Papillon

Chapter 40: Family

Bella

It was kind of stupid that my bed felt so cold now. Because I'd slept in it alone more than I ever did with Francis. And still, it did. It felt lonely.

It felt like ages since he'd held me in the dark and told me he'd always be there for me.

Ages since he'd told me he'd never leave me alone in a cave by the waterfalls.

Ages since he'd laid in my bed and smiled whenever I put on a little fashion show for him.

We'd all seen the press conference. We'd all seen the way Christian tore Moreau down to his bones, exposing him as the abusive husband he was. Though he didn't say Francis' name, Christian made it clear that his abuse wasn't limited to his wife–it extended to other, more vulnerable members of his family as well.

My heart shattered into a million different pieces when the headline Candidate for presidency found dead in murder-suicide after harrowing truth is revealed was plastered all over the news for days.

There was no doubt it was a cover-up, something the Hales did because I knew that wasn't the story at all. I didn't know the full story and no one would tell me.

Christian wasn't back yet.

Damon wasn't back yet.

Francis wasn't back yet, and some deep part of me felt he wouldn't be back for a long time.

Every time I looked at a Polaroid of him on my wall, or his extra toothbrush in my bathroom, or the anklet on my leg, or the butterfly tattoo on my hip, it felt like there simply wasn't enough air to breathe.

The brush felt heavy in my hand as I combed through my hair. He always loved watching me brush my hair, rub lotion on myself, and then snuggle into bed next to him. He told me I smelled like coconut and that it quickly became his favorite scent in the world.

Francis always left a couple of his stupid black shirts here and I'd used to mess around saying they were ruining the aesthetic of my Pinterest worthy closet. But now, dressed in one of his shirts that was too big for me, I was so happy he left some things behind.

When my bedroom door opened, gray eyes stared at me through my vanity mirror. My neck nearly snapped when I whirled around on the seat.

"You're back," I whispered into the air between us.

Damon looked pained, looked like he'd lost ten pounds, and he'd been sucker punched repeatedly. It physically hurt to see him like that.

"Where's Christian?" I breathed.

"I asked him if I could see you first."

He softly closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed on his chest.

"Is he back?"

His gaze flicked to mine in a simple answer, No.

"Is he ever coming back?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. He needs time. That's all he told me."

Since Francis' birthday, I hadn't cried around anyone. I hadn't said anything about him. I kept everything to myself. But now, feeling Damon's keen gaze on me, knowing he'd just been around Francis, and realizing I might never see him again, I couldn't even help myself.

The second his calloused but soothing hands fell on my shoulders, the floodgates burst open. Damon said nothing as I leaned my forehead on his chest and sobbed uncontrollably.

He didn't say a word, just let me cry into his chest and showed surprising gentleness when he wrapped his arms around me. It only made me cry harder. He tensed slightly and cursed under his breath, thinking he did something wrong, and tried to withdraw his hands. But instead, I pulled him closer.