Black Angel

Chapter Thirteen

Zola / Derrick

Zola

    "And what do you think is behind this man? Mr. Brandner?" Mrs. Kaminsky asked me.
    It was three weeks since that incident happened. And although I still trusted Derrick, I felt an uncertainty towards him.
    Because after that day, on that Wednesday, he went there and when he came back two hours later, his face and the knuckles on his hands were covered in bruises.
    It took a great effort to convince him that I clean those.
    "Ms. Laston?" My therapist asked, pulling me out of my own head. I went to therapy for quite a time now.
    Seven. Years.
    I didn't know. But I certainly did know one thing: Whatever it is, it's haunting him.
    "I don't know. I just want to help him and stop him hurt. Since that day we met officially he was always there for me. He held me when I was crying, he opened up his home for me when my family kicked me out, he respects my decisions and helps me reach my goal of becoming the woman I've always dreamed of. I not only owe him, but I also want to."
    "The feelings he said he... discovered for you: what do you feel towards him? The way you're speaking of him shows that you're also kind of affected by those same, or at least similar, feelings."
    Although I knew the answer, that question still caught me off guard.
    I did feel something towards Derrick. I respected him, liked him and, yes, also desired him. But did that mean I loved him?
    Well, according to Mrs. Kaminsky, it did. But she said I was scared because of previous trauma, betrayal and insecurities.
    You know what? That could be true. Why else would my skin be on fire whenever we touch? Why else would my mind wander off all the bad thoughts when he kissed me?
    Why else would my heart stutter whenever he's close to me?
    But I couldn't. At least not now.
    "I am affected, yes. Probably even more than that. But I'm not ready yet. I want to go to him with my best. In every way possible. Like I told him: When we're doing this, I want to do it the proper way."
    With that being said, we talked twelve more minutes before the timer beeped and cut into the lesson, ending it.
    "We're making progress and I feel like your feelings towards Mr. Brandner have an important impact on this progress. I'd like to speak to him one day too." Mrs. Kaminsky said before we said our goodbyes.
    Exiting the building, the fresh air filled my lungs and I felt free again. Well, at least for a minute, because right after I stumbled out of the building, a strange smelling cloth was put on my mouth and a few seconds later, everything went black.

Derrick

    Hell, where was she? She left for her therapist four hours ago.
    What if something happened?
    No, calm down. She's probably in traffic or just got held up.
    Right. But I still felt an unease in my chest.
    Ignoring that feeling, I went to the kitchen and wanted to prepare dinner. Since the day she came, most of the time Zola was the one cooking and – wow. It was like I had my personal chef at home.
    From Italian to Turkish to Japanese, she just needed a recipe to create a masterpiece.
    When I asked her how she was so good at cooking, even with meals she's never made before, she told me she just sticked to the recipe and added some seasonings of her own choice.
    I wanted to make chicken tenders and fries since we agreed on one cheat-day a week for her.
    I was really proud of her achievements and the progress she made over the days and weeks she was staying here.
    The house felt so empty without her. And since she didn't come home another hour later, I decided to call her.
    Voicemail.
    The next six calls did the same and I started to worry.
    After the threat, we agreed to have tracking applications installed on each other's phones, but since her phone was dead – or just shut out – that didn't work, either.
    After calling her cousins Macy and Ruby – which unfortunately still were in Italy – I quickly googled her therapist and called the number, also seeing that it's located here in Madison.
    "Kaminsky & Sons, this is Angela Mallow speaking. How can I help you." The female on the other end asked.
    "Hi, this is Derrick Brandner. I wanted to ask if Ms. Laston is still there. She left the house for her meeting with Mrs. Kaminsky at three pm and was supposed to be home hours ago, but she still didn't arrive." Concern edged my tone.
    "I'm sorry, Mr. Brandner, but I'm afraid I can't help you with this topic since we have a strict policy to protect our clients' privacy." She said apologetically.
    "Okay, I understand. Then let me speak to Mrs. Kaminsky please. I'm really concerned about Zola."
    This time, annoyance pierced my tone.
    "Sir, I'm sorry, but-" Patience was never my friend.
    "Okay, listen to me. This woman we're talking about? Yeah, this woman changed my life for good and I don't want that to end. With this woman in my house, it feels like a home again and the way she's etched in my heart makes my soul finally feel complete again. So, please, at least put me through to Mrs. Kaminsky. Please goddammit!"
    Well, that was... something.
    The line went silent and after a short while, she spoke again. "I'll try, give me a second please, Sir."
    Music started playing. I hate those holding patterns.
    "Mr. Brandner." Another female started speaking after a few minutes.
    "Mrs. Kaminsky. I'll head directly to the matter at hand: Is Zola still with you? She left like two forty-five pm for your meeting at three and still isn't back home." I hated those few seconds of silence before she finally spoke.
   "I'm sorry, but no. Ms. Laston left several hours ago. She left like four fifteen." A glance on my watch told me that she left there five fucking hours ago.
    What if something bad happened? What if she got involved in an accident? Or the worst: what if they have her?
    What if, what if, what if...
    I start hating those two words and the power they're holding on me with their uncertainty.
    "Mr. Brandner, can you hear me?" No, the ringing in my ears is too loud. "Yes."
    "Shall we inform MPD? Or-"
    "No. I'll handle the situation. Maybe she just got held up. Thank you for your help."
    With that, I hung up.
    If we involve the police without knowing who took her, it's most likely that we worsen things further and might even get her injured.
    Baby, where are you?