please." He asks, waiting for me to correct my gaze before he continues, "This isn't about being polite. This is about whether or not you're ready for it."

I just nod my head and assure him that I do want to see them. He looks at me for a moment longer, before getting up, assuring me that if I get overwhelmed at any moment to just speak up.

The one thing that makes me feel so horrible is that he's being so nice about this situation. Everyone has, actually. Everyone has been so understanding and patient, making sure that I was okay every step of the way.

I'm supposed to be mad at them, and they aren't helping.

Uncle Stefano leaves the room, and I'm left to wait anxiously with Elijah, who hasn't yet glanced up from the computer.

I can't help but worry about what's to come. I mean, I'm seeing my supposed parents for the first time in almost a decade. A decade that I thought they were dead.

The last time they saw me I was five. That's the image of me that they have in their heads. Not the stuck up brat lying half immobilized in a hospital bed.

What if I don't live up to the standard they've set in their minds? I mean, I'm annoying, I suck at school, I cause problems, hell, I'm causing problems right now. I don't think I can take my parents resenting me also.

I don't get time to dwell because the door opens, and a woman hesitantly peeks her head through the crack. She's opened the door enough that I can see a figure standing behind her, leaning on what I think to be crutches.

The woman stares at me a moment before making a choked sound in the back of her throat. Her eyes well up and her hands fly up to cover her mouth.

The figure behind her moves the arm that is visible to me off the crutch, placing it on her shoulder. Maybe for moral support, maybe to warn her to compose herself. I'm really not sure because at that moment she straightens and turns around.

The man behind her wraps the hand he previously rested on her shoulder around her, and the door slowly opens enough to allow me to see his face.

But I'm stuck staring at the woman's back. My mothers back.

No. That is not my mother. I'm not sure who that woman says she is but I know the truth. My mother is dead. She's long gone, buried in the ground. And she's never coming back.

9 years ago

"Have a nice day Miss. Julie!" Our driver calls back to me.

"You too Mr. Landi!" I yell as I pull my skating bag out of the car, dragging it on the ground behind me as I run through the garage.

I struggle to get the bag over the stairs, don't blame me, it's heavy. And normally James would be helping me, but he's been ignoring me lately.

I tried asking him if he was mad at me, but he just shoved me out of his room and told me to 'mind my own damn business.'

It makes me really sad, but Gino told me that's how teenagers were. Which meant a lot cause Gino normally laughs at me when I get upset.

I finally get up the three stairs leading into the house, forgetting to close the door in my excitement.

'Eh, I'll deal with it later.'

I run through the house, being told by multiple guards to slow down before I hurt myself but I paid them no mind.

This was the first time I had been truly happy since daddy went away. Maybe this will make mommy happy also.

She hadn't been sulking around like she did at Zio Stefano's house, but she didn't truly seem happy either.

She didn't talk to me unless she had to, she was always snappy, and she had stopped getting me ready in the mornings. If it wasn't for Jameson, I might not have gotten to school on time!

I part with my bag at the bottom of the stairs, knowing there's no way I would make it up them by the end of the day with it. I did make sure to grab my papers beforehand though.

I actually passed my pre-preliminary skating test! And it wasn't hard at all! My coach kept telling me not to worry, and I guess she was right.

I run up the stairs, flying past all the rooms until I get to the very last bedroom, facing the rest of the hall. Also known as my parent's room. Well, I guess it's my mom's room now.

I fling the door open, surprised that I wasn't immediately met with a lecture about being gentle. I look wildly around the room, searching for my mom. But I don't see her.

I do; however, see that her bathroom door is open and her light is on. You know, I've always been told that I'm observant.

Any other kid might not have been able to notice that and know that it must mean mom is in the bathroom. This way I don't have to waste any time looking around because I know exactly where to go.

But I'm not cocky or anything.

I run up to the bathroom door, walking right in.

"Mommy!" I call, stopping when I hear a squelching beneath me. I look down, squinting when I see a thin red substance beneath my feet.

