Beautifully Hurt (Beautifully Broken)

Like shards of broken glass, memories begin to cut through my mind, soaking me in unbearable horror.

“Daddy?” I croak.

My breaths keep speeding up until I’m unable to take another. It feels like my throat clamps shut, my heart thundering and causing my chest to burn as if I’ve been set on fire.

“Daddy!”

Everything spirals out of control. My thoughts. My body. My emotions.

It all hurts too much, and then I’m sucked into the black vacuum where I last saw Katie.

When I come to again, someone’s gripping my hand tightly. It takes a lot to pry my eyes open, and then my vision focuses on Eli.

“Baby?” He gets up from the chair he was sitting on and leans over me.

Just like before the nightmare returns, ripping through me with merciless claws.

Mr. Conley, beaten to death.

Mrs. Conley, being shot.

Katie…

Katie.

I gasp for air, the gruesome memories too unbearable.

Eli lets go of my hand and frames my face with both of his. “Look at me, Quinn. You’re safe.”

I try to shake my head.

Katie.

The cruelty.

“Eli,” I whimper.

He presses a kiss on my cheek. “I’m here, baby.”

I shake my head. “I… can’t… Katie.” An aching sob tears through my chest, robbing me of my breath. “Katie…”

“God, baby, I’m so sorry,” he says, his eyes flitting over my face.

“I can’t,” I gasp, unable to handle the trauma and grief.

Eli presses his forehead to mine. “Try not to think about what happened. Just breathe.”

I shake my head again, a strangled sound coming from me.

“Christ!” Eli darts away from me, and seconds later, I’m taken back to the peaceful black meadow where Katie is.

“Tell me everything. Don’t dare leave out a single detail,” Katie says, a happy smile curving her lips.

I stare at my friend, drinking in every inch of her pretty face.

A tear spirals down my cheek. “You’re not really here, are you?”

“Don’t be silly,” Katie laughs, the sound filled with bubbles the color of the rainbows. “I’m sitting right in front of you.”

Lifting a hand, I reach out to her, but then she begins to fade again.

Her laughter echoes around me until there’s only the darkness.

ELI

It’s been three days, and Quinn never wakes up for longer than a couple of minutes.

Dr. Pickens says Quinn’s wounds are healing at a satisfactory rate, but it’s her mental state they’re worried about. The shock might’ve been too much for her to handle.

Harry, the sheriff, came by to talk to Quinn, but he left again. He said the funerals can’t be held until the coroner is done with his inquest. Things are taking longer because of the nature of the Conleys’ deaths.

I’m not sure whether Quinn will be able to attend the funerals and what it will do to her if she can’t say goodbye.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as my eyes drift over her face.

Dr. Altman, a psychiatrist, has been assigned to Quinn, but until she wakes up, there’s nothing else we can do but wait.

Just like before, Quinn stirs, and then her eyelashes flutter open.

“Hey,” I murmur.

Expecting another panic attack, I get up from the chair and sit down on the side of the bed, careful not to jar her body.

Quinn just stares at me, and then tears begin to shine in her eyes. Her chin quivers, and I hate that I can’t hold her to my chest.

I let go of her hand and rest my forearms on either side of her head as I lean over her. “I’m here, baby.”

“Eli,” she gasps, and it’s unbearable to watch as the traumatic nightmare guts her.

I move my hand to her hair, and caressing the strands, I press a kiss on her mouth. “I’m here.” I don’t know what else to say.

Mom comes in with Mr. Drake, and I move back so he can see Quinn.

Quinn lets out a sob, and then Mr. Drake leans over her as she breaks.

It rips my heart clear out of my chest, and when Mom takes hold of my hand, I grip hold of her for dear life. I turn my face to Mom’s, whispering, “I don’t know how to help her.”

“Just be there for her. There’s not much more you can do. Only Quinn can get herself through this,” Mom whispers back. Then she adds, “Just give her a safe place where she can heal.”

I nod, glancing back to Quinn, who’s still crying, the sound heartbreaking.

“It’s okay, my sweet girl. Daddy’s here,” Mr. Drake coos.

“It’s… not… okay,” Quinn sputters. “Nothing’s… okay.”

Mr. Drake pulls back, and I’m able to see Quinn’s face again. She lifts her left arm, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

I dart forward, and grabbing a couple of tissues from the box on the bedside stand, I hand them to her. Quinn’s eyes flit to mine, and again I have to suppress the urge to just grab her to my chest.