The dent in our vows

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David's Pov

The dusty smell of books strangled my lungs, the wooden chair made my bones ache and if I didn't stop staring at this damn screen, I was one hundred percent certain I was going to go blind.

Fourteen days passed in an epic mess of chaotic white blur and I still didn't have a response to Dawn's ultimatum that was as painful as getting stabbed in the chest repeatedly.

Choose us or lose me.

I clasped my eyes shut and tightened my fists, refusing to give vent to my resentment as the words replayed over and over again, suffocating me.

Resigned, I opened my eyes, wiped the sweat away from my forehead, and refocused my gaze on the science documentary I'd been studying for the past hour.

The article Professor Hampton had written on human anatomy was endless. I scrolled through meaningless pages, searching for something that could be of help to me but like the last hundred research documents, there was nothing.

It was useless.

I took off my reading glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration.

Nothing was working. Nothing made sense.

I rested my head on my desk and let out a sigh.

Why me?

The study door creaked open at that moment but I didn't look up to see who it was. Her Chanel No. 5 gave her away.

I exhaled and tried to collect myself before lifting my head to see my mother who was supposed to be back in New Orleans glowering at me from beside the door.

Good grief.

She didn't speak but with the way her eyes bored into mine, I had a few guesses of what was running through her head.

I cleared my throat and sat up straight, saving the awkward silence from growing to enormous proportions by speaking. "I wasn't expecting you today, mother," I kept my voice composed, trying to hide how dehydrated and sick I felt.

"I sent a text." Her tone was scolding. "If you had bothered to check your phone all morning you would've known I was coming."

I groaned, dreading where this conversation was going. "I'm sorry for that."

"Your caretaker called and told me you rarely leave your study and you refuse to change your bandaid or eat. Is this the reason you made Stella get her private apartment? So you can go about trying to kill yourself?"

There it was.

I sighed and ran a hand over my face.
If it would save Dawn then yes, I didn't mind. "I'm fine," I replied, turning back to my computer screen and opening the next documentary by doctor Charles.

She released an exasperated breath, walking closer. "I understand that you're on edge right now but how do you expect to heal properly if you won't take care of yourself? Look at you. God, David, you look like you're about to kick the bucket."

"Healing can come later. Right now, I need answers." I deadpanned.

"And there is no answer." She retorted. "We've been over this before. Your father spent a year meeting up with experts after your mother passed on. A solution doesn't exist."