Burning Up

Hurting

The following week seemed to pass in a blur.

Iago and I were stuck in some kind of limbo, teetering on the edge between forgiveness and resentment, each a constant reminder to the other that nothing would ever be as it was.

It was painful, watching him pick himself apart; fight Niko's attempts to heal him at every turn, as though punishing himself outwardly would heal whatever war was happening internally.

He was pulling away from me, day by day becoming more and more unsure of himself as I delayed talking to him about anything that really mattered. It was awful, watching as he joked less and less, any of his previous cockiness disappearing at the same time as the cheeky brush of hands against my waist vanished.

He didn't even seem angry, or sad; just lost. As though having me next to him each night but never truly letting him in, had left him a shell of the man he used to be.

Try as I might, I couldn't change it. I couldn't forgive him so easily, couldn't fall into his arms like I wanted to and promise that everything would be okay. I wasn't ready to talk to him about what had happened and part of me wished I could just run away for a few days to process things on my own.

Of course, I knew that I couldn't leave him, not to face the nights alone. More often than not he would wake up screaming, fighting to free himself from whatever torture was replaying in his mind as I tried my best to calm him down. Sometimes he would let me comfort him, others he would get up and leave, not returning until morning.

He didn't seem to be eating, either, and I couldn't deny how I'd noticed the bags under his eyes getting worse, the slight shake to his hands as he moved to take water, the pleading glances Niko would occasionally throw my way whenever Iago just seemed to shut down, flinching away from each of his movements.

I didn't have the words to explain to Iago that I wasn't pushing him away out of spite, or to get back at him for what he'd done. I just needed to make sense the last few days, of almost losing him, almost losing us.

He was healing well, according to Niko. The mess of cuts on his back had scabbed over and whilst his bruising seemed to look worse, it too was beginning to get better. His ribs and the brand that scarred his stomach were also improving, although he hardly ever let me see the mauled skin.

Overall, we were fine, despite what we kept telling ourselves. We had settled into some type of normalcy, dancing around everything that needed to be spoken about, trying our best to get on with our lives whilst being frozen in time.

It was 3:30pm on a Sunday when Sami burst our metaphorical bubble.

We'd gone back and forth for days about how I could return the car to him.

"I'll just drive it back to you."

"Are you daft? I'd rather not have a heart attack, thanks."

"Niko's saying he could do it, he's at least insured and -"

"I'm not wasting his time like that."

"We'll I don't want you having to get it yourself after all you've done... I could get it towed to you-"

"Mila. I've told you ten times that I don't mind coming. It's not too far, don't worry about it."

"I'm outside."

It was hard to suppress the grin that tugged at my lips as Sami's newest text lit up my screen. I couldn't deny that I was excited to see him, his appearance feeling like a promise of the normalcy that i'd been so desperate for.

"Coming!" I replied, getting up from where I was sitting on the couch, careful not to disturb Iago who was sleeping opposite me. He looked peaceful, for once, no frown marred his features, and his chest rose and fell at a gentle pace.