Please check out the extra long A/N by the end of the chapter. P.S. read+enjoy!!
~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••

"Congratulations on your discharge, Miss Charlotte! You should be able to move your hand well again in a minimum of three month!"

I nodded gently at the sweet doctor before me, as she directed her smile at my best friend Katherine Martins, and my half-sister Scarlett Thorne.

They both nodded, and Katherine gave her a small smile, "Thank you for your efforts, Doctor, we shall keep in contact!"

And we headed towards the exit of the room.

It has been two weeks since the events in Tottenham, and here I am, finally exiting the hospital after days of psychological and physical pain.

Thankfully to some extent, it turned out that I had lost a relatively huge amount of blood, causing me to faint back at the battle, however, the bullet did not hit an extremely vital point, which decreased the time for my complete healing.

We exited the hospital, and headed into Katy's red Mercedes, as she drove off.

The ride was general silent, until Scarlett decided to break the silence.

"I finished packing up, and I'll be going back tonight." She announced, coldly.

I licked my lips, and sighed, tiredly, as I eyed her from the back seat, "Are you sure about your decision? I mean, the mafia might be after us."

She arced her head in my direction, and her puffy eyes ached my heart. "I don't think they'll be taking any move anymore, they lost a large number if men against Rickard Ellington. Plus, his father must be taking a break now from targeting you, knowing the extents his son has taken to protect you."

I swallowed back my tears, and my eyes hurt so much. The pain of my father's depart was still brand new, and I have achieved an average of a crying session every hour or two.

"And what about the Please and Pleasure mafia? Are you sure they're willing to take you in again?" I questioned, my voice shaking.

Her eyes mirrored pain, and yet she kept her stern gaze in my direction.

"I need to gather more information about the whereabouts of Trevor Ellington and the murderers of our father, Charlotte. And for that I'm willing to re-join the mafioso and work for them again." She spat.

I gulped, "You'll go back to prostitution?"

She shrugged, turning away as I saw her orbs mirror some wetness. "I never really stopped that, to begin with."

A tear spilled down my face, "Scarlett, I know you don't want this, plea—"

"I already took my decision, Charlotte." Her voice shook as she cut me off, "I... I will try my best to stay in contact with you, I promise I'll come back as soon as I can." She prevented a sob, but I caught it hiding, "But... For now, I, too, need a break."

I went silent, and nodded, tears making their way down my face as I looked at the scenes change with the moving vehicle.

Some more silent moments passed, before Katy breaking the silence this time.

"And you, Cherry? To our apartment?"

I parted my lips, and took a deep breath.

I have thought this over several times, to be honest, in the past days.

And took my decision.

I shook my head.

"No, home, Katy."

Katherine seemed taken aback by my reply, and yet, somehow, it appeared to me she expected that. She knew me too well.

And so, she nodded, wordless.

Guilt washed over me, and I found myself eying her worriedly, "Will you be okay on your own?"

A soft smile crossed her lips, as she nodded, "Leonard had already talked me into moving in with him for some days, and so I'll be waiting there till we come back to the apartment together!"

I couldn't help the slight curve my lips made. "Deal, then."

.

.

.

We dropped Scarlett at the bus stop she asked us to stop at, and from there, I knew she was heading back to Tottenham.

I didn't stop her. I knew she was trying to pick herself back together, just like me, and well, each of us had his way.

We then headed towards my and Kat's apartment, so I can pack up my things.

Entering the apartment, my heart clenched in nostalgia.

Two weeks ago, everything was different.

I would come back here and complain about silly work matters and Mr. Ellington overworking me.

I didn't foresee this.

Humans, in general, never do.

We always put death out of the equation for some reason.

Always thinking of ways to be happy.

Always planning.

Always working hard.

Missing moments while searching for better.

And never putting death as a very probable part of the whole equation.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to hold my tears back, as a shadow emerged from Katherine's room, and a gentle smile crossed his lips upon sighting me.

Leonard Beards directly crossed the steps between us, as he neared me, and wrapped his arms around me without paining my shoulder.

