Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
He was relieved to see that Nero was ready for their new situation, because a notebook lay on the side table next to three pens.
They were alone, but the room was so tiny it barely fit the three pieces of furniture, and at first glance it didn’t resemble a normal recovery space. Miguel saw no buttons to call for medical help, and a family picture left on the wall suggested it might be normally occupied by hospital staff.
He grunted, hoping to wake Nero, but the measly sound wasn’t enough, which prompted him to start tapping the bed with the hand that wasn’t bandag—oh God, Ramiro had ripped a flap of his skin too. And it had been excruciating.
He was feeling fine right now, if a bit fuzzy due to whatever painkillers were in his system, but a throbbing, dull sensation tried to work its way to his consciousness nevertheless.
His mouth felt… hollow at the front. Numb. Ramiro hadn’t ripped his whole tongue out, which could have been fatal, but with the contents of his mouth aching and swollen, he couldn’t yet assess how badly mutilated he’d been.
Warmth spread in his chest when he remembered Nero appearing out of nowhere like a guardian angel with an assault rifle—patron saint of lost causes. He’d even given up on his pride to negotiate the safety of Miguel’s sister…
Nero hummed and stretched in the chair, prompting Miguel to grab the notebook and scribble with his good hand—fortunately, Ramiro had flayed the left arm.
[How did you find me?] awaited Nero once he wiped the drool off his chin.
But when his eyes opened, they shot to Miguel’s face rather than the note. He was pale, with puffy eyes, but fatigue didn’t stop him from leaning in. “You bastard.”
Miguel sighed. He should have known this was coming.
He ripped out the page on which he’d written and put it aside to write his answer, nervous about this new reality. He couldn’t speak. He would never speak. He knew this, his mouth was numb and empty, and yet he still couldn’t quite grasp this new reality.
[I needed to fix things.]
“You left me behind without a word and walked straight into a trap. I could have covered you,” Nero growled, crossing his arms on his chest.
Miguel started frantically scribbling halfway through Nero’s sentence, frustrated that he couldn’t infuse the letters with emotion. That he couldn’t scream and rage. It was hitting him with every passing minute that he’d lost much more than just a piece of flesh.
[It was my revenge. I had no right to pull you in. And I left a note!!!]
Nero looked down, and his pale face started to flush. “Fuck your note! It should have been my decision. And you just left me, knowing you might not come back! I want to punch you so fucking bad!”
Miguel spread his arms and sat up, silently saying “go on then!” even though the rapid gesture hurt, and yanked on the cannula attached to his elbow. How was he supposed to have this kind of conversation in writing? His swollen eyes welled up, but he fought tooth and nail so not a single tear dropped down his face.
Nero crooked his neck. “Are you hi— yeah. Yes, you are high on drugs, and you wouldn’t feel anything anyway. I’ll wait until you’re all healed,” he said and poked the middle of Miguel’s forehead.
Tension fizzled out of Miguel, and his shoulders sagged. He’d never fully heal.
[My tongue won’t grow back,] he wrote, but then pulled the notebook out of Nero’s hands, wanting to add more. [I couldn’t risk you, and I couldn’t let it go. I needed to keep you safe, but maybe it is me who fucked up.]
Nero pulled the notebook out of his hands so fast the pen left a mark along the page. “Yes. Yes, you did fuck up. If I didn’t follow you, you wouldn’t have returned to me,” he said and hung his head as his voice broke.
Nero might have confessed his feelings as they’d left the abandoned building where Miguel had been mutilated. But Miguel had been so out of it at the time that it only now hit him how much Nero cared.
Nero loved him.
It was more than he’d ever expected from anyone, and now they were stuck with a disadvantage that would make Nero’s life so much harder than Miguel had already made it.
[I can’t fix this!]
He pointed to his mouth in growing distress as Nero read the note. This wasn’t the worst that could have happened, his mind knew that, but he worried about all the ways it could affect their relationship. Even someone way more patient than Nero might eventually get sick of not being able to communicate freely.
Nero shook his head, and his face turned red. “That is literally the least of our problems right now. We’ll just have to learn sign language. Can’t be that difficult.”