Chasing Innocence | ✓

46 | broken love

My suitcase sits unpacked in my bedroom. The sun is streaming in through the curtains, bouncing off the silver polish of the case. I don't know how it got here, three weeks after never returning to that house.

Three weeks without Casey. Almost a month already and I'm not sure how many days I've bothered to spend away from my bed.

I'd taken time off work and I'd ignored all of Davina's calls until Maia has rung her for me to explain. I didn't bother to argue when she'd told Davina I'd been living with Brax throughout the case and that I'd grown close to his deceased younger brother.

Everyone I'm close to has been reaching out, asking me how I am. A barrage of unanswered texts lay patiently in my phone. Maia even thought to inform Dean about all of this, despite her differences with him.

Reaching for my phone, I find that it is eleven in the morning. I've become accustomed to sleeping well past one in the afternoon lately. It doesn't take me long to realise why I'm awake, though.

I can hear aggressive conversations filtering in through my bedroom door. I know Maia's voice instantly, telling someone to leave. The voice who replies is harder to identify at first. Until I hear the heaviness of footsteps and the barrelling sound of my door being opened forcefully.

I'm facing the window, so I don't have to see Brax's face as he enters. I know it's him from his overwhelming presence. I shut my eyes instantly, evening my breathing.

"She's sleeping—"

Maia is interrupted when Brax moves across the room. I know he's crouching down in front of me because he peels back the duvet carefully. I feel his hands on my shoulder, sliding down my arm.

"She doesn't sleep," he deadpans.

"You need to leave—"

"Give me five fucking minutes, alright?"

The room quietens significantly. I imagine Maia glaring at him, barely controlling her anger. She's always had trouble being told what to do, especially by people she doesn't respect.

"Fine," she grits out. "Five minutes. But if you so much as upset her—"

"Got it," he snaps.

Her feet stamp out of my room as she slams the door. Brax's touch on my arm is all that occurs for a moment, before he begins to shake me.

"I know you're awake."

I blink slowly, giving in. Initially, I don't choose to stare at the white wall ahead of me but it becomes abundantly clear that he's not going anywhere until I meet his hard gaze.

He's leaning back against the wall now, his knees bent as he drapes his arms across them. He looks like utter shit, but I can't imagine I'd look any better if I could find the energy to look at myself in the mirror. His eyes are sunken and it's clear his lost weight in his face, with his jaw becoming more defined. I don't think he's washed his dark hair in weeks; oily tendrils hang loosely across his forehead.

Worst of all, it's the distraught look held in his eyes that makes me feel something other than sadness for the first time in weeks. Worry consumes me.

"What do you want?" my voice cracks from disuse.

I draw my knees to my chest, pulling the duvet up to my chin as I wait for him to talk. I don't know what he has to say, but I prepare myself for the worst.

He withdraws an envelope from his pocket. It's folded in half, crumpled and wrinkled with his name written across it in block letters.

"I couldn't stand the thought of stepping into his room for weeks," he begins quietly, holding the envelope out to me. "But yesterday, I found this on his side table."