❝ as soon as healing takes place, go out and heal somebody else. ❞

maya angelou

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This chapter is dedicated to aestheticjailbait ! Thank you so much for your support c; Reading 37 chapters in one sitting is such dedication. 

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3 weeks later

Repeating and retelling what had happened to the police was like twisting a knife with my own hands into my heart. But I had no other choice. Once the shock wore off, I was questioned meticulously by detective Carter and Nichole, whilst two other officers monitored the interrogation and wrote down some of my words. At first, I couldn't even get to Joseph pointing the gun at me without bursting into tears, but as days passed, I developed some sort of immunity, and I was able to maintain a stiff upper lip throughout the whole interview, no matter how much it hurt.

Things were much more complicated than I'd expected. I was forbidden to leave the country and I had to get a criminal defence lawyer who could prove that I killed Joseph in self-defence, whilst the police struggled to garner enough evidence that tied him to Monica's and Ellie's murder. If they wouldn't succeed, the course of my life would change forever.

I'd have to spend a decade of my life in prison. Maybe more, maybe less. The mere thought made my stomach churn. I had a full-blown panic attack when detective Nichole told me, and after that incident, Damian and I were practically forced to go to a therapist, since we were both susceptible to stress-related disorders. I was reticent at first because I didn't find the prospect of opening up to a stranger appealing, but after waking up crying for six days in a row, after sleepless nights and depressive thoughts, I decided to give it a try. 

Today was going to be the fourth session with doctor Olivia, the same mental health professional that diagnosed Gabrielle's disorders.

If I was going to prison, at least I'd go with a healthy and happy mind, right? 

Such backhanded positivity.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Devon asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

He was driving me to my psychotherapist because my dad was busy with work. I pulled on the hem of my black skirt. Ever since I had killed Joseph, black was the only colour that I could wear. I supposed it represented the darkness I felt inside me, a darkness that drained any other colour in my life, that made me think, late at night, that maybe I deserve to go to prison. 

It also represented the constant state of mourning I was in. For Avery, Ellie, and Joseph. For me. Because it wasn't only them I'd lost. I had lost parts of myself too, parts I could never get back.

You have a good sense of self. You know who you are. I admire that.

Damian's words at the party echoed in the back of my head, and I wanted to laugh despondently at that. I had no idea who I was anymore. I wondered if he'd notice that, if he saw me now. We hadn't seen each other since his brother's demise. If I were him, I wouldn't want to see me either.

"It's nothing important. Did therapy really help you?" I diverted, because I'm just thinking about the boy I love and dreading the fact that he might not want to see me ever again was a little too much emotional baggage to drop on him.

"Yeah. Therapy showed me that the path to healing yourself is right here." he took one hand off the steering wheel and tapped my temple lightly. "The impact your thoughts have on your life is monumental. Therapy helps you reconstruct them, guides you in the right direction, until one day, you wake up realizing how lucky you are to be alive, and that all of your pain is overshadowed by the potent desire to live, to love and to laugh." 

He pulled the car to the side and parked. We got out of the vehicle and he chaperoned me inside, to doctor Olivia's office. There were five minutes left until my appointment, so we stopped by the door.

Devon gave me a poignant smile and leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"When Monica died, I blamed myself for not coming home earlier. I could have saved her. Or I could have been killed too..." he halted, averting his eyes to the floor, and then riveting his sight back on me. "By Joseph. I know you're doing the same thing -- you're thinking of thousands of different things that you could have done to stop him. But those things might not have saved Damian's life. And I know how immoral this will sound, but you actually spared Joe from a life of ordeal in prison."

I remained silent, chewing on the inside of my cheek whilst gazing at the floor without blinking. He moved closer, placing his fingers underneath my chin and softly raising it up. A whiff of clove cigarettes reached my nostrils; he started smoking again, but I couldn't blame him. He found out that one of his closest friends was an insane murderer, who had killed his cousin in cold blood and lied to him all this time. I could relate to his suffering.

