❛𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄...❜ | 𝐍𝐨.𝟑

Chapter 19- Fixing Mistakes...

TW // THIS CHAPTER FOLLOWS THE PROCEDURE OF CARING FOR VICTIMS AFTER TRAUMATIC CRIMES, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION...
Emma's POV:
Shakily, I grab my fiancées wrist, pressing her hand flat against the ink. I can feel her eyes staring at me the entire time, watching and watching as if she's ready to murder anyone who takes me away from her ever again. "This is just to rule you out, Lauren. To eliminate you from his crimes." forcibly, I hold down her hand onto the paper beside the ink tray, her DNA showing up in a noir print. Everything on her face screams 'terror', the mild cuts and bruises, the longing look in her eyes...not to mention the sense of defeat stirring inside of her like never before... "Come and sit down, love." when I point to the chair next to her inside the interview room, she remains stood still before me, like she's never been taught before how to place herself into a seat, and gazing into my deep blue eyes as if it's the last time all over again,...

It won't be. No one will ever tear us apart again, my love...our sanity depends on it.

Carefully, I bend Lauren's knees slightly to make her fall into the chair, her entire body slouching downward with her knees pointing out, thighs spread apart. Each and every time she lowers herself into a chair, she does it with such regalness and composure, her back straight and pointed upwardly, hands folded in her lap pliantly, and knees crossed over in a polite manner. Everything about her is different, the way she carries herself, her facial expressions...even the way she sits.

"I need to get some hair samples from you, okay?" when I reach out a hand to softly stroke her cheekbone with the pad of my thumb, she grabs onto it so tightly, with such an unbreakable force, it begins to sting my twisting flesh and muscles embedded within. I wince in pain, Lauren's eyes turning apologetic at the sign of my pain. "Oh no, I-it's okay, sweetie. You didn't hurt me. You can hold my hand if you want to." I've never seen her like this...her entire mindset has been crushed by him, because of his greed and lack of respect...he's taken my Lauren away from me, in the worst possible way.

You are going to pay for what you've done...as far as I'm concerned, you are no friend of mine, Connor Reynolds...

But for now, I need to focus on my wife. Her bewildering expression alone gives me the impression that she believes if a minor droplet of rain were to touch my head, I'll become non-existent, vanished, gone from the earth's surface...as well as the colourful marks on her body, her injuries so severe they most likely will be staying with her for too long to bare, carved into her skin's barrier...and including the mute disorder she has obtained? From experience, all this information tells me one thing...she's suffering from PTSD. Shock. Fear. Undoubtable pain.

This time, it is my turn to protect you. I won't have it any other way.

I grab a plastic, clear-blue ziplock bag, labelled in bold, black and scruffy handwriting: 'hair samples', and open it up wide to create a major gap, single-handedly, my right hand still occupied by Lauren's stronger ones gripping it with tension. When I manage to adjust the bag to have a gaping, opened space, I handle a pair of tweezers between my fingers. "This will hurt a little bit, but I promise I'll make it quick," moving inward to try pluck a single hair from her head, collecting the evidence I need, she dodges backward and snatches the tool from my hands, instantly. Before I can say anything, she inspects it closely with wonder in her mind. Then, she looks up at me, confused with emotion, a baffled appearance. "It's to collect some of your hair, baby. We need samples in case there's DNA at the scene of the crime that matches with yours. That's why we're in here and what all of these bags and tools are for."

Lauren is a woman who likes context - she wants to know what's happening, how it's happening, and why it's happening. Her slightly fugal state must be increasing that need, as well as her newly discovered traumatic stress, still raw from recent events. She hands me back the tweezers, and stays completely still and silent for me whilst I pluck 5-10 strands of her brunette hair, carefully placing them into the open bag. Leaning forward, I considerably peck Lauren's scarred head, near the area where I removed the many wisps of hair follicles, kissing it better. I quickly glance beside me, noticing the next part of DNA I need to collect requires me to wear gloves. My hand remains held by my lover, the strength of love and connection holding her there. "Can you let go for a second, honey? I need to get some gloves on for the next bit so I don't contradict the results." from showing me the blankest of looks on her face, I riskily pull my arm back just a little to break the contact, thinking she'll accept the movement, but Lauren yanks my arm back to her with such a force, I end up tumbling toward the ground, my arms curved behind my back, using the heels of my palms to support my body from falling all the way down, laid in a half-upright position.