But Too Well

VI : Reassurance

Another chapter... enjoy! What do you guys think so far?
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LATER THAT NIGHT, I leave the parking lot of my building and take the elevator up to my apartment, not knowing what in the world I'm going to do next.

Staring at the walls as the floors go by, my mind is filled with an anxious worry, and my stomach is a bucket of nerves. I'm still digesting the images I saw on the screen, still full of confusion, full of dread.

I try to tell myself that I knew this would happen. Why am I so shocked and surprised?

But let me tell you that knowing that a crime might happen and knowing that a crime did happen are two completely different things. One is worrying yet uncertain; the other is definite and haunting.

If I hadn't hesitated—if I had called the police—then that man, who maybe had a family and children and a wife who loved him, might have lived. The idea makes me sick.

It makes me sick that I could've stopped it, and it makes me sick that the last couple of days I have let myself forget about it; I've let myself forgive Nero, even while knowing that he ordered someone dead. I let myself bake him cupcakes. It's despicable, and for a moment, I hate myself for it.

My head, filling once again with thoughts and images of him and his hands and his voice and his laugh, reminds me that he threatened me so that, even if I had wanted to tell somebody, I wouldn't have been able to. Deep down, I know that my justification is just an excuse, but I don't want to feel any more guilty than I already do.

My thoughts still running wild, I pay little attention to anything around me as I leave the elevator, staring at the ground as I rush to my room. Digging hurriedly through my purse for my keys, I walk right into a hard, oh-so-familiar chest, t-shirt clad and perfect.

Everything fills with panic as I look up and find him, in all of his gorgeousness, literally the last person on earth who I want to see right now. It takes him a second to register the tumult of emotions spread across my tired face. I jerk back from him instantly, recoiling from his touch. Seeing me so distraught, he's momentarily at a loss for words, and his sharp, sculpted features morph into concern.

"Rosalina," he begins, but I push past him angrily, grasping my doorknob.

"I can't talk to you right now." Trying sloppily to stuff the key into the lock, I can feel hot tears begin to prick the backs of my eyes, my throat going raw. I swear silently to myself as the key won't go in, unable to find the mental resolve to slow my clumsy fingers. I keep fumbling, and I feel him behind me, his presence dark and heavy.

I just manage to turn the lock completely when he speaks again, softly, his voice as resonant and textured as I remember. "What's the matter, carina? Why are you so upset?" It's amazing how much he sounds like he cares.

I push the door open, ignoring him. I'm about to shut it in his face when his foot blocks the way, his hand holding it in place.

I cross my arms petulantly, giving him a seething look. He looks shocked and slightly lost, running his long fingers through his thick dark hair. "Talk to me, dolcezza. I'm a concerned neighbour, remember?"

He arches his eyebrow, and his words are an attempt to get me to smile or laugh, but my face just turns red, my head suddenly filled with rage. "Are you actually telling me you haven't seen the news, Nero?" My voice is loud, hoarse. "You..." I can't bring myself to finish explaining. "I know it was you. Don't you dare try to convince me otherwise." My expression is stormy, filled with fire.