𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 | a. lockwood

four

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 !
✧.*· ࿐ ˊˎ-  anthony

❝ i said i got things under control,
we don't know any exit no ❞

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I GENUINELY DO NOT KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE. I misjudged a case and put a new employee in grave danger, burned down an entire house that was going to be monetized post a ghost cleanse, got into major trouble with DEPRAC for hiring someone without enough credentials and let's not forget the house I burned down which has led to a sixty thousand pound fine with just two weeks to cover it or else the company is shut down – meaning I am not only causing disappointment and disgrace to myself but also the three people who trusted in me and my company, sending them back home to their families who are going to make their lives far more miserable.

I should be wallowing in self-pity right now, yet I find myself curious and impatient to see if my prediction of Kamala's reaction is going to be accurate.

She's the silver lining amidst this mess. When I think my world is crumbling beside me, I remember she's there, ready to hold my hand and support me through it. Through every dark cloud that obscures the blue skies, she is the sun behind them, forcing her light through their edges, reminding me that I can be happy too. Through every dark moment of my life, the memory of her smile makes me want to keep going.

And the most bizarre thing is that I only met her five months ago.

One meeting and something had changed in me. We spent a day together and I'd decided if there was anyone I'd want to spend the rest of my life with, it would be with someone like her (undeniably, she would be perfect but in case fate had other plans, I would have liked someone with a semblance of her soul in them). She has me wrapped around her finger, taking a firm seat in my mind and heart, making sure there is not a single spare moment in my head when I don't think of her – the funniest part being she has no idea she's capable of doing that to me.

And now she's going to be a permanent part of my life – considering I don't mess things up furthermore. She is a grave distraction yet such a beautiful one. A distraction that cares so much that she would not shy away from showing it. A distraction that is so kind and loving that it makes me feel ashamed of how closed off I behave. A distraction so expressive that every reaction just brightens my day. I don't care if it's one of exasperation or love; even if she were to just look at me, I'd loop that moment an infinite number of times in my head.

God, I sound pathetic.

I entered my room and pulled out the chair from the study table, flipping it around so that the wooden backrest faces the table. I don't even bother unbuttoning my shirt completely and just peel it off of my skin. The motion burns through my back, covered with bruises and cuts – fighting with a ghost in a small, furniture-dumped passageway and then jumping from a burning house would do that to you.

I dumped the shirt inside the laundry basket and tried to look at my back through the mirror and gauge the severity of my wounds. I could bandage one of the three big gashes on my back but the other two required far more flexible arms than mine. As I turned to open my door and check on Kamala – who was taking far too long to fetch gauze pads and water – the door burst open and the girl in question staggered through, eyes wide as they landed on me (or more particularly my chest; just as I had suspected).