Collision

Chapter 8

Amelia

The water from the faucet poured over my face like a waterfall. I had the water on as hot as it would go. I stood there for a second, not thinking, not caring, just relaxing.

I slowly got out, getting cold the instant I make contact with the floor. I look at myself in the mirror.

For the first time in a long time, I don't look as worn out, or disgusting. I feel slight pain in my chest, but not enough to bring my hope down. For once my life was looking up, I didn't feel like I would die tomorrow.

I threw on some clothes I had managed to steal from Lucah - even though I had my own now - and went to sit with him.

I cross my legs, my knee laying slightly over his. I have no idea what we are. I don't know if he has feelings for me, I don't know if I have feelings for him. All I know is that he makes me confused, but happy.

He flipped through TV channels, settling on Supernatural. I watched as Jared Padalecki poured holy water on some demon.

My gaze slowly left the TV, wandering over to Lucah's face. He was watching the screen intently, his mouth in a thin line, his hair ruffled to a mess.

He met my gaze, sliding his hand into mine. I couldn't help the small smile that crept it's way onto my face. Butterflies ate at my stomach, making me nervous.

My chest started aching, I moved my legs from under me to release the feeling. Lucah repositioned himself on the couch, so I could stretch out, as if he sensed he I was in pain.

"Will it ever get better?" He whispers.

I look at him, confusion settling in my head, "will what get better?"

"Answering my question with a question, huh?" He pauses. "Will life ever get better? Will your ribs get better? Will I get better?"

Thoughts pour out of the back of my mind, begging to spill out. I want to tell him yes, everything will get better. I'm not sure, though. I can't promise anything.

"I think my ribs will heal. I'm not sure about the rest. No one is, I leave it up to God. I can't promise you'll get better, but I can promise to help. I know you're not ok, Lucah. I want to help you, as long as you'll try to help me." My voice is soft, tiny.

He mutes the TV, tightening his grip on my hand, before nodding his head yes, like he understands. I want nothing more than to comfort him better, but I don't know how. I'm such a worthless human.

I'm slouching against his masculine form, indulging in his woodsy smell. I like feeling like this, like there's nothing to worry about, like my brother isn't a psycho, like Lucah's dad didn't just pass away, like nothing bad can happen.

I'm severely tired, so slowly, I prop myself up. I eventually maneuver a way to get up, having to tell Lucah I'm fine a million times. Hobbling down the hallway, I feel Lucah come up behind me.

He let's me struggle for a few moments, before scooping me up like a child who's hurt their knee. I internally groan, not because of the pain, but because I hate being cared for. I hate being center of attention.

But I certainly don't hate Lucah, as far as in concerned, he's all I have. He's all I need. I didn't need my brother, or anyone else for that matter. Lucah has replaced some of the pain I felt, and maybe one day, he'll help me cover up the scars it left.

I was lightly laid on his bed, my head finding the pillow. Lucah bent down and moved the covers over my body. I knew I had feelings for Lucah, but were they reciprocated? I wasn't sure.