The first conscious thought I remember having was in the upstairs loft.

It was dark outside. The moon was hidden by storm clouds, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the room briefly.

I could hear the strong gusts of wind, the rumbling of thunder, and the sheets of rain that pounded into the roof above me.

I smelt like paint and misery.

The canvas I'd dedicated months to laid in front of me, it's frame mangled and bent. The once carefully detailed collage of colors making up a portrait had been smeared haphazardly with black paint that also coated my hands.

Sitting with my back in a corner, knees pulled into my chest, I felt a like a shell of a human.

All the emotional energy I owned had been completely spent.

I had cried until I couldn't cry anymore. My throat felt like I'd swallowed acid, raw with the screaming that came alongside mourning two traumatic deaths.

The only thing I had left was a broken, beating heart.

And all I could do was sleep.

I didn't want to be awake.

Because that was when I thought.

I thought about the vacant spot beside me as I walked down the aisle. I thought about the empty chairs and bleachers where one pair of my children's grandparents wouldn't sit to watch them play or sing. I thought about how hard every holiday season would be for the rest of my life.

I thought about how I would never be able to see blood again without remembering being coated by it. I thought about how I would never be able to hear the sound of a bullet being fired without a terrifying flashback.

For the remainder of my life, every snap of a twig or echo of a howl would bring me back to that moment and force me to relive the trauma.

So, from the thoughts and from the triggers, I hid in a deep and dreamless sleep.

Just as my drowsy, swollen eyelids began to close again, I heard creaking on the staircase as someone ascended to the loft.

I saw the shadow of his large, muscular frame as he walked into the room, stopping a few feet away to kneel in front of me.

A few moments of silence passed as he pondered what to say.

"You need to eat something," Luca whispered finally.

I remained silent.

"It's been two days," he said. "You're going to starve."

No, I won't, I thought. I'm not even hungry.

"I'd be happy to make you anything, or I can go get something... But, amore, you've got to eat," he pressed.

"I'm not hungry," I whispered.

Luca sighed before standing up.

I felt like a rag doll as he reached out and pulled my limp body into his arms, turning to carry me downstairs.

My eyes closed as I felt myself rocked by the movement of his steps, beginning to slip into another comatose state.

I was jolted awake by the blindingly bright light in his bathroom as he turned it on.

When Luca bent over to turn on the faucet of the bathtub, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I was still dressed in Bates's t-shirt and boxers. My dirty, sweat-dried hair was matted to my head.

One side of my face was swollen and discolored. The other was stained with dried blood, the outline of my father's handprint against my cheek still visible.

My nose was certainly broken. My eyes were puffy and the sockets surrounding them colored with variations of purple and green hues.

Luca placed me down into the tub which filled quickly with running water.

"Do you want to undress yourself or do you want help?" He asked.

When I remained silent, my eyes trained on my reflection in the chrome-plated drain stopper, Luca reached under me and began to lift my shirt over my head.

I winced, sucking in a quick breath as a sharp pain spread through my left shoulder.

Luca stopped and pulled my arm through the sleeve gently before lifting the shirt off the rest of the way. He reached down into the filling tub and lifted me up a bit so he could pull down the boxer briefs.

"I need to wash those," I said, my voice low and monotone.

"I'll do it, don't worry," Luca assured me, placing the dirty clothes beside the tub and taking the soap in his hands.

I watched the water turn brown as he washed me, the dirt mixing with blood and bath water.

He scrubbed the black paint from my hands with a washcloth, staining it.

Luca drained the tub before rinsing the washcloth under fresh, running water and lifting it to scrub my face gently.

He reached over to grab a plastic cup and began to wet my hair. His fingers then massaged shampoo into my scalp, the suds sliding down my back as he rinsed it out.

Luca took the bottle of conditioner in his hands and stared at the label for a moment, squinting to read what it was for.

"Was I supposed to use this first?" He asked.

I smiled slightly at his innocence.

"It goes on after shampoo," I answered.

He hummed, turning the bottle over to squeeze it out into his palm.

My eyes widened at the egregious amount he used, making him laugh softly.

"Is that too much?" He asked me.

I shook my head.

"It's fine. I could probably use more than normal right now."

He put it directly on my scalp, combing it through my mid-lengths to ends with his fingers.

"I can comb it," I insisted, my voice cracking. "I'm sure there are lots of tangles."

"I'm not in a hurry, amore."

Something about the assuring tone he spoke with soothed me, making me close my eyes as I felt the gentle tug of his fingers running through my hair.

Once finished, Luca rinsed the conditioner from my hair with the plastic cup, shielding the water from running into my eyes with the other hand.

"It's so soft," he said, marveling at the silky strands.

I stared off into the corner of the bathroom, feeling myself settle back into the numbness as the he turned off the faucet.

Luca grabbed a towel and began to squeeze the excess water from my hair before helping me stand to my feet, wrapping another towel around me like a child.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He leaned in, placing a prolonged kiss on my forehead.

My eyes closed as his arms wrapped around me.

"Will you eat something now?" He asked me, mumbling against my clean skin.

I sighed, nodding.