"Only you can heal yourself. And that starts with self-forgiveness."

A surge of gratitude swept through me, and I smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks. I raised on my tiptoes and pulled him into an embrace. He hugged me back, but as his arms wrapped around my waist, a speck of disappointment percolated into my heart. I wanted to be held by someone else.

"Did you take that out of the 101: a prick's guide on how to melt a girl's heart so you can get laid book?"

I froze at the sound of the sardonic voice for a second, taken aback, and then darted away from the blonde as if he were on fire. 

In front of us stood an impassive Damian with his hands in his pockets, flickering his dark eyes from me to Devon. My heart skipped a beat; three weeks passed since I last saw him, and having him here, a few feet away from me, felt surreal. His nose had completely healed, but I observed that his knuckles were still bruised, as if he had just gotten out of a fight. As usual, he was all dressed in black, and for the first time, we were matching. He seemed to notice that too: he glanced at my attire before making eye contact, and I flinched on the inside, immediately looking away. 

I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye because of the guilt and shame I felt.

"You're lucky I'm not in the mood to fight, Belfort." Devon sighed.

"Of course you aren't. Getting your arse kicked in front of Rosabel twice was embarrassing enough."

"And following her around like a stalker isn't? No offence, but given your psycho genes, I think you should tone it down a bit."

A sliver of ice pronged my heart. He hit a nerve, I knew he did, but Damian didn't give him the satisfaction of appearing unsettled. 

I shot the blonde a reprimanding look and voiced coldly:

"I think it's best if you leave."

Devon gave a disbelieving snort.

"Sure. Just don't come crying to me after you realize that you two are not meant to be. I'd hate to see you get hurt again."

He left me stunned, storming out and ramming his shoulder into Damian's intentionally. I exhaled loudly, feeling tears well up in my eyes already. I bit my lower lip and focused on the small crack in the floor.

"What are you doing here?" I asked with a steady voice, in spite of my emotions.

"I'm here for my first meeting with doctor Olivia. Has yours just ended?"

I raised my eyebrows quizzically at him.

"No, my fourth one is actually about to start."

"That's strange. Maybe there's been a misunderstanding."

Doctor Olivia's assistant, a nice-looking lady in her thirties, came around the corner and spotted us. She approached us with an amiable smile and checked her notes, pushing her red horn-rimmed glasses up on her nose.

"Rosabel and...Damian, I assume. You can wait for miss Olivia in her office. She'll join you shortly."

"As in...the both of us? Together?" I inquired nervously.

She watched me with a perplexed expression, as if I were a disorientated toddler who had asked her a very stupid question.

"Why yes, honey. Don't you worry, although young boys are hormonal beasts, they don't usually bite." she said tongue-in-cheek, and then added: "...hard." She winked at me and guffawed, disappearing again.

An awkward silence settled between us for a moment, but then we both started laughing simultaneously, so hard my belly hurt. I hadn't laughed like that in a very long time. Our eyes met, but before it could get awkward, Damian opened the door for me and we entered the office. It was spacious and bright, and it smelt of vanilla candles.

 I made myself comfortable on the soft brown couch, while he made his way to a chair, pulling it up by the top rail and placing it right in front of me. He sat down and scanned my face intently, but I kept my gaze on my clasped hands absently. Our knees didn't even touch; he wasn't invading my personal space in any way, but his strong physical presence filled the entire room, making me unable to focus on anything else but him.

"You can't even look me at me. Are you worried that once you do, I'll get the overwhelming urge to bite you?"

I held back a smile, taking a deep breath and turning my head towards the window. A breeze swayed the trees lightly, sun rays casting shadows of green and gold on the floor. My phone vibrated in my black clutch. I took it out and saw that Devon texted me.

"Would you look at that, she actually has a phone." Damian chaffed.

As tempting as pizza sounded, I didn't reply to the message yet.

"What do you mean?"

