Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

I'd worked through them all at one point or another this week.

The denial started after Harry left my apartment Sunday morning. I'd sent him away without half a thought, hoping that if he disappeared, everything else would too. The thoughts of the fight, the impending drop, the situation in which I'd gotten myself caught up in.

Part of me believed it to be true. The other part knew that even when he was gone, everything else would unfortunately remain. Which is how I wound up in the anger stage. Furious at everyone and everything. Cussing out the black SUVs that parked across the street every morning while I worked, enough that they would no longer roll down the window when I approached.

Bargaining was the strangest stage. It had me wondering what I could do differently, or what I could have done differently in order to avoid this. In order to save those kids – to save the shell of a child that I assumed Harry had been when he'd been dragged into this mess as well.

The depression settled in after that. Everything felt heavy. Broken. The world through my eyes looked a little fractured, a little like nothing was right or could ever be right. It was the hardest to get out of this stage and I wasn't entirely sure that I had fully even gotten out of it at all until finally the acceptance stage set in.

The notion that I couldn't change what happened, I couldn't change what was going to happen – I could only come to terms with it. Harry had. Morgan had. Zayn had. Somehow everyone affiliated with them and what they did had come to terms with everything in one way or another, so why couldn't I?

My friends hadn't ended up coming to see me on Sunday like I'd told Harry.

I had just wanted to be alone at that point. I hadn't ended up seeing anyone and had spent the next few days alone with Meatloaf, the two of us watching shitty, reality TV and eating takeout. But by the time Wednesday rolled around and I'd worked well enough through my reaction to the aftermath of what I'd witnessed, I was in a little better of spirits.

Enough so actually that my morning started with me lugging a tray full of coffees on leaden, nervous feet to the black SUV that had promptly pulled up across the street from the studio once I'd arrived. It had been visible in my rear-view mirror the whole drive.

My reflection stared back at me as I approached the tinted windows. With a small wince, I lifted my hand in a gentle wave and then pointed to the takeout cups in my hand, hoping to signify me raising a metaphorical white flag. Nothing. No movement on the inside.

"C'mon," I muttered under my breath. A bit louder, enough that I knew they could hear me through the window, I added, "I'm not going to freak out. I promise."

Yes, it was now they on the other side of the window. Apparently, I'd given enough of a frightening outburst to each of the men who had been assigned to watch me these past couple of days that they'd started showing up in groups of three. Three seemed to be the lucky number to keep me at bay.

Finally, after an excruciatingly long minute or two passed, the window before me slowly began to lower.

My reflection disappeared to reveal four men this time, much to my surprise – all of whom I'd yet to meet. Thank god I'd bought an extra coffee.

"A peace offering," I said slowly, lifting up the tray. One of the men flinched, the other instinctively reaching down to brace a hand on his gun. I rolled my eyes.

It was probably because I'd thrown my own coffee at the SUV on Monday when I'd been working through my anger stage of grief. I assumed they'd all been filled in.