Silent Screams (Hollow #1)

CHAPTER 31

Less Than Two and A Half Years Ago...

The weeks pass.

And I realize how resilient we can be. How things that seem impossible, intolerable, unimaginable—often become reality. And reality eventually forms a sense of normalcy through routine, which leads to familiarity.

That doesn’t stop the shattered pieces of my heart from hanging on by a thread.

I miss Harvey.

He’s been in rehab for thirty days now, and I haven’t seen him since. We’ve texted, we’ve spoken on the phone, but he refuses to see anyone while he stays at the rehab center near our town.

His messages barely answer my questions or show the tiniest trace of the man he used to be.

And I hate myself for it—for not making us stop. For not telling him how stupid and reckless we were by riding in a storm.

He’s coming home today, but he’ll be heading to the rehab center daily for the next month, depending on his progress.

He has a full rehabilitation team assisting him: a physical therapist, a psychologist, a nurse, a doctor, and a nutritionist. I still remember, though, when he was in the hospital, how each visit from medical professionals dissipated his smile. His skin had paled, and the sullen look he gave everyone set in.

I hope he’s doing better.

We don’t need to lose someone to death to grieve. Sometimes, a new reality or a new way of life can make us grieve whatever or whomever we leave behind.

We plan and we see a future, and when it doesn’t happen, when things take a dim turn for the worst, our minds and bodies are in grieving mode, whether we notice or not.

I keep giving thanks that Harvey’s alive, that he’s here with me. I didn’t lose him. We’re both here. We’ll be okay.

But how selfish of me to think that. I’m not the one who lost the ability to walk—he did. And I won’t ever be able to understand how he feels.

They say time can erase all measures of pain to a certain degree. And I’m here praying to my mom that it’s true. That Harv will get through this.

Not only physically. But mentally.

Because he lost more than most sensation in his legs; he lost a part of who he was—the reckless boy with more pride than a straight-A student. Every time a nurse or a doctor brought up the topic of bladder control, he asked me to leave the room. Same with anything sex-related.

According to Helen, Harvey started doing intermittent catherization right away, to increase his ability to control his bladder in the future.

It pains me to think of all the things we take for granted. That being able-bodied permits me to pee easily without outside help or tools.

I clear my thoughts, pushing them away like a cloud of smoke. Inside, I’m choking on the fumes, but I must be strong.

For him .

For us.

I can go soaring and snorkeling and skydiving and bungee dumping. And he can’t.

Apparently, his parents were given a generous anonymous donation through the hospital that will help cover medical costs as well as insurance. Harvey and I will be living in one of his parents’ bungalow properties, the same way Hen’s living in a condo they own near his college.

As if they’re not doing enough already.

My sister drives us to Harv’s and my new home in her car.

Home.

I never thought when we got our little apartment together that we’d be moving so soon. How did this happen? How did life change in the blink of an eye?

Imagine how he feels. Does he wake wanting to go back to sleep to appease the nightmare that has become his life? Does he have dark thoughts? Does he still love me?

Gia reminds me how good it is that he’s still covered under his parents’ insurance until he’s twenty-six years old. And that I’m lucky to have gotten a full-time contract as a research assistant so soon after graduating.

Then we finally arrive.

Henrik and Ian built a ramp. Apparently, they, along with some of Harvey’s friends, changed a few of the doors inside the home to accommodate his wheelchair. They added lowered electric switches and changed the door handles to lever-shaped ones. A few more things were modified in the kitchen to give him access.

I admire his mom’s efficiency—she doesn’t waste time getting things done.

“Come see your place.” Gia gives me a tight smile, holding up my keys. I want to crumble right there as I step out of the car. Drop to my knees on the concrete of the driveway despite my ripped jeans .

I want the world and everything in it to swallow me whole.

I can’t do this.

I don’t think I can do this.

I hear only the muffled words of my sister as I take in the front of the house. It’s filled with tiny trees and flowers, and I want to laugh because how will this help us?

The memories of my calls with Harvey hit me with a vengeance—I could almost hear him dying a painful death inside. According to Helen, Stefan said that Harv’s progress was slower than the others in his group.

And his happy, sweet, chipper self? It was all gone when we talked.

How will he get out of this alive if he refuses to let his mind fight for this? How on earth is he supposed to beat potential infections, pressure sores, and circulation disorders, if he doesn’t want to fight?

Fight, Harvey; just fight.

I can’t push these demons away all by myself. The monsters will eat me alive.

Paranoia at all the possible complications he might have to overcome hits me hard and square in the chest.

“So... what do you think?” Gia opens the door, and when I enter my new home, I feel none of the things I should feel: joy, happiness, excitement, fucking something good , anything good.

I’m so numb.

“Surprise! We moved all of your stuff for you guys!”