He lifted me up, carrying me out of the bathroom, through his bedroom and into the closet.

Placing my feet back down on the floor, he took the towel off of me and pulled one of his t-shirts down over my head.

As he helped me put my arms through the sleeves, I winced again at the pain in my left shoulder when I lifted it.

"Does that hurt?" He asked me.

I nodded slowly, pulling the bottom of the shirt down over my torso.

"I'll get Dr. Witt to come and look at it," he said firmly.

I immediately shook my head.

"No, I'm sure she's busy."

And I was certain of that.

A few moments passed as my heavy comment settled over us before Luca spoke.

"Well, I'm certainly going to get someone to come over," Luca said. "I'm sure Norah could help."

"Let her help with everyone else first. I'll be fine, really."

Sighing, Luca looked down at his hands, which perched on my hips.

"How is Bates?" I asked him hesitantly.

Luca nodded.

"He's okay."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me, bringing tears to my eyes.

I'd thought about him frequently in the past two days. Knowing he was okay eased the heartache slightly.

"That's good," I whispered.

Luca looked at me solemnly.

"It wasn't your fault," he told me, moving a hand up to my jaw to tilt it towards him.

I swallowed the massive knot in the back of my throat as I felt more tears rush to my eyes, blurring my vision.

Shaking my head slowly, I began to back away from him but he stepped forward, preventing me from getting too far outside his reach.

"This was not your fault," he repeated, his voice firmer this time.

I felt my bottom lip begin to quiver as a tear rolled down my cheek.

"He came looking for me," I whispered. "If Bates hadn't been there, he wouldn't have gotten hurt–"

"You don't know that," Luca said. "Bates could have easily been caught in the crossfire at the gate if he weren't with you."

The intensity behind his eyes made me press back into the doorframe.

"With everyone else..." I murmured.

I closed my eyes tightly to try and stop the memory of the grotesque landscape of bodies I'd seen at the gate from playing in my mind's eye.

Luca's fingers splayed across either side of my face, their grip was the only thing keeping me steady as I gave my full weight to the doorframe behind me.

"I should've gone home when I heard those voicemails," I cried. "I knew something was wrong. I should never have left. I could have prevented this from happening. All those people..."

I wept into Luca's chest, my hands fisting his t-shirt as he pulled me into him.

"Don't do this to yourself," Luca told me, his voice only marginally louder than my sobs.

He pulled me away to make me look directly into his eyes as he spoke his next words.

"There are a thousand things either of us could have done differently, amore. But hating yourself for not preventing something that shouldn't have ever happened is not reasonable."

I just stood there, stumbling over the words that escaped me between sobs as Luca pulled me back into his chest.

"They're dead," I cried. "Why are they dead? They didn't have to be. I should have gone home."

"There is nothing you could have done," he whispered into my ear, pulling me tighter into his body.

But there was! I wanted to scream. I could have stopped him if I had been home.

I couldn't help but think that they would still be alive if I just done something... anything.

"This wasn't about you," Luca reminded me.

"All of those people in your pack," I cried. "They died because of my dad. He knew where I was because I was stupid enough to tell Mady! Why did I tell her? I should never have let her know where I was... He wouldn't have been able to find us. They would all still be alive."

I choked over my words, tears falling rapidly from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks and soaking Luca's t-shirt.

"Don't let this haunt you," Luca pleaded.

His tone was low and calm, a stark contrast to my hysterical one.

Luca bent down, picked me up behind my knees and carried me over to his bed. He laid me down gently before sliding in next to me.

I pushed him away at first, just wanting to be left alone in my misery like I had been for the past two days. But Luca pulled me into him, fighting my resistance with a firm hold on my shoulders as he cuddled me into his chest.

"Why are they dead?" I cried.

"I'm so sorry, amore," Luca whispered in my ear.

I bawled, my body heaving with each breath I managed to take.

"I should've gone home," I repeated.

"You would have been killed too," Luca told me.

A few moments passed before my eyes closed tight.

"I wish I was dead," I admitted.

I felt Luca's body stiffen against me with the admittance before his hand ran through my wet hair, pushing my head back to look at him.

"Don't ever say that again," he said, his voice firm and unwavering.

I felt the pit in the bottom of my stomach deepen as I saw his expression, a mixture of worry and anger at my words.

"I would rather be than feel like this," I whispered.

Luca shook his head, pulling me back into him tighter than before.

He held me as I cried for what felt like hours. Just as I'd feel myself coming down from the emotional high, another memory or thought would occur that triggered another outburst of tears.

When I finally peeled open my swollen eyes, I noticed how I'd soaked his t-shirt and I ran my shaking hand along the damp material.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered hoarsely.

"It's just a shirt," he said.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him as I let out a few jolting hiccups, trying to catch my breath.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked him slowly.

"Of course, anything."

"Can you check on Cristina and her kids?" I asked.

"I already have. They're okay. They were the farthest away from the action," he said, running a hand along my shoulder.

I sniffled, nodding.

"Good," I said.

Luca winced as he sat up on the bed, getting off of it to walk into his closet.

"Are you okay?" I asked him, sitting up slightly.