"Let me explain. When your boyfriend calls you, you're supposed to pick up. If you don't want to talk, that's okay. Hearing your voice, even for a second, might brighten up his day. Hell, hearing you breathe would suffice. Otherwise, he might go out of his mind with worry and uncertainty."

"Hold on. Boyfriend ?" I enunciated with irony, trying to mask the contentment on my face. This was the second time he was proclaiming himself my boyfriend, and I was enjoying it too much for my own good.

"Don't look so surprised. You brought this upon yourself. You made me fall in love with you."

I snickered, shaking my head slightly. I felt as if my heart was being coated in layers of warmth and love and sweetness.

"I didn't really do anything."

"I know." he affirmed, taking his eyes off me and contemplating the painting on the wall. "God, I'm so whipped." he chuckled, and I wondered how you could be so attracted to someone's laugh, to someone's voice.

I took advantage of him looking away and allowed myself to gaze at him. His chiselled features were illuminated by the afternoon light, his jaw taut, despite his relaxed posture. I felt drawn to him like a magnet, and I had to stop myself from leaping to kiss him by gripping the sides of the seat.

He fixed his eyes on me again, as if he could hear my amorous thoughts, but I didn't avert my sight anymore. I maintained his provocative scrutiny and uttered:

"I called you three times, but you didn't answer, so I..." Don't let yourself get distracted, I ordered myself as he glanced at my lips. I could swear he was doing this on purpose. "I thought you needed some space, or maybe you just didn't want to talk to me. Ever again."

He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Why would you think that? My phone was dead. I called you back as soon as I saw the missed calls, but you didn't answer, so I thought the same about you."

"Because from now on, when looking at me, you'll see the girl who killed your brother. And...what about your parents? They must hate me. I was ashamed to look you in the eye because of what I've done, but I wouldn't bear seeing them. That's why I didn't come to the funeral, because I was so scared that--"

"Rosabel." he interrupted me with a solemn look, raising from the chair and kneeling before me. He took my hands in his, his eyes shining with intimacy and tenderness. "When I look at you, I see a brave, selfless and kind girl who saved my life. I see a girl who has suffered a great deal but still manages to smile and make the world a better place. The fact that you shot Joe doesn't turn you into a killer, at least not at heart. Do you know who else I see when I look at you? The girl I love more than anything. The girl I want to marry someday and have kids with and spend the rest of my life with."

Tears of gratitude and emotion filled my eyes, and he offered me a warm smile of encouragement.

"You're awfully quiet. Is it because of the kids? If you don't want kids, that's fine. We'll adopt six cats instead."

I burst out laughing and wiped a tear that rolled down my cheek. I almost forgot how good it felt to cry with joy, and not because you were broken inside.

"Instead? Does that mean that you want six kids?" I giggled.

"I always limited myself to two or three, but if they inherit your character, the more the merrier. Just imagine if they're all girls. Having six little Rosabels running around is everythi--"

I didn't let him finish; I stooped down and pressed my lips firmly to his, cupping his face in my hands. Whenever I kissed him every worry and thought obliterated from my mind as if it never existed. He raised from the floor without breaking the kiss and sat next to me, his arms circling my waist and pulling me closer. My heart fluttered frenziedly, but I withdrew reluctantly after a few seconds, knowing that doctor Olivia could come in anytime.

"I do want kids, by the way. And cats too, just not six."

"Even better, then." he grinned, but his expression suddenly changed, and the amusement from his face faltered.

"What is it?" I asked him with concern, anxiety already creeping in my bones.

"My mom, she's a lawyer." he started, biting his lower lip.

"Okay." I uttered, prompting him to continue.

He sighed and took my hand, squeezing it in his, as if he was preparing me mentally for something.

"A prosecutor, to be exact. She insisted to be assigned to your case. And she said she won't stop until you're in prison."

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Author's Note: Just when things were getting better, eh? :')

I'll try to post the next chapter on Friday, but no promises! It might be out on Saturday or Sunday. My exams are starting soon and I'm already hyperventilating. 😬