silent

58

• LORENZO •

Amalia shuffles back onto my lap after a few minutes, wrapping her arms around my waist and digging her head into my chest. She digs her head into my chest and calms her long-lasting sobs.

     I rub her back in an attempt to soothe her, which works. Her small sniffles cease, and it takes me a few moments to realise that she's asleep.

     I glance at Elijah, who's looking at Amalia. He hasn't taken her eyes off of her for the entire duration of the beginning of the car ride, like he's afraid he'll look away and when he returns his gaze to her she'll be gone.

I don't blame him. I'm scared of that too.

I reach under the seat and pull out a blanket, wrapping it around Amalia's small, shivering body and lean back in my seat.

• XANDER •

I can leave the hospital tomorrow, thankfully. I hate it here—hate the beeping of the machines, hate the unusual smell, hate the shitty food.

I lean back onto my pillow as my grandma continues to speak to my grandad.

My phone dings with a message, and when I check it it's from Elijah. I tap onto his name tiredly.

He sent a picture. I click on it, and when I make out the small form in the picture, I inhale a breath.

In the image, Amalia is sitting on my fathers lap. She's snuggled into him and has a thick blanket wrapped around her. I'm barely able to make out a small cut on her cheek, and suddenly I want to kill the persons responsible for the small yet noticeable wound.

Relief floods through me when I take the rest of the picture in. They're in a car, which means they're coming back. Amalia's coming back.

I smile.

• AMALIA •

When we stop, I glance out the window, expecting to see home, but instead it's a big yellow M.

"Amalia." My dad says quietly. Softly. "What do you want to eat?"

     I shake my head before digging it back in his chest. He sighs softly and begins to rub my back, whispering something to Elijah or maybe Pietro that I can't hear.

     The car goes around the drive through extremely slowly, but I hardly notice as I snuggle into my dad. Pietro begins to speak again, but not to anyone in the car. My dad plants a kiss in my hair as he leans forward, grabbing something. I hear the rumpling of a bag before he nudges me up a little.

"Come on, baby, you need to eat your food."

I frown and shake my head. "I—I don't want anything."

"When was the last time you ate?" He asks.

I think back, my frown deepening when I find that I don't remember. He must see the answer on his face, because his expression saddens and he reaches for the bag again after turning me around on his lap and setting the food onto my knee. I lean back onto his chest.