There was a jumble of motion, words, and sensations. I barely remember anything aside from Mum’s tears and the innate need to put a stop to them.
She was both happy and sad, and I still have no clue why she was sad.
Was it the fact that I was hurt or did she see the look in my eyes?
Did she peek beneath the surface and uncover the façade I used as camouflage?
I didn’t get to ask that question after I was discharged a few days ago. My parents brought me home with them and I didn’t protest. At least this way, I can escape the faces dripping with pity.
I can stay away from their mine-filled conversations that always somehow lead back to how I got shot.
Or more like the person who shot me.
Her.
My nemesis and my damnation.
I’ve successfully avoided the subject by pretending to be tired or sleepy. A privilege I’ll soon lose since my wound is healing—the stitches have almost all dissolved into my skin, leaving a hole near my upper chest.
“A few centimeters to the right and the bullet would’ve gotten his heart,” is what I heard the doctor tell my father.
And I’m left here wondering why those centimeters didn’t happen.
I wanted to die.
I should’ve fucking died, so how come I’m still breathing?
That question has been living in my head rent-free ever since I woke up and I still can’t find an answer.
Which is why I’m ‘recuperating.’ Though I’m not sure that’s the right word with the world war atmosphere I find myself in.
As the rain hammers down outside, I sit in the playroom downstairs, my fingers patting a surprisingly docile Tiger. I brought him with me from the island, despite Brandon’s protests.
He FaceTimes me every day and I just show him the cat because that’s what he’s interested in.
It’s mind-boggling how Tiger remains soundlessly asleep in the current situation.
My grandparents from my mother's and father's sides have come to visit. At the same time.
And to make things worse, Grandpa Jonathan, Dad’s father, thought it was a marvelous idea to play a game of chess against Grandpa Ethan, Mum’s father.
They’re supposed to be friends, or were some sort of friends, but that’s not the current atmosphere. Probably because Grandpa Agnus, Grandpa Ethan’s husband, can’t and won’t stand Grandpa Jonathan. A known fact since I was a kid.
I sit across from them, sipping some herbal drink Mum gave me and choosing to be engrossed in the scene in front of me instead of getting lost in my fucked-up head.
Grandpa Jonathan pushes his rook a few rows forward. He’s an older version of Dad and Eli with his black hair that’s streaked with white and his merciless gray eyes. “You were never able to win against me, Ethan. Give it up.”
“At your funeral.” Grandpa Ethan blocks his move with his rook and grins. He looks the youngest of the three, despite being the same age as them.
It’s probably due to his blond hair, which he passed down to Mum, and the generally pleasant expression he wears at all times.
Grandpa Agnus is the most silent and absolutely unapproachable out of the three. He has a generally grim expression, never smiles, jokes around, or allows anyone to get close to his husband unless they’re ready to suffer a severed limb.
He’s always been my favorite. Probably because we silently understand one another.
While everyone was fawning over me, he methodically kicked them out so I could rest. Grandpa Ethan still manipulated him to let him and Mum come see me, though.
“That was a rookie mistake.” Grandpa Jonathan grins with pure mischief as he eats the white knight.
Grandpa Agnus, who’s sitting on the armrest of Grandpa Ethan’s chair, leans over and whispers something in his ear.
“No cheating, Agnus,” Grandpa Jonathan says. “Two to one is not happening.”
“Who says it’s two?” Grandpa Ethan interlinks his fingers with his husband’s and smiles with mischief. “We’re one.”
A rare smile twitches Grandpa Agnus’s lips and Grandpa Jonathan’s expression pulls downward. “Such a revolting sight.”
“Someone is jealous. Maybe you should join your wife outside.”
“You might want to wipe that, Jonathan,” Grandpa Agnus says with a neutral expression. “It’s dripping all over the floor.”
“Are you sure it’s not your jealousy that’s messing up the floor, Agnus?”
“Mine?”
“If I remember correctly, I received a bunch of drunken texts from you not too long ago.”
“Texts?” Grandpa Ethan stares between them. “What type of texts?”
“Since when do you even check your texts?” Grandpa Agnus asks with a tight voice.
“Since they’re from you. I admit, I was thoroughly entertained and even learned them by heart for a moment like this.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“They said, and I quote, ‘Fuck you, Jonathan, for being able to share all those threesomes with Ethan. I’m surprised I didn’t kill you.’ Another one went on like this, ‘You knew my feelings very well and still provoked me. Rot in hell. I know I’m going there, too, but I’ll make sure I have a room opposite yours so I can watch you burn for eternity.’ My personal favorite, however, is ‘Bet you thought I would never make him mine, you bloody sod. Touch him again and I will kill you.’ I must say, I fancy drunk Agnus. He’s much less dull than the one in front of me.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Grandpa Agnus deadpans, then stares down at his husband. “And stop smiling.”
“Come now, this is amusing.” Grandpa Ethan strokes his hand. “If I’d known you held this type of jealousy all these years, I would’ve done something about it.”
Grandpa Agnus doesn’t appear amused as he stands, throws one last glare at Grandpa Jonathan, and leaves after a nod in my direction.
Grandpa Ethan hits Grandpa Jonathan on the shoulder. “I owe you one, Jonny.” Then he follows after his husband.
He stops at the entrance, pats my arm, and leaves.
“Bunch of little fuckers,” Grandpa mutters under his breath as he stands up.
“Did you have to do that?” I ask.
“How else will I get a reaction out of Agnus? Though I believe I might have unintentionally done him a favor and brought them closer. It’s unfortunate how Ethan never understood how to go with the flow.” He halts in front of me. “Do you need anything?”
Aside from going back into a coma and never waking up? I shake my head.
“If you want to escape your parents, come to my house.” Grandpa ruffles my hair as if I were still a child. “Get well soon, kid. I mean it.”
And then he’s out the door, probably to get my nan and leave. She’s been there with Mum every step of the way, fawning over me, and making sure I’m comfortable.
That means she’s given less attention to Grandpa.
He’s never liked sharing Nana’s time with anyone, including his grandkids. Except for Glyn. She’s always had an all-access card to Grandpa’s mansion.
Now, apparently, I do, too, since he invited me over.
I’m staring at the rain, absentmindedly patting Tiger’s head when Mum comes in carrying a plate full of all sorts of food.