I realize that I haven't taken off my tennis shoes yet.

'Oh darn, mommy's going to be pissed when she realizes. Please don't stain anything.' I pray as I bend down to assess the mystery liquid.

It's thin, but it's just slightly thicker than water. I wonder for a moment if it's paint. But is paint that thin?

I press my hand down into it, and then bring it up to my nose. It doesn't smell like paint. It actually had a quite disgusting penny-like smell to it.

I know what a penny smells like. We learnt to count them last week! Stupid Kyle tried to eat one. We told him it wasn't food, but boys are dumb.

I notice that the longer I stay crouched here, the more of this red goop seems to surround me. I turn around, because that's where the majority of the goop seems to be coming from, and freeze.

There's mommy, lying on the floor, in the middle of all the goop.

Silly mommy. Doesn't she know that the floor is for walking? Your bed is for sleeping. Or your brothers, They work pretty nicely also.

I walk over to her, kneeling down next to her. That's when I notice that there seems to be a steady stream of the goop coming from her neck. I try wiping it away, that can't be a very good feeling.

Next thing I know my ring finger gets stuck inside of her throat. I gag as I feel something squishy, and mommy's eyes fly open, a choking noise coming from her mouth.

Blood squirts up, causing me to jump and fall back as blood splatters my face. Even on my bottom I can see her neck more clearly. I see her eyes wide and frozen, her mouth parted. I see a gaping long line going from one corner of her neck to the other.

I hear screams. Are those my screams? I'm not quite sure. I can feel my blood chilling as the situation finally dawns on me. I finally glance down to see the knife lying in her limp palm.

I hear tisk-ing from behind me, and I turn to see Jameson standing there. How long has he been there? Why isn't he doing anything? Does he not see what I see? Is this sight not as horrific to him as it is to me? Does he understand what's going on?

Or is he as oblivious as I was seconds ago?

He walks towards me. It takes three whole steps. The steps are heavy, unusual sounding for how James normally walks. His steps are normally light, quiet. That's what makes him a great partner for hide and seek.

After Jameson takes those three, slow, heavy steps, he bends down, one knee closer to the floor than the other, but not quite low enough to be submerged in the liquid I now understand to be blood.

He reaches over and grabs my chin, tilting my head up. I was unaware I had been staring numbly at the blood covered floor. I could have sworn I only looked away for a second.

His face is blurry. Mine feels wet. He takes his thumb and wipes at the wetness, giving me a frown that doesn't look very sincere to me. Are those tears mine? I guess they are. I didn't realize I was crying.

Jameson lets out a low sigh, shaking his head slowly in the manner you see parents do when their child has done something to disappoint them.

"Oh poor Juliana. Look what you've done."

"Juliana?" As the memory finishes washing over me, my senses clear. I'm still in the very white hospital room, no red in sight.

I look around the space, trying to regain my bearings. I see Elijah has moved. He's now standing next to me, looking concerned. I assume he is the one who said my name.

I look further out into the door and notice that the people being presented as my parents have now stepped into the room. My door is still wide open, but I pay no mind to it.

I can't stand to look at my supposed mother, so instead I survey my supposed father.

He's on crutches, his hair is a little long, but it's brushed back in a manner that suggests he did put some effort into his appearance.

His actual attire is very casual, as one would expect given the circumstances. He's a little on the skinnier side, but that doesn't surprise me either. I mean, these two were supposedly being held captive. I doubt they were given five course meals every night.

Overall, if not for the cast on his leg, the awkward way he's leaning into his crutches as he tries to hide the pain it's causing him to stand, his split lip, and a few darker spaces along his face, he looks relatively normal. If you didn't know any better.

But I do. And I know all too well that just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it's not there.

He's looking at me the same way I am him. Observing the other's condition.

His gaze hardens as it settles far too long on my face for my liking. No, not my face. Lower than that. My neck.

The one visible place that suggests fowl play. If anyone saw my arm in a sling, or my leg in a boot they could easily assume that it was any other run-of-the-mill injury. Sure, the both of them together probably seemed a little suspicious, but maybe I was in an accident.

