Ambrosia

vi.

Survival instincts aren't something you inherit; you have to learn them with every hit you take.

You don't realize how lucky you are if your inheritance includes normal things and not hand-me-down trauma. A lot of adults face long-term effects of unresolved childhood trauma, resulting in anxiety, depression, and at-risk behaviour.

Why is this relevant, you ask?

Because Agent – sorry, Doctor Elis Yelizarov has been yapping on about why linking me to the murder of Sebastian Adams was so easy for Boston PD, that it's possible for me to snap given the recent death of my father, who was an abusive alcoholic and of course, the cherry on top, the festering resentment about my mother's death when I was 16.

Although I was relieved to be uncuffed, I didn't know what came next for me. Just because one federal agent believed I was innocent didn't mean the charges were dropped – there was still so much to figure out.

Who framed me? Why would they kill Bastian? How did my fingerprints get on the murder weapon? Why was my apron found in a dumpster? Why go to the lengths of dumping the body out of state?

But I guess that last one somehow doomed and saved my life at the same time.

Dr. Yelizarov was right, it was too easy.

After an hour of quarreling back and forth with Boston PD, the unfairly handsome agent grabbed me by the arm and announced that the Director was waiting, leaving no room for any more protests.

He was currently seated beside me on the ride to the hotel he was staying at, completely engrossed in some book, leaving me to my own demise.

My bottom lip had started to bleed from all the anxious biting, the crimson staining my fingers, heart engulfed in the dull ache that hadn't subsided since I got the news about Bastian 3 days ago.

Bastian.

In amidst all this madness, I haven't had the time to properly process my emotions and grieve my friend. The realness of his death didn't settle into my consciousness up until now.

It's strange, Bastian and I were just laughing at something that seems trivial now over tacos just last week, and now his body lay on a slab of metal inside a mortuary – cold, alone, lifeless.

I wasn't allowed to go see him for the last time, seeing as that would be considered a conflict of interest, or something.

When I was brought in, his family present in the police station, his mother and sister in a disheveled state, eyes bloodshot. Seeing them like that broke my heart in pieces, so like the coward that I am, I ducked out of sight in shame.

Picturing Bastian's pale immobile body sent a shiver through me, moving whatever resolve I had, the earthquake of emotions inside me split the ground open, exposing the underlying anger.

A seething rage had surfaced inside me – one I wasn't aware I had been festering. Sensing a presence behind me, I released a breath from my nose and unclenched my jaw, already aware of who it was.

"Were you close to the victim's family?" Concern had filled Elis' eyes as he tentatively searched my own. For what exactly, I wasn't sure. Guilt? Remorse? Sadness?

How about all of them.

Swallowing hard, I paused before answering, "They had always been so nice to me. I can't imagine what I've put them through, even though I didn't mean to," I trailed off, unsure of what to say next, what I could possibly say to make it better.