I do remember the mass of fear he showed when I received the shot in his place.

"Oh, look who's here!" His throaty, gentle tone came, as he neared and kissed my cheek in welcome. "Still feeling as much pain?"

I shook my head softly, "It feels a bit better."

He nodded gently, keeping his arms around me, "I actually got you breakfast, baby." He eyed Kat. "And then planned to get this one discharged together." He smiled at me.

Katy shrugged, gesturing, "I know, I actually had that plan in mind, too, but this hothead here insisted she wanted to leave early, so I just woke up and flied to her." She pouted.

I smiled softly at her, and then looked up towards the blondie before me, "Everything fine?"

He nodded, massaging my back as his sky orbs bore into me. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit you in the past two days, but I really, really had a pile of work over my head."

That's right, actually, he had been visiting me daily ever since I was admitted into hospital, I knew he felt beyond guilty about me getting shot while protecting him.

I sighed, and shook my head, as I shot him a steady, yet pained gaze, "Mr. Leonard, I moved on my own and chose to protect you from the shot." I met his beauteous, now wide, sky orbs, "Y-You don't have to force yourse—" I was cut off, as his finger came over my lips, and I saw his eyes darken in madness.

"Force myself?" He spat, "Charlotte, you saved me." His voice came hard, "You gave me another day with Katherine. With Rickard. With Sarah. With Rosalina. With you. With everyone." He sighed, and his hands came over either my cheeks, as he kissed my forehead gently. "I'm not just grateful, I'm... I'm sorry. We are all sorry dammit! Because we couldn't protect what was dear to you despite what you did to all of us..." His voice came, truthfully in pain, and my eyes shot to Katy to our side, only to see her expression as guilty as his.

Good lord, I didn't want to make everybody feel this way.

My dad died because of me.

It wasn't any of their faults.

I let out a shaking breath, and shook my head, "My father's death was my own mistake, entirely, please just don't blame yourself for it..." I muttered, tired.

He let out a breath, his eyes mirroring stun by my answer and yet clear compassion.

Apparently, he decided not to argue with me in my state, so he just sighed, and then spoke again, "By the way, I have some news for you, considering I was informed how hard you cried during the fire exchange, so I decided you might care to know." He smiled at me, warmly.

I didn't really get what he was pointing at, as I blinked, naïvely. "Huh?"

He brushed a hair strand of mine behind my war. "Harold and Romeo are both alive!"

I gasped, and, after some seconds, tears came down my face as I registered the words.

Unconsciously, a small smile came along with the tears, "H-Holy... really?"

He kept his boyish smile, "Well, Romeo is still in severe condition and under supervision, but we have been insured he'll survive. Harold is better, he's on a wheelchair and needs some time to walk again." Leonard Beards explained in a smile, "He actually told me how you saved him..." He reached out to wipe a tear away from my cheek, and his expression mirrored pain again, "You... He says he was gone for if not for you, Charlotte..."

I couldn't help the tears that streamed more down my face, as I let out a breath, and shook my head in a signature I needed to leave.

I headed towards the room, wordlessly, and started gathering my things.

Goodness.... Those tears....

They were so weird.

So painful.

So contradictory.

I felt relieved. Happy. For Romeo and Harold's safety.

And yet... what was this pain?

This pain of... grudge?

What was it about?

What was it about the fact that everybody was still alive, and life was going on again normally so painful and heart-aching?!

I sobbed.

It was the feeling of those whom the dead person leaves behind.

This grudge of people left behind by a death person they loved so much.

The grudge of feeling more pain and longing than anyone might understand.

The grudge that life was moving on again and it was not waiting for you while you grieved and grieved and... grieved.

.

.

.

Katy and Mr. Leonard drove me back home, and as we reached there, they dropped me, and I waved at them as the car disappeared away.

Taking a deep breath, I held my back, and turned, heading towards the door of... my home.

To my surprise, my mother, Vanessa Thorne, was out, before the door.