A car crash, maybe? Perhaps I was horseback riding and my horse spooked. Throwing me off, which caused the injury to my collarbone and wrist, before taking a little tap dancing break on my ankle?

But my neck? There was no second guessing that.

I had seen it in the mirror. Every time I went to the bathroom, or gave my best attempt at getting ready for the day. I know that even though the swelling has gone down, the bruise is still as prominent as ever.

The very front of my neck has splotchy bruises, with the centers of them still being purple and the outer parts fading to a dark red.

But it was the sides of my neck that would draw the most attention.

It was the left side of my neck which held four, very distinguishable, meaty finger prints, each one paired with half moon marks where fingernails dug into my skin until I bled.

It was a large blob of a bruise followed by a thin discolored line that ran down almost the entire right side of my neck from where his thumb dug so deep into my skin that he burst one of my veins.

The rest were concealed. Hidden away in places beneath my clothes and far away in the back of my mind. A little secret, a little psychological scar for me to hold all to myself. Something not to be shared with the prying eyes of the public.

Of the eyes of the mothers who redirected their kids when they pointed their innocent little fingers, or when they asked their innocent little questions just a bit too loudly.

My supposed father finally moves his gaze from my neck to my face. He observes the cannula resting low on my nose and the feeding tube shoved up my nose and down my throat, settling somewhere deep inside my stomach.

I watch him as his eyes trail to the machines next to me. He narrows his eyes when he sees the low numbers of a heart rate equaling 62 and next to it, the 'low' number of 92, which currently describes the oxygen making its way in and out of my lungs.

What he probably doesn't know is that 92 is pretty darn good. Over the past few days they have slowly been decreasing the amount of oxygen they give me, and I was working hard to sustain that 92.

My attention gets redirected when I hear a footstep. I see my mother, who is taking tentative steps towards me.

She keeps taking small steps towards me. It sort of reminds me of approaching a wild dog. One where you're not quite sure if it's going to bite or not.

Is that what I am? An animal. I feel like one. Caged up, under constant monitoring and display.

I can't take my eyes off of her. That familiar unease creeping its way into my stomach the closer she got. I can't stop the apprehension when she finally gets within arms length. I know realistically she can't, nor won't, do anything. Not in this hospital room when anyone could walk in at any moment. With the camera's recording and Elijah still standing to my side.

I think he's now here more for moral support than anything. And at the moment I'm grateful for it. Grateful to have a familiar face, a person I know and feel comfortable around.

But that alone isn't enough to stop my reaction. Now that I'm being forced to pay attention to my mother, I notice that she's wearing what seems to be a back brace over her shirt.

She's skinny, like dad, looking like she had missed more than a few meals. She looks tired, their bags under her eyes, she looks like she's having trouble standing. She's swaying slightly, and a quick glance at my father confirms that he sees it too.

In the moment that I looked away, my mother decided that would be a nice time to reach out and touch my leg. I flinch back, grimacing when it rattles my fractured leg. Even though it's protected by the boot, it's still easily aggravated.

Mother jumped back, like I had electrocuted her. Tears gather in her eyes and she again presses her hand to her mouth. I watch her fingers go white as she takes a deep, grounding breath.

If she presses much further she might just lose a few teeth. It's a mean thought, but maybe if I think nasty things I won't let the waterworks that are burning behind the carefully intact shield behind my eyes.

"Don't touch me." I say. It comes out sharply, rudely. It's not how I meant for it to come out, and I get the urge to apologize when I see my mother take a surprised step backwards.

Her hand has finally fallen from her face and she just presses her lips together, giving me a look that I'm beginning to detest.

It's a mix of sadness and pity. Because that's all I ever deserve these days, right? I'm their weak little girl who couldn't defend herself from her own brother.

Their weak, defenceless little fuck up of a child who made her own siblings hate her. Who deserved to be beaten and locked up, and raped by her brother and his friends because she was a failure. A failure who couldn't do anything right.

