Beautifully Hurt (Beautifully Broken)

Me too.

I don’t know how I’d stop it, but I’d give my life if I could save Katie.

My thoughts are inundated with nightmarish flashes. I hear Katie’s screams. The way her body jerks. The terror in her eyes. The gunshot.

Switch off, Quinn.

Mr. Conley being hit over the head with the baseball bat. The blood trickling from his hairline.

Don’t think about it.

Switch off.

My body jerks as the shot rips through Mrs. Conley.

“Baby?” Eli tilts his head, catching my eyes. “Christ, Quinn.” He turns me on the seat and then quickly straps the seat belt over me. “I’m taking her to the hospital. She’s having a panic attack,” I hear Eli shout.

Katie lets out a devastating…

‘Katie,’ I whimper…

Seeing the guy pressing the gun to her forehead.

‘No!’

No

Chapter 13

ELI

Holy. Fucking. Christ.

The past three weeks have been the worst of my life. Still, it’s nothing compared to what Quinn’s been through.

Knocking on the front door, I wait a couple of seconds before Mr. Drake opens for me. “Hey, son.”

“Morning,” I murmur as I step inside the house.

“I wish I could stay home with her,” he says, the guilt weighing on him, evident on his face. He has to return to work seeing as he’s the only one bringing in an income for them.

“Life goes on,” I say. “Quinn will be safe with me. I promise.”

“You’ll let me know if anything happens… if she gets worse?”

“I will,” I promise. I know it must be hard for him to entrust Quinn to me. “My mom will come over often to check on Quinn as well. We’ll take good care of her.”

Mr. Drake lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m just going to say goodbye to her.”

As he heads to Quinn’s bedroom, I lean back against the wall. Taking my phone from my pocket, I send Jason a message.

Eli: How are you holding up? Need anything?

It shows he reads the message, but he doesn’t respond immediately. A couple of minutes later, it shows he’s typing.

Jason: I can’t stay here. I see Katie everywhere. It’s too hard.

Eli: You’re thinking of leaving? Where would you go?

Jason: Up north. I have family in Toronto.

Eli: But you’ll come back?

Jason: I don’t know. I can’t think that far ahead.

Eli: I’d like to see you before you leave.

Jason: I’ll come by the house later.

I hear footsteps, and lifting my head, I see Mr. Drake walking toward me. “Take care of my daughter. Please.”

He holds his hand out, and as I take it, I say, “I will. I promise.”

Mr. Drake walks out of the house, and without looking back, he climbs into his truck. The engine roars to life, and I watch as he drives away before I walk to Quinn’s room.

As I step inside, she’s zipping up a bag.

“Ready?” I ask.

Quinn turns around, the empty look in her eyes once again hitting me right in the gut. It feels like every passing day, I’m losing more and more of her.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her tone carrying no warmth.

I pick up the bag, then ask, “Is there anything else you want to bring?”

Quinn glances around the room, and then her eyes fall on a photo of her and Katie laughing. She freezes, showing no emotion.

Grabbing the photo, I unzip the bag and tuck it inside before closing the bag again. I take hold of Quinn’s hand and pull her out of the bedroom.

Locking the house behind us, I take Quinn to my truck and get her settled in the passenger seat.

I place the bag in the back of the truck and slide in behind the steering wheel. It’s quiet between us as I drive to my place.

I’m hoping while Quinn stays with me, I’ll somehow get through to her. Mom said it could take months before Quinn will start to heal from the trauma.

When I asked Mom how she knew so much about trauma, she said something terrible happened when she was younger. She wouldn’t tell me more, saying it’s in the past and I didn’t need to know.

I’ll give Quinn all the time she needs, even if it takes years. I’m in it for the long haul.

I park the truck beneath the oak tree and glance at Quinn. “We’re home.”

She nods and pushes the door open.

Getting out, I grab her bag, and this time she comes to my side, taking hold of my hand.

We head inside, and taking the stairs to the second floor, I say, “I prepared a guest room, but you can stay in my bedroom.” I lower my eyes to her. “If you want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The old Quinn would’ve blushed.

The traumatized Quinn just shrugs.

I walk to my bedroom and set her bag down on the bed. Quinn slumps down next to it and stares down at her lap.

I crouch in front of her to catch her eyes, and when she meets my gaze, I ask, “Do you need anything?”