She was seated on the ground, and I saw she was planting something.

Weird... now?

Eying what she was watering, my heart hit my stomach, as I saw the beautiful, warm, Gardenia flowers.

Their white colour was peaceful, and their green leaves reflected a soothing calmness.

And my mom was eying them intently.

Her expression was too tired, too exhausted, and her eyes were puffy.

Her wrinkles showed too clearly on her skin.

She didn't have tears on her cheeks, as she watered them slowly and patted the soil to make sure she'd planted well.

"M-Mom..." I tried my voice out.

She let out a breath, and her voice barely came.

"We had planted Gardenias in our garden ever since we married." She murmured, "Your father loved them, and I had always viewed them as a symbol of our love. Our affection. Our bond."

I neared her with shaking legs.

"Last year after he abandoned us, I stopped taking care of these flowers." Her voice shook, and it carried so much pain. "I let them wither thinking my love for you father would die with them, and our bond would fade with every petal that weakened and fell."

I felt moisture crawl down my cheeks, as she caressed the petals with shaking fingertips and a desperate expression. "B-But when I saw your father this time... I discovered I was wrong... I was so wrong...!" Her words disappeared, as tears finally fell down her face, and she sniffed.

"Sometimes love... never withers."

Her entire entity shook, as she sobbed in deep grief. "It fights. Against time, against circumstances, against faults and betrayals and disappointments. It only deepens its roots within us, consuming further of our energy while refusing to wither..." She clenched her fists, trying to hold herself together but clearly failing. "My love for your dad never wavered all this time... It consumed me."

I was speechless, utterly. I opened my mouth and closed it several times, but no words came out. I only cried silently along.

"I saw him with another woman..." She choked, "Back then I followed him into Tottenham... But I didn't give him a chance to explain... He was trying to protect us!" She sobbed, "She was an agent and he was trying to expose the mafia to try and come back!"

She ran her hands through her hair, not caring her fingertips had some soil over them.

"But gambling only lead to further gambling... Especially that the mission with the agent was a failure..." She broke down, "I only learned that on his last day..." She hiccupped, "I didn't get to hug him one last time... To have him in my arms one last time..." She hugged herself in emptiness, and shook, fearfully.

I only eyed her silently.

I knew I could do nothing to make her feel better. I wasn't feeling better myself, after all.

And her reaction was just the way we all act to death.

We regret the moments we missed with that person. The 'I couldn't's, the 'if I had's, the 'if only's... They were how we consoled ourselves. How we tried to cope with the idea that this someone was no longer present.

Our form of apology.

Us apologising for that missing person for some reason.

It might even be an invalid reason.

But we nevertheless repeated them. Maybe for us to overcome that one's death, maybe for him to come back for a second, maybe for some miracle to hear us.

Over and over. We repeated them.

I let out a shaking, tired breath, as she continued to sob.

I squatted down to her side, as I hugged her with my unhurt arm.

I let out a long, weak sigh, "I don't know if this might make you a bit better but..."

"I'm home, mom."

She only sniffed further over my shoulder, "Oh lord, Cherry... I... I miss our family so much."

More silent tears cascaded down my cheeks, as I hummed in helplessness, "I know." I mumbled. "I do, too."

I wet my lips, as we both cried in silence.

"I'm so sorry, mama."

She stiffened slightly, and I worked hard to suppress the grieving, choked sob threatening to escape me. "I'm sorry... that dad... because of me..."

My mom shook her head over my shoulder, as she straightened, and fixed her miserable eyes into me.

"I miss your dad more than anything, Lottie." She held her tears back, "But given a choice between you and him..." she gave me a determined, fighting-pain, look, and her green irises glowed in held-back tears.

"I am eternally grateful for him saving you."

.

.

.

And that was it, we cried again. We grieved again, and finally after an hour or so of crying before the Gardenia flowers, we entered home.

Mom headed to the kitchen to prepare some lunch, while I descended up, towards my room.

