𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞 | ✔

sɪxᴛʏ sɪx

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Without further adieu, I present to you the next chapter...

༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

DEVI BHATT

I hope my parents haven't changed their number.

I hope they're not angry with me still, even though they shouldn't be. I should be the one annoyed at my mother for how she tried to manipulate me but Asian parents don't believe in emotional abuse. They didn't emotionally abuse me but the manipulation in the argument we had before I left and the embarrassment and resentment my mother holds for the grave mistakes I made in my youth, have stayed with her. She is and was too blinded by resentment for the crippling condition my mental health was in.

I don't know if these months have given her time to actually think, wonder or do anything about those thoughts. And my father, well, he's always been a small quiet man who let my mother take charge on the family side.

I can admit I was childish when taking this job. I can't help but admit all this undoing of my sanity was all my fault, because to some extent, deep down it really is. Or maybe it's not. Maybe I would have lived a normal life.

But I'm not sure how normal my life would have been with Thomas.

But if I didn't take the job, I wouldn't have met Grisha. Sasha. Feliks. Kai. Nashwa. Pasha. Santos.

I'm officially doing it. I'm ringing them. My heart is hammering, thundering, pounding in my ears almost to the point where I'm deaf. My sweaty hands clutch the phone tightly, ignoring the tremors shaking through me as I pace around the bathroom.

I don't know why I chose the bathroom. Maybe I should have chosen a more sanitary place. What if I drop the phone into the toilet? I step away from the toilet immediately.

The line doesn't go dead. It goes through. And someone picks up.

"Hello?" the familiar and oddly comforting voice of my mother floats through the speaker.

I choke, I stutter, I freeze in shock. This happens for a solid thirty seconds.

"Hello?" she repeats. "If no-one is there I'm putting it do–"

"No!" I shout, breaking through my shock. "No, please don't, mama it's me."

I hear a sharp intake of breath from her end. "Devi?" there's so much raw emotion in her voice. Guilt immediately fills me for not ringing sooner. I was so fucking stupid.

"Yes, mama?" my voice cracks, as my chest tightens with emotion, "it's me mama. Me, Devi."

I hear shouting, she's calling for my father. They're crying. I'm crying. They're telling me how much they've missed me and how much they want me home and all it makes me do is wish they were here so that I could disappear in their embrace. Cherish it.

When I look at my tear-stained face in the mirror, I notice the small smile, the small sparkle in my eye that has returned. How long will that last? The voice in my head intrudes, stamping on my happiness.

I ask them how they are, how everyone is, if that aunty still is pregnant. But then my mother reminds me again that she isn't pregnant. Damn it. I ask them if they're safe, if they feel safe, if everything is okay around the house. If they have a target on their heads, it's going to be dangerous.

They ask me how I am, and I hesitate.

"I'm fine," I answer.

"Are you sure?" my father asks.