All My Broken Pieces (FindingLight #2)

Chapter 40

Fallon

“To be accepted, for me.”

I release a heavy breath, a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifting off my chest at the admission.

The woman smiles at me, reaching over to pat my arm. Closing her fingers around my wrist, she lifts my hand, palm up. She runs her finger from the edge up my palm up to my elbow, tracing the veins.

I tilt my head, watching the movement. A strange sensation emanates from her skin on mine, something I can’t decipher.

The woman gently places my arm back in my lap, shifting her gaze over the ocean as she speaks, a somber tone to her voice. “I’m going to tell you some pretty harsh truths, Fallon.” She pauses, lifting her hand to adjust a pair of glasses I didn’t notice before. “There’s always going to be people out there who want to make you smaller. People who are so insecure in who they are that they need to make you feel like you aren’t enough so that they can feel better.” Her words hang in the air, swirling around us and echoing in my mind. She smiles at me, her golden hair blowing in the wind.

Did she always have blonde hair?

“But you want to know the beautiful thing in it all?” I blink at her, nodding my head. “When you love yourself,” She reaches forward, taking both my hands in hers.

I glance down, confusion clouding my thoughts. Turning our clasped hands, I can’t tell whose hands are whose, nearly identical length, markings, even the chipped nail polish matches. Lifting my gaze, I gasp.

The woman, no, me? I smile at myself. “When you love yourself, no one else can take that from you. That is how you find true happiness. That is how we find love and acceptance. Not through them, not through anyone else, not even through her. It has to come from us.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get out a word, the woman disappears. Looking around the empty beach, I try to find her, me, but I’m all alone. I glance down, tears welling in my eyes when I find my hands clasped around a thick, leather journal.

“Mmmm.” I groan, shifting uncontrollably.

Everything hurts.

I groan again, trying to blink open my eyes, but even that small movement sends a wave of agony throughout my head.

“Shhh. Take it easy, baby.” Arriana’s voice fills me with equal parts excitement and shame. “She’s waking up!” I hear her call.

A shuffle of fabric sounds moments before large hands press against my skin. Fingers push against my pressure point and a warm hand lies flat on my forehead. “Her pulse is better and temperature feels more normal.” A deep voice reports following the brief examination. “I really think we need to take her to the hospital, Arri.”

“No.” Arriana snaps. “No hospitals, Coop.” My heart aches at the pain in her voice.

I’m so sorry.

It’s a silent cry as I ache to comfort her, but find I can’t move or speak.

There’s a long silence before the man sighs. “Okay.” He agrees, grunting as he must push to his feet. “But I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

“You and me both, hermano .”

My mind grows fuzzy again as I try to focus on their conversation. Exhaustion overtaking me, I cling on as hard as I can, not wanting to leave Arriana again. Not when I just got her back.

A whimper escapes my throat.

Familiar hands brush back my hair, soft lips I would recognize anywhere pressing against my forehead. “It’s okay, mi vida . I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Arriana soothes.

“Mmm.” The small noise is all I can manage to respond with before the darkness pulls me under again.

I’m drowning.

My lungs fill with water, but that can’t be right.

Spluttering, I try to cough out the liquid threatening to suffocate me. I scramble upright, bending over and heaving, but nothing comes out.

No, no I can’t die. Not like this.

Clasping my hands together, I shove them up into my sternum, trying desperately to push the water from my lungs.

One.

Two.

Three.

I count as I slam my hands into my body over and over, growing more and more desperate with each attempt.

Please.

I don’t know who I’m begging to, but I cry out anyway. Because I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m. Not. Ready.

With one last forceful push, I expel the liquid, only it’s not water that flows from my mouth.

Blinking, I watch as words pour out, a vomit of syllables spewing from my lips. And with each word that escapes, the heaviness in my lungs lessens.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the much needed oxygen and watching as the letters swirl beneath me, moving and rearranging. With wide, disbelieving eyes, I watch them come together, a story forming from the very thing that was sucking the life from my body.

And as the story unfolds, I feel my soul cry out, begging for more.