Reaching there, I placed my bags and stuff, and, before closing the door behind me, my eyes fell on the door facing mine, and I moved towards it.

It was Theodore's room.

In the past two weeks, I didn't see Theo much.

Mainly because, according to my mom, he refused to leave his room except to eat. No school. No activities. He wouldn't even see his friends.

I knocked.

"It's unlocked, mom, enter." His voice came, hoarse in clear after-cry state.

Oh, so he's not really expecting me.

I gulped, and entered.

His golden locks had relatively grown, his eyes were red, puffy. His t-shirt was wrinkled, and so were his pants. No TV or laptop or anything was turned on. Not even a book opened or some of his favourite stories.

He sat on his bed, one thing before him.

An album.

It was opened.

Nearing the bed, I saw the photo he was gazing at.

It was a picture of a younger version of my father holding a baby.

Beneath the photo, the caption was a date, and to its side: 'Ben and baby Theodore!'

I truthfully had no power to control the tears that fell down my face, as I hugged him with my right arm, tight.

"Oh Theo...!" I cried, "Oh God, baby, I'm so sorry...!" I tried my hardest to steady my voice, as I tightened my grip around him.

I tried massaging his back in my hug, as he began quivering between my hands.

"I-I always got..." He choked, "Frustrated about when a favourite book of mine got adapted into a movie..." He was trying to hold his sobs back, and I knew that.

I kept silent, awaiting his thoughts.

I knew he wanted to vent out. And I understood that.

"Th-The movie would always contain plot holes and missing links the b-book didn't... It would never live to the expectations the book h-had..." He sniffed, painfully.

I hugged him tight, wordless.

For truthfully, I wasn't really seeing what he was pointing at.

Yet.

"It's rather funny, Cherry." He sniffed, trying to hold more sobs back, "We spend our whole life planning, dreaming, wishing, and wishing... But not once do we put death in our calculations. Not once does it come as an option in our plans or wishes." He sucked in a deep breath, as he shook.

"A-And maybe that's it." He shook his head, miserably, "Maybe our wishes and our reality are just like a book and its movie adaption. And death..."

He sobbed hard. Finally venting out all this grief and sadness burdening his child heart.

"Death is that plot hole of our reality. It's that missing link between our wishes and our reality."

I sobbed as well, and didn't truthfully find any words to comment over that.

Because I knew that was the best interpretation he could come up with in his age.

Death was such a philosophical thing. And what made it so like that was the fact that each and every one of us had a unique definition to it.

I sighed, and tightened my grip further around my little brother, caressing his hair as he cried over my chest.

I knew that, weeks ago, I had gotten the chance to cry out and vent out on a certain person's chest before my father's cemetery.

But Theo maybe never got such a chance.

This chance every grieving soul needed at some point after facing death.

So I kept silent, gently caressing his hair as he cried. Cried. Cried.

.

.

.

He cried himself to sleep, and, making sure to cover him well, I headed outside of his room.

I sighed, as I heard my mom announce that the lunch was ready.

"Theodore just fell asleep. But I'll come down right away." I called weakly, as I unlocked my phone, only to find an email present in my mailbox.

It was from The Ellington Company.

Ergo, him.

Tears slowly strolled down my face, as I read the email.

'Dear Miss Charlotte Thorne,

On behalf of the president Ellington Conway, we hereby give you notice your service will be put on hiatus at the company as the private assistant of the president.

You will receive an email of notice if your services are needed again.

Good day,

Office of Employee Affairs.'

I let out a suppressed sob, as certain arrogant, frosty ocean eyes came to my mind.

I had not seen him since he last brought me back to the hospital after I visited my father's grave and cried over his chest.

My chest constricted, as I eyed the email again.

So my break has begun, officially, eh?

I sighed, and my heart ached, as I recalled his words at our last meeting.

'I'm planning a backlash of vengeance against my father in six months from now. You have six months to collect yourself back together, Thorne.'

I gulped, and started descending down the stairs towards the kitchen where my mom was.

I bit my lips, as I hardened my gaze in determination,