Davina
"My little one tried to end her life. She kept her struggle hidden so well that I didn't even recognize the signs. If her hidden guard hadn't been there, I'd be burying her now instead of watching her breathe. I got up from my chair to gaze out the window, hoping to find tranquility when all I feel is a building rage. Whoever hurt her will not escape my grasp. I will have justice for this assault on my blood. On my enclave.
What I could not find on my own, Malcolm, my Velari—the love bonded to me in body and essence—sends me. Feelings of tranquility and patience thrum through our bond. Embracing the sent feelings to bank the fires of my heart, I send gratitude back to him. I mustn't forget that my emotions can influence both my Velari, just as theirs influence me. If I'm ready to wage war, then Malcolm must have already considered which of his favorite weapons he would use to rain down death and destruction upon the guilty.
Amusement and a sense of primal anticipation is felt from my other Velari. Ah yes, Nyota was already suiting up and making plans after he confirmed his little queen was alive and getting treated. That was a whole ass mess. All five of us had to work together to wear him out, then put him into a magical sleep. I sent him the feeling of patience now. Yes, we can wake him up in a few days once we have a better handle on the situation. I nibble my nail thinking about how to keep him from running off the moment he wakes up, but decided to put the matter on the back burner for now.
"You said you don't remember much of anything before you woke up in the woods. Yet you recognize us. So you remember more than you think, Emberling. We will take one step at a time. There is no need to rush your recovery." Malcolm kissed her forehead then turned understanding eyes to me.
"My heart, why don't you go call for a doctor since she is now awake? They were not expecting her to have amnesia, so we need to have them do further tests." Malcolm suggested, knowing I need something to do so I don't go on a killing spree. I seem like the calm one, and he the hothead, but truthfully, it's the opposite. I wink at my little Nyx before going out into the hallway to find someone to come start these new tests.
Nyxara
I watched Mama strut out of the room on the mission my Papa gave her. A small giggle escapes me. It feels comforting that some behaviors don't change even in a new world. Even here, Papa has to give Mama tasks to keep her from doing something impulsive. Mama has always been a calm person until you cross her bottom line. Then all bets are off, and hopefully, the police won't get involved.
Papa pulling my hand into his, pulling me out of my memories. I could immediately tell by his gaze that what he was about to say was all non-negotiable. "Now that your Mama is distracted, let me make it clear that even if you don't remember why you almost ended your life, there will still be repercussions."
"You will go through therapy and regular well-being check-ins until we feel comfortable that you will not relapse. We will be going over your movements for the past few years with a fine-tooth comb to find out what pushed you to the point you didn't even feel we, your enclave— your family circle—could help you." He pauses, waiting—but I stay quiet.
"For the past two years, it's been like your sense of self was being smothered, Emberling. We could see it happening, but every attempt to help seemed to push you further away from us. So we let you have your distance. Hoping you would see that we were ready to help you when you needed us. I tell you this so that you do not think we did not try. That we saw you hurting and did nothing to help." Looking into his eyes, I see the regret, hurt, sadness, determination, and hope there along with the few tears that fall. I had never seen my Papa cry before.
She did this. She hurt him and the others by hiding whatever she was going through from them. I want to understand the choices she made, but I don't. I don't understand how she could have shut out people who obviously loved her a lot. "I understand, Papa. I may not remember why I hid my pain from you all, but I don't doubt I probably thought I was protecting you all by doing so." With tears dripping down my face again, I try to smile as the scent of warm, smoky wood fills my senses, causing me to both feel calm and sorrowful.
With tear-filled eyes, I gaze into his equally teary eyes. In this moment, I feel I know what the other Nyx would want to say to him if she were here. "I am sorry, Papa. I am so sorry to have hurt you and the others with my silence and actions. I thought I was doing the right thing, trying to be strong on my own. I should have reached out for help. So I'm asking now, help me, Papa. Help me find my way back to my path. Find my way back to you all. Help me, please." By the end, I was sobbing and being held in his arms as he rocked me back and forth.
He whispered promises of support into my hair. I felt my head becoming wet, but I just clung to my Papa as I finally let go of all the intense emotions I had been holding back. I felt safe in my Papa's arms as he held me tightly as if he was promising physically that he would hold me together until I could do it myself.
"This is good. Very good. I can sense that our little sister is beginning to heal. Nimra, you mentioned that she seems to have some form of amnesia? None of the tests showed this as a possibility, so I'll update her chart to include that after I do a scan. I will also get myself added to her care team so I can make sure she is receiving the best recovery care." Papa had settled himself on my bed with me in his arms so I wouldn't be pulled too far away from all the strange machines I'm connected to.
I pull my face away from Papa's chest to see a sight that makes me emotional all over again. Standing near the door are my brothers and my Mama. Aspen stands closest to us, dressed like a gothic doctor in a black lab coat, gold-circle glasses, with his dark past shoulder-length hair pulled back into a ponytail so the shaved sides are visible. He has the same garnet colored eyes as Mama. Finishing off his gothic look are the multiple earrings adorning his ears and the black studded choker. He taps away on a tablet as he reads the machines.
So this is what you look like in a world where you grew past the age of 19. You became a doctor. I wonder if you had wanted to be a stripper in this world too before you decided to be a doctor. I will have to ask that at some later point. It would be funny if some things is just inherent to the soul. My grin plus my focused attention seemed to catch Aspen off guard because he stops narrating to the tablet to stare back at me before he gives me a smile.
"Hello little moonbeam, in case you don't remember, I'm your second eldest brother, Aspen. I'm a trauma specialist as well as a doctor. As I just mentioned, I will get myself added to your primary care team and will be primarily working with you in my role as a trauma specialist. I'm going to do a quick mental and essence scan, so bear with my intrusion, please, and thank you." He reaches out slowly as if giving me time to pull away before he cups my face. It's at this moment I realize he is wearing gloves that have only his fingertips out. His eyes slid closed, and he appeared to be holding his breath.
I stare at his face, enjoying this moment to examine how he has grown from the 19-year-old he was before the accident. He is similar yet different. The long hair is a surprise, but it works for him. The feeling of something tugs at my mind, then I'm pulled into a mental kaleidoscope of sensations. *Salt on my tongue. Cloying cologne in my nose. Aching muscles. Random humiliating thoughts. Minette's patting my back while I'm throwing up. A bite upon my inner thigh that burns.*
It was over before I could fully process the experience. What was that? Did Aspen cause that? Were those memories? Where did they come from? Aspen's tightened grip on my face halted my spiral bringing my focus back to his face. Various expressions formed and dissolved before my eyes. Then his eyes slid open and for a flicker of a moment—before he schooled his face—I see guilt. Or grief. Maybe both.