Serendipity

Chapter 45

Elodie

Raffaele doesn't look at me or tries to break the silence on our way to his car. Neither do I, even as part of me wants to. I know what I said hurt him and a small, foolish part of me wants to turn my head to know what he's thinking or feeling. One single look would suffice. I know him well enough by now.

Still, I don't dare, scared he'll catch me looking and try to talk. I don't want to talk. Have no idea what to say anymore. Up in the twin's room, I yelled at him with all I had, appreciating the blinding anger because it distracted me from everything I don't want to face.

But seeing his reaction to my words sobered me up. I realized Raffaele, despite his upbringing and endless list of responsibilities, is only twenty years old himself. He never asked for this.

I go along passively as we get in his car, crossing my arms over my chest and turning my face to the window, feeling horribly conflicted. Now that I have a silent moment to let things settle, I realize I'm not mad at Raffaele. Not really. It's just easy to look for someone to blame right now.

Part of me would like to declare him the root of all my problems. If my father had never worked for him, we wouldn't be here, right? But I know that's not how it works. As much as I wish it were different, life isn't black and white.

I hug myself tighter, trying to distract myself from the churning in my gut. The more clarity my mind regains, the worse I feel about the past 24 hours. Flashes of the twins torment me. Then those of what happened in Dubois' office.

I feel like I'm losing myself and as reality hits, I'm scared of what I'm becoming. I killed someone. I was capable of saying all those things to Raffaele. Sure, I'd never been a dandelion. Sarcastic and rude, sure. But never like this. Things have never felt like this.

"Elodie?" Raffaele eventually says tentatively, and I realize we've stopped driving. Blinking my surroundings back into focus, I recognize the underground garage of Raffaele's building.

I don't react at first, not trusting myself to speak. I swallow heavily, still staring out my window. "Take me home," I finally whisper as firmly as possible. Raffaele starts his car back up without protesting and I hate to admit that I'm disappointed.

I thought he might tell me this is my home. That despite everything that happened, the time we'd spent together before I left was real. That he felt it too. It would have been some comfort to cling to.

"Your father's place?" he asks slowly as he pulls out of the garage. Tears prick my eyes though I don't know what they're for. I just nod, leaning my forehead against the cool window and biting my tongue to keep from sighing or making a sound that would make him know I'm crying again.

I don't know if he would care and it's not like I have it in me to feel ashamed. Still, something makes me hold back.

Time drags by achingly slowly and passes in the blink of an eye all the same. As soon as the car slows enough, I jump out and head up my driveway. I enter the house without turning back to check if Raffaele is following, hoping he is as much as I hope he won't.

I don't take the time to look around the destruction again, heading straight for my room on the first floor. I collapse onto my bed and with the first whiff of the familiar scent of my comforter that still clings to the soft material, I feel like a dam is broken.

I cry, painful, heaving sobs wrecking my body. I wanted to come back here to remind me of who I was, hoping it would clear some things up and reassure me I'm still me. Instead, loss crashes down on me as I realize how much I've changed.

I barely remember who I used to be when I lived here. She feels far away, too innocent and naïve to have been me.

I wrap my blanket tightly around my freezing body, hugging my pillow to my chest as if it were my lifeline as I cry myself asleep. My mind might be running on high but my body is too drained of energy and too beaten to keep me conscious any longer.

I don't fight as sleep greats me like an old friend, its heavy, dark cloak pulling me under within minutes. Hopefully, it'll relieve me with a break from today's horrors. If only for a few hours, I need some peace.

I should've known it wouldn't be so easy, though. My mind is too restless, my conscious tainted too severely to let go of me so easily. Instead, the horrors of what has happened and what I've done haunt me in my dreams.

I'm back in Dubois' office, standing over his body as he lies on the floor. He's still breathing, but only barely.

"Please," he begs, looking scared. Scared of me.

I shake my head, attempting to step away from him only to find my feet glued to the floor. I feel sick to my stomach, realizing I have no control over myself or what happens.

"Look at you begging. So pathetic." The words leave my mouth without permission, sounding cold and cruel and so similar to when I talked to Raffaele. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my body lowering to a crouch. My knife is in my hand, the cool handle searing my palm as if it were on fire.

I don't want to do this.

"Please, I'm sorry," a new voice begs and my eyes fly open. Bile crawls up my throat as I look at the person on the floor. It's no longer Dubois. Instead, Raffaele is staring up at me, tears brimming his beautiful eyes as they did earlier.

Again, I try to get away, to pinch myself so I can wake up, but my body won't respond. I try to scream, to apologize for what I know I'll do but even that stays impossible.

"You're nothing," my voice seethes. Then my knife is at his throat, pressing down on his skin only barely enough to draw blood. Not sufficient to kill.

Raffaele sucks in a breath, a look of betrayal crossing his eyes. I remind myself this is a dream. That everything's fine. That I'm in my bed and Raffaele is fine but I can't feel it. Not when everything here seems so real.

"That's it. Do it. You know you want to," Dubois says, suddenly standing at my right. "You're just like me." I turn my head his way, ready to protest but the words die on my lips when I see his cut throat. He's standing, looking perfectly fine if it weren't for the blood all over his body from the neck down.

"You're like me, Princess. A murderer. A monster. Look at him. Look at what you did. He's so helpless and scared and yet you love this, don't you? Love the way he looks with your knife at his throat." He steps closer, his acid breath scarring my neck. "Do it. You know you want to."

No! I want to scream but the words won't leave me.

I turn back to Raffaele, my knife weighing more by the second and I'm barely able to keep it up. Keep it from cutting him deeper and slitting his throat. I'm fighting pathetically, trying not to do the inevitable. Trying to hold on to the fantasy that I'm better than this.

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Have a lovely day and see u tmr<3