Aurelia

56

                                One Month Later..

I am not dead.

Though, three weeks ago, I was almost dead.

In fact, was barely breathing when Elijah and the others found me and Elliot in that secret room, huddled up in the small corner where little-to-no light shines through the small window.

My eyes were closed and I couldn't move, but I could still hear everyone clearly. Elliot was crying softly and whispering how much he loves me all while combing his fingers through my hair.

"Aurelia?" Elijah whispered, grasping my shoulders.

Yes, I wanted to say.

"Is she...is she breathing?" he asked Elliot, I'm assuming.

My body shifted as I felt Elliot shake is head, sniffling. "I-I don't think...I don't know, Elijah. I don't know." He said in a broken whisper, a small sob escaping his lips.

Yes, I'm alive. I think I am.

Someone moved closer to us. Whoever Elijah brought with him was silent, or at least trying to be.

"Elliot, look at me. Look at me." Elijah said, "A small head wound can't kill her. We know her, we know Aurelia. She's not gonna die, kid."

I stayed quiet and still, because that's all I can do.

"She cant," Elijah whispered quietly—so quiet that I think I'm the only one that heard him. "Right?"

It was harder than it seemed, to sit there and be utterly useless whilst everyone you loved panicked over you, thinking you were dead. Thinking you were lost forever and there was no coming back.

I wanted nothing more than to scream, to tell them that I'm alive. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.

I've never felt more helpless than ever.

And when I was finally able to move and speak, I awoke in one of the rooms in my dad's house.

Slowly blinking my eyes, adjusting to the sunlight, I felt a slight bit of pain as I moved an inch. I glanced down at the needle in arm in confusion.

Where am I?

I felt something heavy on my right side, weighing on me. I tried to turn my head but failed, realizing something firm and tight holding my head in place.

I used my left hand to raise it up to my head—my right arm being held down by the weight—and felt the bandage around my head.

I breathe in deeply as I prepare myself to lift up. My left hand gripping the bed sheets as I grunt, pulling myself up slowly. The consequence I get is the immediate pounding in my head, and I close my eyes at the pain.

Fuck, that head wound is no joke.

Then—I finally look to my right.

A brown haired male at my side, his head angled in my arm, his arms holding onto my arm tightly, as if he doesn't want to let go. As if it might disappear if he wasn't holding onto it.

I feel a small smile arise on my lips despite my pain. I whisper softly, "Elliot?" He doesn't move at first. He must be asleep. I call for him again, this time easing my voice a little, "Elliot? Wake up, sleepyhead."

He stirs at that, grumbling something before he freezes, like he knows I'm awake. My smile widens as he slowly lifts his head up, his hazel eyes catching my gaze.