God, if only I could cry, feel , I could tell my sister she’s the best sister in the entire world. I don’t ever want to know what life would be like without her. She’s pregnant and tired half the time with her first child, yet she found a way to do all of this for me, for us.

I turn around and find a sympathetic smile on her face. Gia lost something in all of this, too, didn’t she?

I’ll never be the same .

I’m just too afraid to tell her that. Or maybe she already knows.

“Thank you.” I bring her to me, pouring out my feelings in a tight hug.

“Gem,” her voice croaks. “I’ll do anything to help—you know that. We’re all here for you. You’re not alone in this.” She pulls back, staring at me intently, trying to drill the message home.

Not alone, but for how long?

That’s always the pressing question, isn’t it? No matter how much death and despair sinks its teeth inside your skin, the clock keeps ticking and the world goes round and round, expecting you to keep pace.

She gives me a tour of the place, showing me a room containing Harvey’s clothing and belongings.

“Where’s my stuff?” I finger his clothes in the closet that has been lowered for him.

I hate the look of pity on her face when she looks away, clearing her throat. “Harvey wanted you to have the master bedroom—at his request...”

“At his request...” I repeat the words, testing them on my tongue. The screams within—they’re back, stronger and bolder, except this time, they take the form of a screaming lady.

“It’s... he probably needs time to get used to all of this.” She gestures around the room. “He probably doesn’t want to impose... this way the nurse can take care of him here...”

I nod, letting go of the soft texture of his flannel shirt in my hand. I reach the master bedroom, glad that Gia has the sense to leave me be.

I think of all my future dreams, everything that I planned with Harvey. Us getting married, laughing, fucking on our wedding night, having kids.

Us fighting for our relationship in a new home with beautiful stairs. I lie down on my bed. He’s alive, but here I am, grieving stairs and shattered dreams.

Dreams that were never mine in the first place because the future never belongs to us.

“Hey . . .”

I sit up, staring at Henrik, who’s sporting a wary expression.

“Thanks for helping—for doing all of this.” Everyone knows Henrik never lifted a finger a day in his life, but for his brother, there was never any doubt that he would. “You’re a good brother...”

He walks in and leans his tattooed arms on the drawer. “And you’re a good girlfriend...”

I shake my head. I’m not.

Why didn’t I make us stop? It was dark and pouring rain.

It’s one of the main rules of the bike life: Don’t ride in rain.

My pulse races in panic, but instead, I focus on the shake of his head and watch him rub his eyes. Henrik has the bad boy vibe through and through. The dark circles under his eyes manage to make it look like smudged eyeliner, which accentuates his handsome features.

“You are, Gemma. He’s gonna push you away, and you’ll still stay.”

I stare out the window, welcoming the beaming sun that sets in. Dread greets me every time I reminisce about the future.

He will push me away. But I won’t let him. I’ll be with him every step of the way.

“Come. I need to show you something.”

As he leads me outside, we pass Gia, who’s on the phone. We end up in the backyard, and I take it all in.

Could we do this? Could we get through this and live a perfect life together despite the new set of cards we’ve been dealt? The yard is spacious, and I appreciate the deck.

I feel a lump in my throat when I see my bike. I reach for it, my fingertips skimming the torn-up leather seat .

“Harvey’s was totaled during the crash, but yours might make it. You should take it to a mechanic, see if...”

I inspect the damage: broken clutch on both sides, a broken stand and taillight, including a dent where the gas tank lies. I’m wasting time inspecting something that means so much to me.

With Harv, it’s too fresh. If he sees this bike, well, I don’t even want to think about his reaction.

“I can’t.”

He pulls out a joint and puts it, unlit, between his lips. “Maybe not right now, but one day you should. It’s your biggest passion; you can’t let that go.”

I shrug, letting go of the bike.

God, how many years did I spend dreaming of this beautiful thing in front of me? While Gia had a full wedding book and several Pinterest wedding boards, mine consisted of more powerful sport bikes.

Happiness and dreams—all gone within a night.

Gia and I are making pizza while Henrik steals a handful of our freshly cut vegetables. I feel better now than I did this morning. Hanging with Gia and Hen tends to do that—so I try to muster as much excited energy as I can for Harvey’s return tonight.

Our parents bought us a minivan ready for Harvey’s release. They modified the car to fit his needs so he can ride in it with his chair, yet it wasn’t modified for him to drive.

His parents are picking him up with our new van and bringing him here for a dinner with both our families.

I’ve spent the rest of the day tidying up Harvey’s room to ensure it’s as perfect as can be. Hen and I set up his PlayStation, hoping it can help him cope for a few weeks.

For the dinner, I wear ripped jeans with an emerald T-shirt, my face covered in light bronzer, mascara, and lip gloss .