A failure who would never be good enough. Who would never truly get to escape from her abuser because her own family recognized that she wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth the trouble of cutting off another family member. Of causing that drama.

Suddenly my anger has returned. Anger, yes. Anger was good. Anger was better than any of the other troublesome emotions that tried to escape.

"You're dead." I tell my mother, my voice is scarily devoid of any emotion. No inkling to the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

She flinches, and Elijah presses the back of his hand against my arm in warning. I don't pay him any mind, driving my elbow into his side. He grunts and moves away from me, glaring.

"I'm so sorry that's what you were led to believe. But baby, I'm right here. We are right here." She says. Her voice is watery, her eyes not much different.

"But are you?" I asked. "I thought I was living with my brother and apparently I wasn't." Mother squeezes her eyes shut when she finally gets what I'm insinuating, a tear rolling down her cheek.

She swipes at it, looking up at the ceiling like she's begging for help. And dad delivers. He crutches his way over to her, adjusting so that he can put his arm around her. He whispers something into her ear and she nods, sniffling before excusing herself for the bathroom.

My father takes in a breath, looking to Elijah and nodding his head to the door. Elijah takes the hint and dips out, closing the door behind him. It's silent now. I don't like the silence. At least not this type of silence.

My father keeps staring at me, but I'm refusing to look him in the eye.

"Juliana." He demands.

"Sorry I made your wife cry." I blurt. I do feel bad about that. Sure, I was rude, but my goal wasn't to make her cry. I'm actually not sure what my goal was. To get her to back off? Disappoint her before she could get her hopes up?

"Well I don't really think I'm the person you need to apologize to. But that's not what I wanted." I had no choice but to watch him as he made his way around the length of the bed.

The bed dips from his weight as he sits on the edge of the bed, near my hips. A a safe distance from both my leg and arm.

He props up his crutches, which looks kind of funny because now they're much taller than him. I can't help the small smile that presses against my lips.

"Look, we match." He says, lifting up his left leg and showing me his dark blue cast.

I pressed my lips together, hiding my smile as I looked down at my nails.

"This can't be very easy on you, can it?" He asks. I shake my head no, and out of the corner of my eye I see him nodding.

"How did figure skating work out? You stick with it?" I look up in surprise. That's not where I thought this conversation would go.

"Yeah. I tried out for Juniors last year." I tell him, picking at some of my nail polish.

"Oh yeah? Did you make it?" I'm already nodding before he can finish his sentence, smiling proudly at him.

"Yep. Competed as one of the youngest in that level." I state proudly, and he looks at me with genuine happiness.

"That's amazing. I'm not going to pretend to know all that much about skating, but it sounds like you've been doing good."

"Alright there's different levels, and each level has an age criteria and a skill set list and restriction. The number of levels and skills changes based on your category, also. So like, free skate for singles and free skate for pairs will look very different. You following?" I ask, and he nods, listening intently.

We spent another few hours just talking about everything. Skating, school, dance, comparing interests. Mom came back eventually and sat in the chair next to my bed, joining in whenever she got the chance.

While I was still a little stiff with her, and mainly talked to my dad, but after a couple of hours I started warming up to her.

Eventually Uncle Stefano came back and told them that visiting hours were closing and that they needed to let me sleep.

I got kind of sad when they left, but dad promised they would come back tomorrow.

"You know, you technically own the hospital. Why do they have to leave?" I when Uncle Stefano came back with Elijah after walking my parents out.

"Because, can you honestly tell me that you would have gone to sleep if they were here? Or would you have stayed up until an ungodly hour and been a zombie tomorrow?" He asks, making sure that my metal water bottle is filled for the night, giving me a raised eyebrow.

"Well... Jokes on you, I'm gonna do that anyway."



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I would like to formally apologize for joking about ending the story near the middle of the chapter. However I hope the extra long chapter made up for it.

How are we feeling about Juliana's parents?

I know we've been having a lot of serious conversations lately, so I may or may not have some fluff planned for the next chapter.