Page 23 of Healing Souls

“Where is he going?” My voice comes out in a raspy whisper.

“To ask Rage to call their doctor to come back and fix the stitches.” I furrow my brows at this. What? Atlas sighs, “Kid I don’t even know where to start with you.”

“I—” I press my lips together, realizing I have no idea where to even start either. “Is Bri okay?” I whisper.

He scoffs at me, “No, she’s not. She’s worried about you. She did everything she could to help you, and you leave a letter basically sayingthanks for nothing. I don’t care about my life, so I’m going off to do something stupid.”

Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision and spilling over my lashes. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

His head shoots up from where he had been staring down at the floor and turns a glare on me. “You’re sorry? What the hell was the last five months? Why did we all waste our time and lives helping you?” he says with anger, raising his voice.

Lincoln comes back in as he finishes speaking on the phone and shuts the door. “Cool it, Atlas. Give her a break.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he responds, “Give her a break? A fucking break? Bri takes her in, not having any clue what happened or what danger it could bring. We all help taking her under our wings, guiding her, building her up mentally and physically just for her to leave a fucking letter, steal a gun from us, and run!”

I maintain eye contact, taking all that he throws at me. I know I hurt him. But he doesn’t understand. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt Bri. But I’m not sorry I left and came back here. You don’t understand why—”

“Because you didn’t tell us,” he snaps. “You didn’t open up. We know why you came. No, scratch that. We don’t knowwhyyou chose to do it. But we get the reasoning behind it. But what you didn’t stop to think about was how we all had one side of the story. One. Every person has their own story. We all have Bri’s. Not even your mom’s. Just Bri’s. You don’t have your mom’s, and you don’t have Rage’s. But yet you still acted off of pure anger and as if there could be no other side to this.”

“How can there be another side? He raped her! Raped!” I yell, my irritation shows as my voice cracks and my hands continually clench and unclench at my sides. I don’t understand how they are acting like that’s not a tremendous deal.

Before either of them can respond, there is a knock at the door. Lincoln opens it, being the closest to the door, and in walks an older gentleman. Probably mid 60s with salt and pepper grey hair and soft brown eyes. He looks at me with a kind, sad smile.

“Hello. I am a doctor, and I work with guys from the club. Everyone calls me Doc. I patched you up the other night when you got shot. I heard you ripped some stitches out again?” he asks.

I nod as he comes closer, my lips thinning into a line.Again. So this isn’t the first time I’ve messed up my stitches?

He points to the shirt. “May I?”

I glance at Atlas and Lincoln, who both nod at me. “Yes,” I say shakily.

He raises the shirt slowly and sucks in a breath. “Ouch. Yeah, you ripped them out. Are you in pain?” His eyes raise up to mine.

I shake my head. “It stings a little if I move, but it doesn’t hurt now.”

Doc raises a brow at me before getting out supplies from the bag he brought in with him so he can numb me and restitch it. He works in silence, the rest of us also quiet. Seeming to be lost in thought.

My mind races with what’s going to happen. Do Atlas and Linc really think Gabriel deserves to live? That he has a side to this? No. He raped her. Just like I was beaten and abused for three years.

There is no other side to it. They did it. They don’t deserve to live.

Doc finishes up and packs up his stuff. As he stands, he looks back at me. “Try not to rip those out, okay?” I nod. He sighs before saying, “And because I can’t keep my mouth shut, I heard what you said about Rage before I walked in. I’m not saying he did nothing wrong, but maybe try hearing him out before you decide that he’s the enemy.”

I don’t respond, feeling fury coursing through my veins. How many more times do I have to listen to people say that? I turn a glare toward the other two still in the room as Doc walks out. “Why does everyone think I need to give a rapist even a second to speak?”

Linc sighs while Atlas looks ready to burst. “Look, I know this is all hard and really confusing, and you’re dealing with being shot by someone, which I’m sure is a lot to think about.” I haven’t even really thought about it or where the guy who shot me is, but I don’t say that because I know that’ll make them worry that I’m shielding myself from dealing with it. He continues, “But you need to let him talk. You need to hear him out. We will not tell you his story for him. We can be there. We won’t leave your side, but you need to hear it yourself and see him as a person and not just as the image you have of him in your head.” Linc is almost pleading with me at this point.

Atlas sighs, crossing his arms as he glances from me to the door. “Why don’t you go get Bri? It might be better if she is here to be with Harls, and she needs to hear it herself. It’ll help her too.” He shrugs.

I sputter, “No! Are you insane? You can’t just bring Bri here! She should stay far away. I’ll hear the bastard out, but then you guys should all leave, and I’ll figure out what I’m going to do from there.”

They both exchange looks that only serve to piss me off even more. Maybe I’m not being logical, but none of this is making any sense to me. I rip the blanket off myself and scoot the edge of the bed, slowly trying to stand. Luckily, my body is still used to constant pain, so I don’t really feel much from the shot and the numbing stuff the Doc used is still working.

“Harl—” I hear one of them start to say, but I am already going to the door and ripping it open. As soon as I do, I realize I have no idea where I am or where Gabriel may even be, if he is even here.

The left goes to two more doors, whereas the right opens up to what looks like a living room, so I head towards it. When I come into the living room, I am taken aback by how nice it is. But before I have a chance to admire it, my eyes narrow on the man sitting on the couch. I storm further in, so I am standing in front of him. The only thing between us now is a coffee table.

Gabriel hears me approach and lifts his head, his eyes widening as he stands. “Harley,” he says almost brokenly.

---