I stare at myself in the mirror of our new home, breathing to settle my nerves. To push them down as deeply as I can, knowing they won’t vanish.

Harvey’s coming home.

We can do this.

I wipe my palms on the sides of my hips when I hear a car. The fresh summer breeze enters Harvey’s room since I left a crack in the window all day. The front door shuts with a loud thud, and I see Henrik waiting for Harv, who’s wheeling down the ramp from the center of the van.

Perhaps one day he’ll be able to transfer from his chair to a car seat by himself. Though I don’t want to pressure him with my knowledge from YouTube videos.

A certain peace washes over me as I set my eyes on him again. He looks physically drained, and he lost weight. Instead, I focus on the beauty of his eyes and the disheveled hair I always loved playing with.

This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is what home feels like. This feeling is the reason people write poetry in the first place.

I just want him to have hope.

“Am I gonna have to push you around everywhere now like a little bitch?” Henrik teases. Leave it to Henrik to say the proper thing. My body rejoices when I hear Harvey chuckle, my smile widening at the sound.

“Fuck you, Hen,” he replies.

Their parents come in through the front door while I focus solely on the brothers talking. This is borderline stalking, but I don’t care. I need a second to take him in before I greet him.

“It doesn’t have to be all that bad.” Henrik takes out the same joint from his pocket and twirls it continuously with his fingers.

Harv remains silent, then wheels himself forward.

“Wait—” Hen halts his movements. “No one can ever understand what you’re going through, but don’t forget the ones who love you, Harv.”

I see Harvey nod, and his face tightens with each of his brother’s words.

“And the hot chick you share this home with.” Henrik uses his joint to point to the house.

“Stalker.” Gia scares the daylight out of me. She laughs when she comes into the room, finding me by the window. “Do you want me to tell him to come see you before we eat?”

I smile.

Gia always knows what I want, what I need, without so much as a word from my mouth. She truly is sent from above.

“Yeah, sure.” I clear my throat. “Sure.”

I sit on the lowered bed and wait a few minutes, putting my hair behind my ear on one side. It’s as if I wait forever until finally the light of my life wheels himself in like he’s done so a million times.

He should be staring at his new room—the one that doesn’t include me in it—but instead, his eyes catch mine, lighting me on fire, only I have a feeling he won’t be there to stop the flames from intoxicating me.

Because he’ll be the one doing the burning.

“Hey . . .” I whisper.

He’s so gorgeous it hurts to watch. I want him to know, I need him to know, how fuckable he looks in a wheelchair. God, his straight blond hair, tousled all over the place, his light blue eyes that are enough to hypnotize.

And his smirk? Hormone hijacker, that’s what that is. I wish to see it again someday.

He looks roughed up, but so good. Like an addict with the sweats, red eyes, a small scar beneath his jaw and one on his forearm, and a next-level bad-boy attitude.

I feel a warm detonation inside when his hand touches mine, and he pulls me over his lap .

“Harvey—”

“—shhhh.” He pulls me to him, and, instinctively, my arms cascade around his neck. He’s squeezing me tightly, but I keep that thought down, in fear he might let go. I take the pain and bask in its pleasure. Because I want nothing more than to be wanted by him.

Please—please, Harv, we can do this.

“Welcome home,” I whisper.

I love you.

He leans his face against my cheek, his stubble grazing against it. The smell of his cologne channels memories. It manages to knock down a few of my nerves.

Harvey feels safe. But he also feels different—something feels different.

“You’re my home, Gemma.”

And you’re mine. You have no idea how home is where you are, do you?

“I’m so sorry—I should’ve stopped us. I should’ve—”

“— Stop . None of this is your fault. It’s all mine.” The soft chuckle that escapes his lips would make me happy if it wasn’t otherwise covered with edges of anger. “You could’ve died because of me. You could’ve died...” He stares at the light gray wall, his expression sullen and out of this world.

I hold on to his cheeks, pulling him to me, pressing a kiss over his soft, thin lips. The butterflies in my stomach die a warm death. One by one they disappear, and the heat turns into a greediness for him that consumes every fiber of my being.

I’m desperate to make him happy, desperate for him , period.

My tongue lightly enters his mouth, my hands embracing his nape, while my fingers weave through his longer hair. I take note to arrange for a haircut soon, knowing he prefers his hair short.

His hands reach for my waist, my thighs, and he places them on both sides of his legs, finally diving his warm tongue where it belongs.

It’s like our first kiss all over again. Harvey doesn’t take his time; he doesn’t have the patience. Then he stops abruptly.

“I’m not made of glass, you know. Don’t treat me like it.”

“I know. I won’t.”

“We should go eat; they’re waiting.”

I say nothing while I get off him, knowing he probably wants to spend time with his family too.

He leaves the room, and suddenly I feel utterly alone.