"I'm fine," he assured me. "Just changing into pajamas."

He walked out of the closet in a white t-shirt and sweatpants, giving me a slight smile as he pulled back the covers for us to get under.

"You don't wear pajamas," I whispered, watching him.

Luca stopped moving as I crawled over to where he stood on the edge of the bed and lifted his t-shirt up his torso.

When I did this, I held back a gasp.

A large bandage was taped to the side of his left abdomen, bruises and minor cuts littering the tanned skin of his torso.

I pulled the t-shirt off entirely, Luca grimacing as his arms lifted above his head.

I turned him around and saw the massive bruise that nearly covered his entire back.

"It looks worse than it feels," he said, turning back around.

I gulped, reaching out to trace the outline of the bandage with my shaking hand.

His hand grabbed my wrist, pushing away my touch as he leaned forward to pull himself onto the bed.

I sat there in shock for a moment, having been so focused on myself that it hadn't occurred to me Luca would also be injured.

He laid down next to where I sat on the mattress, his hand reaching up to graze my cheek softly

"I'm okay," he told me, pulling me down to lay next to him.

I did so carefully, laying my body down to rest between his torso and arm, which wrapped around me.

I turned my head to face him, my lips skimming against a discolored bruise on his pectoral muscle.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

I felt yet another tear roll down my cheek as I reached out to gingerly trace his bruised skin with my fingertip.

"This wasn't your fault," he repeated.

Luca lifted his head from the pillow to kiss the crown of mine.

"We're going to be okay," he whispered against my hair.

With his promise lingering in the air over us, I slipped back off to sleep.

- - -

The doorbell startled me awake.

My arms immediately reached out to find Luca's empty side of the bed.

I sat up quickly, seeing the late morning sunshine streaming into the room through the cracks in the curtains covering the window behind his bed.

Hearing the murmuring of voices in the living room, I got off the bed and walked over to the ajar door to listen.

I heard Luca's mother's voice as she spoke to him, her gentle tone carrying down the hallway.

"How is she?" Ana asked.

"Traumatized," Luca answered.

She hummed.

"Poor girl," she said, her voice laced with genuine sympathy. "I can't imagine what's going through her head."

"Death," Luca told her. "She said something last night about wanting to die. It made me so nauseous I could've puked."

"After what she witnessed, I'm sure she's confused as to how she's still alive," Ana said. "Just give her some time and assurance."

"It worries me," he admitted.

"It's enough to be concerned, but trust the mourning process," she encouraged him.

They began to speak Italian, their words becoming indecipherable as I backed away from the door and sat back down on the bed.

I heard Luca's footsteps approaching a short while later, the door creaking as he opened it.

He looked surprised to see me awake.

"Good morning," he said, giving me a soft smile.

"Good morning," I returned.

My voice was scratchy. I knew I'd lose it soon, probably by the end of the day if I kept crying the way I had been.

"My mom dropped off lunch for us," he said, approaching the side of the bed where I sat.

I nodded.

"That was nice of her," I whispered hoarsely.

Luca stood there for a moment hesitantly before reaching out to pull me into him.

He held me for a moment as I listened to the steady beat of his heart with my head pressed against his chest.

"She wanted to say hello, if that's okay," he said finally.

I took in a deep inhale before pulling away, nodding as I did so.

Luca moved back and allowed me to get off the bed, following me closely as I walked to the bedroom door and out into the hallway.

Walking out into the living room, I saw Ana standing there.

As soon as we'd made eye contact she gave me a sympathetic smile and held her arms out as she approached me.

Ana pulled me into a gentle but firm hug, her arms wrapping around me completely.

I gulped as I returned the hug, feeling myself beginning to get emotional.

"I'm so sorry, fiore," she whispered into my hair.

The hug lasted a few moments longer, neither of us wanting to pull away.

"Please let me know immediately if I can do anything," she said.

I saw the tears in her eyes as well as she dropped her arms from around me and backed away, placing a hand against my cheek.

"Anything," she repeated.

I nodded.

"I will," I whispered.

"Ciao, I love you both," she told Luca and I as she walked to the door.

I watched Ana leave, Luca's arms wrapping around my shoulders as he came to stand behind me.

"Hungry?" He asked me.

I nodded, feeling weak.

"A little."

"Finally," he joked in an exasperated tone. "I thought I was going to have to eat that whole pasta she brought by myself."

I felt myself smile slightly.

Luca kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered.

I immediately thought about where I had been standing the last time I'd heard someone say those words to me.

Despite this, I managed to whisper back:

"I love you too."

- - -

Oof, this took forever. Sorry guys. On top of the fact that I have been busier than anticipated, the chapter is just so emotionally heavy that I can't just open it up and start where I left off casually. I have to actually sit down and get into the mood to write or it comes off weird, ya know?

Anyways, I'm editing the next chapter now and it should be posted by Sunday evening at 9:30pm EST (New York time). I've got to space out the updates to give myself time to finish the final chapter after that and then make edits to the epilogue.

Thanks for your patience!

I'll see y'all on Sunday!

MaybeManhattan .x